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“I’m not out of mydepth!”

“Oh, yes. , my dear Angelica, you most certainly are,” Luke Cunningham murmured. “Why else should you be so determined to fight me every inch of the way?”

“You’re quite wrong…this really isn’t a good idea. Lust may be a reason to get married, but it’s not enough!”

Luke shrugged and gave a harsh, sardonic laugh.

“As far as I’m concerned, it will certainly do to be going on with!”

MARY LYONS

was born in Toronto, Canada, moving to live permanently in England when she was six, although she still proudly maintains her Canadian citizenship. Having married and raised four children, her life nowadays is relatively peaceful—unlike her earlier years when she worked as a radio announcer, reviewed books and, for a time, lived in a turbulent area of the Middle East. She still enjoys a bit of excitement, combining romance with action, humor and suspense in her books whenever possible.

It Started With A Kiss

Mary Lyons

‘YES, I’m sorry. Yes, I do realise that I’m giving you very short notice. ’

Angelica sighed, brushing a tired hand through her long ash-blonde hair and grimacing at the irritation in the voice on the other end of the telephone.

‘Look, I understand your problems, David,’ she broke in hurriedly. ‘But it’s hardly my fault if the men who’ve been replacing some tiles on the roof completely forgot to put a tarpaulin over a large hole when they left work yesterday. And after that heavy rainstorm last night…well, I’m now looking up at what’s left of my bedroom ceiling; there’s water and chunks of old plaster covering most of the floor, and since about one o’clock this morning Betty and I have been rushing around with buckets and mops, just praying that all the other bedroom ceilings wouldn’t cave in as well!’

‘Yes, I can see—’

‘Most of the carpets and bedding are completely soaked—not to mention all the clothes in my wardrobe, which seems to have taken the brunt of the deluge,’ Angelica continued with a heavy sigh. ‘Goodness knows how we’re going to get everything dried out. Honestly, David, it’s been an absolute nightmare! Even if we keep on working flat out, it’s going to take ages to clear up the mess. On top of which I’m now in the middle of an almighty row with the roofers; one of the trustees, who lives near by, has already been moaning away on the phone, and—’

‘OK, OK,’ David Webster interjected quickly. ‘Although why you want to keep on living in that huge barn of a house, crammed full of dusty old paintings and goodness knows what else, beats me. ’