on Tower Green—and an executioner with a deadly sharp axe standing by, ready to chop off his handsome head!
BY the time she was nearing the end of the walk, and approaching St Helen’s Church in Bishopsgate, Angelica was almost foaming at the mouth with overwhelming rage and fury.
There was absolutely no doubt in her mind. She knew—with total certainty—that she’d never hated anyone as much as she did this truly awful man, who’d somehow managed to hijack her tour.
Every time she’d pointed out some interesting facts about the streets and buildings they’d passed, he had either flatly contradicted her small store of knowledge, or he’d produced some far more entertaining or unusual information. When she, for instance, had taken them into Trinity Square Gardens, to view the Merchant Navy memorial to the ships and men lost in the two World Wars, the group had barely listened to what she had to say. They’d been far more interested in hearing from Mr Know-it-all that they were standing on the official site of bloody public executions, which had been carried out there until the seventeenth century.
Nor had the group cared a jot about Seething Lane, which had once held the Navy Office in which the famous diarist Samuel Pepys had worked, not when the dreadful man had loudly complained that the tour was boring, before leading everyone across the road to St Olave’s church. And then, adding insult to injury, the group had completely ignored her as he’d not only showed them around the churchyard where Pepys and his wife were buried!, but also told them that the gateway of this church— with its macabre decoration of skulls—had featured in one of Charles Dickens’s famous novels.
And so it had gone on. At practically every step along their route, the tall stranger had succeeded in making her look like a complete idiot. Goodness knew, that was bad enough—but what made it ten times worse was that he’d clearly been enjoying every minute of heir discomfiture! He also seemed to have taken a delight in asking her questions which he knew that she couldn’t answer. Quite honestly, she could quite cheerfully have throttled the man!
As she waited for the stragglers of the group to join the others inside St Helen’s church, which dated back to at least the twelfth century, Angelica knew that she must try to do something about the situation. But what?
Cudgelling her brains to try and think of some way in which to regain control of the final part of the tour, Angelica noticed that the loathsome man had moved away from the group, and was apparently absorbed in studying a beautifully carved Jacobean pulpit. Quickly realising that she might not have another opportunity to catch him on his own, she moved swiftly down one of the two wide aisles towards his tall figure.
‘Hey—I want a word with you, sunshine!’ she hissed, tapping him sharply on the shoulder, before leading the way around the side of the pulpit to a dark corner well out of sight of the group. Spinning around, she waited impatiently as he hesitated for a moment before moving slowly towards her.
‘I don’t know what you think you’ve been doing, you damned man!’ she ground out through clenched teeth. ‘But it’s going to stop—right now!’
For a moment he stared at her in complete astonishment, as if stunned that anyone could have the sheer effrontery to swear at him in public. Well, if so, that was just his tough luck! Because, by the time she’d finished with this man, Angelica promised herself grimly, he was going to be well and truly cut down to size!
‘Well, Miss…?’ He paused, but when she kept her mouth firmly closed he gave a casual shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, yes, you are! As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been nothing but a rotten pain in the neck ever since you joined this group.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes—really!’ she snapped, infuriated by the note of sardonic amusement in his deep voice.
Despite the lack of clear daylight within the large old church, Angelica had no trouble in seeing that, having swiftly recovered from her first attack, the man’s grey eyes were now gleaming with ironic laughter beneath their heavy lids. A fact which only served to increase her rage and fury.
‘Don’t you dare laugh at me!’ she spat through gritted teeth. ‘Because, to start with, I know that you didn’t pay to join this walking tour.’
‘Didn’t I?’ he murmured, leaning casually against the wooden pulpit, his lips twitching with amusement as he surveyed the furiously angry, trembling figure of the girl before him.
‘No, you damn well didn’t!’
“Tut, tut!’ He shook his dark head in mock-sorrow. ‘I’m shocked to hear a young girl swearing like this—and in church, too.’
For the first and only time in her life, Angelica had an almost overpowering urge to resort to real physical violence, a deep longing to vigorously slap that cynical, amused expression off the man’s handsome face. However, after a fierce internal struggle, she took a deep breath and managed to pull herself together.
‘OK… let me explain the situation in words of one syllable,’ she ground out. “If you haven’t paid to join this tour, you’ve got no right to be here with us.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that…’ he drawled slowly. ‘You clearly have very little knowledge about the City of London. In fact, since I’ve been doing your job for the past half-hour, maybe you should pay me, hmm?’ he murmured, moving closer to the rigidly angry figure.
‘Me? Pay you…?’ She gave a strangled, incredulous laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘It’s no more ridiculous than taking money under false pretences—which is exactly what you’ve been doing,’ he pointed out coolly. ‘If I hadn’t come along to rescue you, this tour would have been a complete shambles.’
‘Rubbish’ Angelica retorted defiantly, raising her chin and refusing to be intimidated by the tall, handsome figure looming over her in the dark corner of the church. ‘I may not be a walking encyclopaedia, but I was getting along fine until you turned up.’
‘Now who’s talking rubbish?’ He gave a low, mocking laugh. ‘In fact, I’m not sure it isn’t my duty—as a moral and upright citizen—to report you to the authorities.’
‘I don’t care what you do!’ she stormed. ‘Just as long as you get out of my hair, out of this church, and that I never, ever have to see you again!’
Quite why she thought that she was strong enough to push the handsome, dark stranger away from her, and out of the church, Angelica had no idea. But of course there was no rational thought process behind her total loss of temper.
It was only when the fiery red mist in front of her eyes had begun to clear that she realised her hands were being gripped by firm, hard fingers, tightening about her wrists like bands of steel. Prevented from hitting the awful man, she instinctively resorted to the use of her feet. But, although he gave a slight grunt of pain when her shoe connected with his shin, he didn’t allow her to inflict any more damage. A brief moment or two later, Angelica found herself being pushed roughly backwards; the man’s angry, determined momentum only halted as she felt her spine jar against cold stone, with his tall figure pinning her to a buttress in a dark corner of the church.
Shocked and severely shaken by the speed with which he’d reacted to her assault, she gazed fearfully up at the man glaring down at her, his face only inches away from her own. Despite the dim light, she was able to see a pulse beating furiously at his temple, the tightly clenched jaw and glittering, cold gleam in his deeply hooded grey eyes.
‘Let me go!’ she gasped helplessly. ‘You can’t do this to me.’
‘No? Well, it seems that I can—and I have!’