Witching Hour (19 page)

was too late.

In its way, his kiss was as merciless a punishment as the beating

she had suffered at his hands. She moaned feebly under the

insistent harshness of his mouth, as he forced her lips apart. His

hand in the small of her back ground her body against his, giving

her intimate and indisputable proof of his physical arousal. His

other hand was lifting the edge of her sweater, and sliding beneath

it, his fingers spreading across her rib-cage and upwards to find the

tiny clip that fastened her bra in the cleft between her breasts and

release it.

Morgana gasped helplessly. She couldn't breathe. She could barely

think. And somewhere deep inside her a small hot flicker of wild,

degrading excitement was beginning to build to a flame.

Lyall's hand cupped her bared breast, his fingers stroking the rosy

peak until she thought she would faint with pleasure. The arm that

held her pinned against him was no longer a prison but a delight.

She wanted to be closer yet. For the first time in her life she

wanted to be naked in a man's arms, for every inch of her to be

bared and offered for his caresses. She wanted the secret

knowledge of his own flesh under her hands.

And all the time the bruising kiss went on, drinking her dry,

draining her will to resist. In the stalls behind her the horses

moved, stamping their feet, and whickering softly. Above their

heads a small bird flew crazily around the rafters, uttering cries of

alarm. And in the distance there were voices.

Lyall heard them. He lifted himself away from her with a faint

groan, pushing a hand through his dishevelled hair. His eyes were

fever-bright as he looked at her, but his voice was cool as he said,

'They're coming. You'd better tidy yourself.'

The blood rushed into her face. She didn't want to have to see

anyone. She could imagine only too well the sort of appearance

she presented, mouth swollen, eyes blurred with unfamiliar

passion, but she felt incapable of movement. Her body was weak,

as if she had been battered in a strong sea, swimming against a

current which was too fierce, too masterful. She was still gasping

for breath, and even the rhythm of her body, the sure beat of her

pulses seemed to have altered in some strange and fundamental

way.

She said in a voice she barely recognised, 'I—must go home.'

'I'll drive you.'

'No!' Her voice rose and cracked. 'No, I'll walk.'

She needed to walk. She needed to move, to make her sawdust

limbs obey her, to breathe deep lungfuls of moorland air, to regain

in some small measure her equilibrium.

And, more important, she didn't want to be alone with Lyall,

especially in the confined passenger space of a car. His touch

could break her, she knew that now. His kisses could turn her

blood to fire. There must be no more of them.

She looked down at the cobbled floor, and felt sick with self-

disgust. He would have known, of course. He was far too

experienced not to realise the effect that he'd had on her. And the

fact that he had been similarly aroused made no difference at all to

her sense of shame. After all, he had never made a secret of the

fact that he wanted her. It was she who had flung her denial, her

rejection in his face. And now he knew she was his for the taking.

Lyall said abruptly, 'If you don't want to face them, I'll head them

off. Will you be all right?'

'Wonderful.' Morgana invested the word with all the bitter irony of

which she was capable.

He said, 'I didn't intend this.'

'Which? The—assault, or the interruption?' Her voice shook. 'On

second thoughts, I'd rather not know. Now, may I go, please?' She

still wasn't looking at him. She never lifted her eyes, so she could

only sense that he had turned and gone, and that she was alone.

The next few days were some of the
most
difficult in her life.

She had thought she had reached her lowest ebb after her father's

death when they learned what was to happen to Polzion, but she

had been wrong. And the worst of it was that she had no one with

whom to share her unhappiness.

She had to play a part—to act that her feeling towards Lyall were

Unchanged, that he still aroused cool dislike and distrust in her.

And, she supposed, it was true that she did not trust him, but then

she no longer trusted herself. That was the shattering blow he had

dealt her—or rather, the first of them, and the only one she could

face.

It was hard having to carry out her duties in the hotel, when all she

wanted was to hide in her room and never have to see anyone

again. The only way she could survive was to turn herself into a

kind of automaton, who worked and spoke, and even occasionally

smiled as if she was programmed by some inner computer.

She was thankful that her mother's preoccupation with the plans

for Polzion prevented her from noticing that all was far from well

with her daughter's emotional life. She would have been

concerned, and might have asked questions for which Morgana

would have been unable to find answers—or at least answers the

implications of which she would be able to bear.

She could not fool Elsa, of course. She had been answering her at

random, one morning, too immersed in her painful inner world to

pay much attention to the reality around her, when the older

woman had snapped at her, and Morgana had burst into tears. It

hadn't been that much of a shock. Elsa had been at Polzion for a

great many years, and tended to spare no one the rough side of her

tongue when roused, so she should have known what to expect.

But she was unprepared for what happened next. Elsa gathered the

shaking girl into her arms and began to soothe and pet her as if she

were a small child again.

'There, my lovely, there, my handsome, don't take on so. 'Tes pain

and woe, like I told you, and change and turmoil, but there it is,

and 'it won't last for ever.'

No, Morgana thought, nothing lasted for ever. Not agony, not

hatred, not even love. Even the mention of the word was enough to

make her flinch.

She did her best to keep out of Lyall's way, but every glimpse of

him, even the sound of his voice in an adjoining room was enough

to send her pulse pounding.

It wasn't love, she assured herself desperately and with

monotonous regularity. It was physical attraction, and totally

transient. He had turned her world upside down in every possible

way, so there was every reason for her to be aware of him.

She hadn't been sure what his reaction would be when he saw her

again, and it had taken every scrap of courage she possessed to

walk into the dining room that evening, and serve him his meal as

if nothing had happened. And yet it seemed he was content with

that. His manner was casual, verging on the aloof. There was

nothing to indicate that this was the man whose passion had

carried her to the brink of surrender only a few hours before.

But if that was the way he wanted it, then it was fine with her, she

told herself defensively. In fact, it was ideal, considering that they

had to work together.

Lyall had told her to her face that he hadn't intended that little

scene in the stables, and she believed him. If he was honest, he

was probably bitterly regretting it, especially when they could so

easily have been discovered by Elaine. She might not have been

prepared to believe that he was making love to another girl simply

because she had made him very angry. But there was no other

explanation, and Morgana ruefully had to acknowledge that she

had probably asked for it. She had behaved badly, and she had

been punished for it, as if she had been a naughty child.

As the days passed, she was forced to the realisation that Lyall was

spending a lot of his time at Home Farm. He never said where he

was going, or at least he never told her, although her mother

seemed
au fait
with his movements.

It was Rob who confirmed her suspicions of where Lyall passed

his days.

'It's quite amusing,' he said over a drink at the Polzion Arms one

evening, although he didn't sound particularly amused. 'Mother

and Father were considering making an offer for Polzion, and now

it looks as if your cousin is about to take us over instead.'

Morgana sipped her shandy. 'What makes you think so?'

'Well, he's never away from the place,' he said rather irritably.

'That pleases Elaine,, of course, but I can't say I'm particularly

thrilled. He wants to know a little too much about the running of

the stables for my liking.'

Morgana shrugged. 'Well, it isn't as if you've got anything to hide.'

'No,' Rob admitted. 'But let's just say that smooth operators like

your cousin aren't my favourite sort of people.'

'I wish you'd stop calling him my cousin!' snapped Morgana with

sudden fierceness. 'The relationship between us is so remote it

barely exists. My God, he doesn't even use the family name,

except when it suits him,'

'I think he uses everyone, and everything when it suits him,' Rob

said dourly.

He was a better judge of character than she had ever given him

credit for, Morgana thought drily. Because that was what Lyall had

been doing, of course. It must have annoyed him to have

encountered her dislike, so he had decided to amuse himself at her

expense, until it bored him. Or until he met Elaine and realised that

she would make a more entertaining companion, she thought, with

an inward grimace of pain. Elaine spoke his language. She was

used to his world, or at least the fringe of it. Even if he used and

left her, she would survive. She was a great survivor.

Whereas I, Morgana thought, could well bleed to death for the rest

of my life.

Rob asked with a touch of irritation, 'What's the matter, love? You

spend most of your time in a trance these days. I don't seem to be

getting through to you.'

'I'm sorry,' she apologised, flushing. 'What were you saying?'

He looked faintly mollified. 'I was asking if you were going to

come to this party of Lucy Templeton's with me. It's a Hallowe'en

do, and she wants us all to dress up. It should be quite amusing.'

'Oh, I don't think it's my sort of thing,' she said quickly. 'Besides,

Elaine will be going, won't she? I hardly think she'd be very

pleased to see me there after what happened the other day—after

the things she said to me.'

'Oh, come off it, love.' Rob looked a little uncomfortable. 'You

mustn't take that much notice of what Elaine says. Her bark is

always worse than her bite, as the saying is, and I'm sure she's

forgotten all about that by now.'

'Do you?' Morgana was sceptical.

'Why, yes. In fact, she asked me if I was going to bring you to the

party. That day at the paddock—she spoke in the heat of the

moment. You should have heard what she said to me when she got

me alone later!' He gave a rueful sigh.

Morgana put a hand on his arm. 'I'm sorry if I got you into trouble.

It was a mad thing to do, and I should never have started it.'

'Well, it all turned out all right in the end.' He paused. 'Lyall really

could be a first-class rider, you know, if he had more time to give

to it. And he knows a hell of a lot about horses—more than I do, to

tell the truth. If anything goes wrong these days, Elaine asks him

his advice first.' There was a slightly sullen note in his voice,

Morgana was quick to notice.

She said gently, 'I'm sure that Elaine does value your advice, Rob.

It's just that Lyall is—a novelty.'

'I think she plans to make him a permanent fixture,' Rob said

grimly. 'I don't know whether I could stomach him as a brother-in-

law. But of course he may have his own ideas about that too.'

'More than likely,' she managed, past the sudden dryness of her

throat. 'I—I didn't realise it was getting that serious.'

Rob shrugged. 'It all depends how serious is serious. I would

reckon he's a man who likes to have a woman interested in him

most of the time. Certainly he's not one of nature's celibates. But

Elaine knows what she's doing, or I've always reckoned so. But I'm

wondering whether she mightn't have bitten off more than she

could chew.'

'What about your parents? What do they think?' Morgana ventured.