Witching Hour (11 page)

occupants, for that matter. Resentment and prejudice aren't your

sole prerogative, Miss Pentreath of Polzion. Some of it went across

the Atlantic to the United States with my grandfather.'

She shrugged. 'Well, he has his revenge in full now.'

'Indeed yes, if he'd lived to enjoy it.' Lyall paused, then said

abruptly, 'Is there anywhere else to have lunch other than the hotel

dining room? I want to talk business with your mother, and I don't

need an audience.'

Morgana was taken aback. 'Well, sometimes we eat in the kitchen.

But there'd be Elsa. She's always been like one of the family, and

she does take an interest in everything that happens—sometimes to

an embarrassing extent.'

He nodded. 'That's understandable. After all, any decision I take

affects her too.'

'Not necessarily,' Morgana said coolly. 'She's a marvellous cook.

She wouldn't be out of work for long.'

'I don't intend she shall be out of work at all,' he said, too patiently.

'Why break up a winning team? She'll need help, of course.'

'Perhaps you'd better consult her on that subject,' Morgana said

frankly. 'She can be rather—temperamental, and it's reflected in

the food sometimes. We—try not to upset her too much.'

'How wise.' Lyall sounded amused. 'Is she upset by my arrival, or

do you think lunch will be safe?'

'The fact that she was telling your fortune seems to be a good sign,'

Morgana admitted. 'Especially if she saw a future of unmitigated

gloom. She has a penchant for alarm and despondency.'

He shook his head. 'She saw wealth and an eventful love life. Who

could ask for more?'

In her mind's eye, Morgana could see the spread of cards across

the table dominated by the Queen of Hearts in the middle. The

Queen of Hearts—Elaine's card.

She said coldly, 'It needn't be foreknowledge, you know. You don't

look like a pauper, and you're not exactly the picture of an

innocent abroad, either.'

'Well, thank you for those few kind words,' he said sardonically.

'An even simpler explanation would be that Elsa reads the

newspapers too.'

Morgana shook her head. 'If she'd recognised you, she would have

said something. Elsa isn't good with secrets.' She hesitated. 'I

suppose—Mr Trevick knew.'

'Not until this morning, although I think he had his suspicions.'

'What a pity Elaine recognised you,' she said. 'You could have

gone on with your little joke almost indefinitely. Is—is she a great

friend of this—Lindsay van Guisen?'

'My stepsister,' Lyall supplied smoothly. 'I wouldn't know. Lindsay

has a wide and ever-increasing circle of friends, and she enjoys

giving parties. You don't have to have a close and intimate

relationship to get invited. Why do you ask? Would you like to go

to one of them?'

'Oh, no,' she said hastily. 'Out of my league altogether. I—I was

just curious, that's all. Besides, you've been asking questions about

us and our lives. I think I'm entitled to know a little about yours in

return.'

'Ask what you want.'

'Well, are there any more little secrets you're keeping from us?

Like a wife and fifteen children, for example.'

'I'm certainly not married,' he said drily. 'And I've never been

notified of the existence of any children. Does that satisfy you?'

'It's a matter of complete indifference to me if you run a harem,'

she said sharply. 'What I'm trying to say is that from now on I'd

prefer you to be honest with us.'

'Starting from now?' He glanced at her quizzically.

'Yes,' she nodded. 'You see, I really don't trust you, Mr Lyall

Pentreath van Guisen. You're a business man, not a philanthropist,

and the way you've created this job for my mother—made her an

offer she can't refuse—is altogether too smooth, too well thought

out. There must be a hidden snag you haven't mentioned yet.'

'Clever girl,' he approved. 'Or was it just a lucky guess?

She stared at him. 'You admit it?'

'Naturally,' he said. 'Total honesty you wanted. Total honesty you

shall have.'

'But of course, you're not going to tell me what it is,' she said

sarcastically.

'Why not?' He shrugged. 'I'd have had to mention it sooner or later.

You see, Morgana, what I'm actually offering your mother is a

package deal. I want her to go on running the hotel with the same

gentle charm she exerts at the moment. I want Elsa to remain and

do the cooking. And I want you.'

'Me?' Her heart began that low, sickening pounding again as she

stared at him. 'What for?'

He smiled slowly, his eyes running over her in a way that sent the

warm blood pouring into her face.

'I want to take you to bed,' he said gently.

She gasped, pressing her fingers against, her heated cheeks. 'How

dare you!'

'You said total honesty,' he reminded her almost casually.

'That doesn't give you the right to insult me!' she snapped wildly,

her small rounded breasts rising and falling rapidly in her

agitation.

'What insult? You asked me a question, lady, and I gave you the

answer. It might not have been the one you wanted to hear, but

that's just your bad luck. It's the truth, Morgana. I want you and I

mean to have you.'

She dug her nails into the palms of her hands, fighting for self-

control.

'I've already told you, I'm not for sale.'

'And I'm not buying. What I want from you, you'll give me.'

'You're mad!' She got unsteadily to her feet. 'I refuse to listen to

any-more of your crude remarks!'

She took a step towards the door, but he moved with all the lithe

grace of a jungle animal, blocking her way, his hand moving

almost casually to fasten on her arm. Through the wool of her

sweater she was conscious of the pressure of his fingers, his touch

burning her, as if his hand lay on her naked flesh. She faced him

defiantly.

'Let go of me, please.'

'When I'm good and ready,' he clipped in return. 'You're a

delectable little autocrat, but I give the orders here now.'

'Not to me,' she denied. 'Never to me. I have no intention of

working here—working for you in any capacity whatsoever, and

you'd better believe it.'

He said slowly, 'I think you'll change your mind.'

'I know I shan't. Now take your hands off me!'

He grinned, his mouth twisting as he stared down at her. 'You

sound almost convincing. That outraged note is quite effective,' he

remarked. 'The trouble is I don't want to stop touching you, and if

you're honest, you'll admit that isn't what you actually want either.'

'I want you to leave me alone,' she muttered in a savage undertone.

'Stop lying to me.' His own voice deepened, developed a husky

note. His eyes held hers for a long moment, then travelled to her

parted lips. His proximity, the warmth of his body made every

nerve ending tingle in warning. She was. suffocatingly aware that

the slightest movement on her part would bring their bodies into

contact. The blood in her veins seemed to be running slow and

heavy, in contrast to the uncontrolled hurry of her breathing, and

every pulse in her body had its own separate beat. And she knew

that he was quite right. That she didn't want him to stop touching

her, but to draw her closer yet, against the lithe hardness of his

body, while his mouth took possession of hers unhurriedly, and

eternally.

She felt the shock of that realisation penetrate every fibre of her

being, then, her face flaming, she tore herself free of his grasp and

recoiled from him, almost stumbling over the hearthrug in her

haste.

At a safe distance, she faced him again, her chin tilted haughtily.

'I think your past conquests must have gone to your head,' she said

coldly. 'But please understand that I haven't the slightest interest in

you, either as an employer or a man. And now, if you'll excuse me,

I do have other things to do.'

She went towards the door, half expecting him to stop her again,

but this time he made no movement at all. At the door, she risked a

glance back at him, but he had turned away back towards the fire

and was apparently intent on lighting one of the dark cheroots he

smoked.

Once safely out of the room, Morgana ran upstairs to her bedroom.

She closed the door behind her, and on an impulse turned the key

in the lock, something she would normally never have dreamed of

doing. Her legs felt oddly weak, and she leaned against the solid

panels for a moment or two trying to regain her equilibrium.

She had never in her life been made so aware of her own sexuality,

of the vibrant potential of her womanhood, and this unexpected,

unwanted self-revelation had shaken her to the core. She lifted her

head and stared dazedly across the room into her dressing table

mirror, half expecting to see a stranger's face reflected there.

Because inwardly she knew she was not the same person who had

dressed in that room earlier in the day, or who had stood in front of

that mirror, brushing out her cloud of dark hair. She shivered and

ran shaking hands over her denim-clad hips, and down the warm,

smooth length of her thighs.

Escape was the only answer, she told herself, trying to be calm and

practical. She had not bargained for the fact that physical attraction

could outweigh a clash of personalities, amounting to open

hostility.

She hated Lyall Pentreath van Guisen, or whatever he chose to call

himself, but she could not deny that the touch, the taste of him

made her bones melt in the most disturbing manner. Slowly she

pushed up the sleeve of her sweater and looked at her arm. The

marks of his fingers were still visible, as if he had put a brand on

her, the mark of his possession.

Only he doesn't possess me, she thought fiercely, and he never

will. I've let him get too close already. It must never happen again,

or I could betray myself completely, and if that occurred, then how

could I ever live in peace with -myself or respect myself ever

again?

She took a few slow deep breaths, willing herself back to self-

control, determinedly trying to avert her mind from the rather

panic-stricken tenor of her thoughts.

He had caught her off her guard, that was all it was, she thought.

The grief of her father's death and the subsequent revelations about

the entail had left her emotionally vulnerable, and a man as

experienced as Lyall obviously was would have had little difficulty

in recognising this and turning it to his own advantage. It was the

same with everything, she told herself. The job he had offered her

mother was a case in point. He had recognised Mrs Pentreath's

bewilderment and need for security and used it, gaining in the

process not just a manageress for his new project but credit for

having made a generous gesture. Because that was how it would

undoubtedly be interpreted by their friends and neighbours. It

would be said locally that the new owner of Polzion had acted well

by Martin Pentreath's widow, and he would have created himself

some easy goodwill in the area, as well as incurring Elizabeth's

own gratitude.

God, he's despicable, Morgana thought, her hands clenching into

fists. He has every angle weighed up in advance. I hate him!

She walked across the room and sank down on to the cushioned

window seat. The early promise of the day had faded, and clouds

were gathering over the sea. As she watched, the first raindrops

dashed themselves against the window, and she shivered again,

wrapping her arms tightly round her body. It was painful to sit

here, looking at the familiar view and know that it would soon be

lost to her for ever. When she returned to Polzion, it would be as a

visitor, and she would have to time her visits carefully so that they

didn't coincide with Lyall's, she thought, and they would also have

to fit in with the demands of her new employer.

She gave a little sigh. She couldn't have chosen a worse time for

trying to find a job, she thought bleakly. Apart from the high level

of unemployment all over the country, this was now the off-season

for hotel work, which was the only thing she was in any way

qualified for. She had taken a short commercial course while she

was at school, and although her shorthand was a little rusty, her

typing was reasonably efficient, and it was this skill she would