Beloved Beast. Karyn GerrardЧитать онлайн книгу.
film actor Robert Taylor, though this man didn’t have a moustache as far as she could tell. Yes, she’d seen the movie Waterloo Bridge at the cinema. He flipped the chair open and placed it next to her. She sat. Looking up at him she murmured, “Thank you.”
“You are quite welcome.”
His voice was cultured and smooth. The soft gruffness of it sent prickles of awareness through her. Everything feminine about her sprang back to life. Her heart pounded, and her eyelashes fluttered as her breath quickened. Gillian had not been affected by a man in years. She turned away from him as she had no business finding any man attractive.
“May I fetch mugs of hot tea for you ladies?” he asked politely.
“Ooo, luv. I’d murder for a hot cuppa. What a gentleman.” The old lady smiled.
“Thank you, most kind,” Gillian replied. He touched the brim of his hat and headed toward the canteen.
The old woman poked her with her elbow. “Cor, he be a tall one. And those shoulders. Too bad we can’t see his face, though with that build, in the dark who’d care?” The woman cackled. “His posh voice is like a pot of honey simmerin’ on the cooker. Sweet and full of heat. Ah, if only I were thirty years younger, eh, dearie?”
Gillian’s face flushed hot with embarrassment. The woman was not quiet. Did the stranger hear what she said? How mortifying.
“My name is Muriel Green, and yours, luv?”
Gillian did not need or want a chatty old lady yammering in her ear. She should’ve moved away as soon as she gave up her chair. “Gill O’Keefe.”
“Take my advice, when Mr. Tall and Broad Shoulders comes back, find out his name and chat him up. He’s considerate, a real plus. I didn’t see any of the lugs standin’ nearby offerin’ to fetch us hot tea as he did. Besides, more than one romance has started in air raid shelters, I’ll be bound.”
Oh, lord. Gillian rolled her eyes. The man returned and passed the enamel mugs to them, and Gillian observed his left hand was covered with a black leather glove while his right was not.
“Cheers, luv. Many thanks. My name is Mrs. Muriel Green and this here young lady is Miss Gill O’Keefe.”
He bowed slightly, but Gillian still could not see his face clearly. “Pleased to meet you. I am Luke Newman. At your service.”
Someone began to play the violin. The crowd hushed. Whoever was playing was extremely skilled. Oh, drat. What was the piece? It was obviously classical…
Mr. Newman leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D major,” Oh. Again, his voice caused her heart to stutter. It was if he read her mind.
Gillian pasted an indifferent look on her face in case he could see it. Even though her insides tightened in sensual awareness at having such a virile male in close proximity, she refused to show it outwardly. “Thank you, Mr. Newman,” she replied coolly. She turned her attention toward the mournful music. It continued for close to fifteen minutes and when the musician concluded, he received enthusiastic applause from everyone on the platform.
Mrs. Green dabbed at her eyes with a tattered handkerchief. “Blimey, that were beautiful. I feel as if I were at a concert at the Royal Albert Hall.”
“Considering the talent and ability, I am sure the musician is from the Royal Albert Hall since it is not far from here. Can I refresh your tea? Fetch you both some sandwiches perhaps? The canteen does have cheese and pickle or ham if you wish,” Mr. Newman said.
Why was this man paying such attention? Gillian’s inner alarm pealed. “No thank you I…”
“Steady on, dearie. I’ll not say no to a cheese and pickle butty. I’m gaspin’ for a bite. Cheers, Mr. Newman. You truly are a fine gentleman. I am much obliged for your kindness I’m sure.”
Because of Mrs. Green’s sincere speech, Gillian suddenly felt ungrateful. “You are kind, Mr. Newman. Thank you. I would like more tea. I’ll come with you, if you like.”
“It is no problem at all. I will see to it.” He took their empty mugs and disappeared through the crowd. Soon a chorus of “Roll out the Barrel” started, with everyone joining in. Mr. Newman returned as the music died down. He waited patiently as Mrs. Green tucked away her knitting. When she finished, he handed the pickle sandwich to her. Slowly and with deliberate care, she peeled away the parchment paper. She smiled up at him as he handed her the mug. “Ta, Mr. Newman.”
He handed Gillian her tea, and his long fingers brushed by hers causing her breath to catch. A fiery heat travelled through her at his touch. She flushed once again in embarrassment, for he must have heard her sharp intake of breath. These past three years she’d forgotten how alluring a man could be, his height, voice, the brush of his fingers, his soft, warm breath feathering across her cheek…Stop it. Silly woman.
Mr. Newman pulled a wrapped sandwich out of his side pocket. “Care to share this ham sandwich with me?”
She sipped her tea, keeping her eyes forward. “It could be a long night. You may wish to save it for later.”
“I doubt it, I don’t hear any bombs. In fact, I will bet the all clear will be sounded soon.”
She gazed up at him, but only his silhouette was visible. “How can you hear anything outside through this din?”
He took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged. “I have exceptional hearing. Besides, the stuka bombers have a distinct sound. It’s the siren they use when they dive. I haven’t heard it tonight. But then, the Luftwaffe has been using the stuka more on the Eastern Front of late. I also haven’t heard any bombs making impact. The ground has not shaken at all.”
Come to think of it, she hadn’t felt any impact either. He held out the sandwich wedge sitting on the paper, she took it and murmured her thanks. A good thing there was no bombing run tonight by the Germans as her frayed nerves could not take it.
Gillian no sooner finished the sandwich when the steady whine of the all clear sounded. Thank God. She couldn’t abide crowded, enclosed places. It was why she sought out tube stations during an air raid instead of basements in public buildings or other smaller shelters. All she wanted was to breathe fresh air into her lungs, or at least fresher than the stale, smelly air down here. She stood, eager to move off when Mr. Newman clutched her elbow.
“Allow me to escort you ladies to the safety of the street.”
Frowning, she tried to shake her arm from his tight grip but there was no shifting him. “There is no need to escort me,” she sniffed haughtily.
“I am afraid I must insist.”
Oh, the audacity of the man. Annoyance clutched her insides at his forwardness. Before she could reply, he steered her and Mrs. Green toward the stairs. Maybe once they reached street level she might finally be able to see his face. Gillian admired his patience with the older lady who experienced difficulty ascending the stairs. Several minutes later, they stepped out onto Broadway and Gillian was disappointed to see the street was still in complete darkness for she wanted to have a good look at the man. Mrs. Green thanked them both profusely, toddled off down the sidewalk, and soon disappeared in the crowd.
“May I see you home, Miss O’Keefe? I am assuming you do not live far from here,” he asked politely.
It was entirely possible this man had the best intentions, but paranoia was part of her life, she lived and breathed it. She could not chance this stranger knowing where she lived. On the other hand, she should not be too impolite, for he acted as a perfect gentleman and not to acknowledge it would raise his suspicions. If he had any.
“You are most kind,” she demurred, giving him a brilliant smile whether he could see it or not standing here on the darkened street. “You may escort me to the end of Broadway, which is far enough, thank you.”
Mr. Newman reached