The Devil's Bargain [antikvár]

'Don't laugh at me! I may be new to London but I am not a simpleton.' She was conscious that she was behaving like a prickly Puritan and Delia's flustered irritation doubled. 'Manners may be more lax where you come from, sir, but you cannot cozen me it is the custom to manhandle a lady.' 'I should not have allowed my curiosity to exceed good manners,' Kit agreed swiftly. 'But I wonder if it is the unintentional insult that bothers you, or are you angry because I didn't steal a kiss after all?' Kit enquired with a slight smile. Her betraying blush answered his perceptive guess and he laughed softly. 'Well, never let it be said that Kit Malory disobliged a lady.' His hands found her slim waist and he began to draw her firmly to him. Delia shivered at his touch, her annoyance fading under the onslaught of sensation his nearness provoked. At the last moment, as his face bent to hers, it was his cynical expression, as if he was aware of her burgeoning desire and amused by it, that saved Delia. Her eyes snapped fully open again and with one swift movement she brought up the lute which remained in her hand, forgotten until now. Gripping it like a club, she said shakily, 'Let me go.' 'Or else you'll brain me with it, will you, sweeting?' CHAPTER ONE The water is wide, I cannot get o'er but neither have I wings to fly. Build me a boat that will carry me, And both shall go, My love and I.' The sweet young voice carried to Kit Malory's ears as he strode down the corridor of the house in Bloomsbury Piazza. The sound was coming from the open doorway of the parlour and the singer was accompanying herself on a lute with considerable skill. Kit's long-legged stride checked. He had told the manservant who had admitted him that he would find his own way to Lord Harrington's book-room, but the lovely voice aroused his curiosity. Why hadn't his friend told him that Lucy was such an excellent musician? To Kit's surprise when he glanced into the room he saw that the young woman sitting in the wide sunlit window-seat wasn't Rupert's wife. Lucy, unless his memory played him false, was a plump little blonde, who dressed in the height of fashion. This girl's hair was as dark as his own. It had a sheen like a raven's wing in the spring sunshine, but it was arranged in a single braid that hung down over her left shoulder. Her gown displayed the same simplicity. It was made of some dark coarse stuff in the plainest of styles. Kit felt a flicker of interest stir in him. Her occupation bespoke gentle birth but her clothes were more suitable for a servant. Or a Puritan, Kit thought with wry surprise, though God knew what anyone of that persuasion could be doing in Rupert Harrington's house. He wished he could see her features. Her head was bent in concentration over the lute but her hands were graceful with long white fingers; a lady's hands.