A Stranger's Kiss

a rational decision about the rest of her life.
    But not quite quick enough to anticipate her father’s ruthlessness when it came to getting his own way.
    She grasped the door knob in both hands and shook it furiously. It didn’t budge. It was locked, and a cursory examination of the keyhole had revealed that the key had been removed. He had obviously foreseen the possibility that she might try poking it out of the lock onto a piece of paper. Assuming she had a piece of paper. She gave the door a kick.
    How dared her father lock her up in the nursery like some Victorian Papa? Did he think she’d just sit quietly and take it?
    Easily, was the answer to her first question. And, no. He knew she wouldn’t take such treatment quietly, which was why he had tricked her into the second-floor nursery, conveniently equipped with safety bars across the window.
    She abandoned the door and rushed across to the open window as she heard a car crunching over the gravel carriage drive that swept in front of the house, pulling herself up on the bars to get a better view.
    It was a dark BMW, not a car she recognised, and it was parked too close to the house to get a good look at the driver as he climbed out. No more than a glimpse of thick dark hair, a pair of wide shoulders as he shrugged into his jacket, a feeling that he was above average height, although with her foreshortened view from the second floor it was impossible to say for sure. From the expensive cut of his charcoal grey suit it was obvious that he was some business connection of her father’s, in which case he was definitely not the kind of person to whom she could appeal for help.
    She gave a little sigh.
    It would have been so perfect if it had been Kit come to rescue her; driving up in his battered white van like some latter-day Galahad and hammering on the front door. But Kit was no Galahad and besides, he had no idea what had happened. She hadn’t dared tell him her plan or he would have been thoroughly shocked.
    He was such a hopeless dreamer. Despite all his problems he’d packed his paints and taken off for France for the summer so that even if her mobile phone hadn’t been downstairs in her handbag, out of reach, she couldn’t have sent out an appeal to him for help.
    At the time she’d been furious, but at least her father didn’t know where to find him. Yet. But she had to get out of here before he did and warn Kit, or her neat little plan would simply fall apart.
    She had underestimated her father. She’d realised that he was having her followed, of course — he was so protective — and she’d known exactly what his response would be to her announcement that she planned to marry Kit...
    Well, obviously not exactly. She hadn’t anticipated that he would lock her up like the heroine of some nineteenth century melodrama or she would never have walked into his trap. He must have planned the whole thing after she telephoned to say she had to see him about something important. Her biggest mistake had been to put him on his guard, but it had been the only way of ensuring her father’s attention. She twisted the small diamond engagement ring around her finger.
    ‘Oooooh!’ she growled, venting her frustration on one of the bars fixed to the window frame to prevent small children from falling out by just the kind of careful Victorian papa she had been castigating, striking at it with a tight little fist. It shifted slightly beneath the blow and she immediately forgot the pain caused by her temper. Instead she stared at the bar for a moment then, slowly uncurling her fingers, she reached out, grasped it firmly and gave it a sharp tug. She had not been mistaken; there was a small but quite positive movement.
    Her temper instantly evaporated and she looked about her for something to lever the horrid thing out of the frame.
    The room was furnished with a bed, a dresser, a small hard-backed chair. The built-in cupboard was bare as she had already discovered to her disgust. There was nothing in the least bit useful to be found, but she refused to be put off by this set-back. Instead, she returned to the window and gave the bar a vigorous shake.
    It was definitely loose and seized by the same enterprising spirit that had got her into this scrape in the first place, Emmy put her foot against the wall for leverage, took the bar in both hands and gave it a sharp tug. There was the promising sound of wood splintering. Cheered by this success she did it again,