"Sir Deryk—p-please be gen-generous now! I don't want to—kiss you!"
"What! You cry off? Shame, Cleone!" he teased.
"You are monstrous unk-kind! It's my locket, and I d-don't want to kiss you! I don't, I don't! I hate you!"
"That adds spice, my dear. Must I take the price?"
She choked down a sob.
"Very well. Kiss me." She stood where she was, face upturned, with the resignation of a martyr.
He laid his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her.
"By God, Cleone, you're damnably beautiful!" he said thickly. "You've played with fire to-night—but I won't burn you too much!" He bent his head till his lips met hers.
At that inauspicious moment James and Philip walked into the room.
"No, it was here she said, Philip. I re—"