Witching Hour (23 page)

solemn for a party. I must say you're looking exceptionally

gorgeous tonight, Morgana, like some sexy . mediaeval princess. I

bet old Rob's having to fight the other guys off.'

He laughed, but Morgana noticed that Elaine did not share his

amusement, even though she stretched her lips in a dutiful smile.

Her eyes as they studied Morgana were sour and faintly surprised,

like a jealous swan observing the unexpected transformation of an

ugly duckling. Elaine, after all, was not used to hearing other girls

openly admired when she was present.

'Not exactly,' Morgana returned, her own smile stilted. She liked

Jimmy, but then most people did, because although not always

tactful, he was invariably amiable.

'Where did you find the dress? Not in Polzion, surely,' Lucy asked.

'

'Not quite.' Reluctantly Morgana found herself recounting the

dress's history, and its role in her grandparents' courtship.

'Quite a romantic story,' Lucy commented condescendingly when

she had finished.

Elaine's voice cut across her harshly. 'I don't see anything very

romantic about being so hard up for cash that you're forced to wear

a second-hand dress to a party.'

In the shocked silence which followed, Morgana felt hot colour

flood into her face. She saw Rob start forward, his pleasant face

stiff with anger, and put a hand on his arm.

'Rob, it's all right,' she said softly and urgently. 'I—I think I'd like

to go home now, please.'

Jimmy made an embarrassed protest, but she was adamant.

Elaine's malice had soured the evening for her, as the other girl had

fully intended it should.

She sat still and silent in the car while Rob fulminated beside her.

'Honestly, darling, I don't know what came over her. She isn't

usually like this, believe me.' He sighed. 'I shall have a few words

to say to her tomorrow!'

'No, please don't,' she begged. 'She dislikes me quite enough as it

is. A lecture from you would only make things worse.'

Rob gave her a swift glance, his brows drawn together in a frown.

'But she doesn't dislike you,' he objected. 'She has no reason to.'

Morgana shrugged. 'Emotions aren't always rational. We—we just

don't get along. Surely you must have noticed.'

He looked uncomfortable, and she guessed that he had indeed

noticed, but, man-like, hoped the situation would go away if he

didn't mention it.

After an awkward pause he said, 'You don't really know each

other, of course, If you did . . .'

We'd be as sisters, Morgana silently supplied, with a wry twist of

her lips.

She said gently, 'You mustn't hope for too much, Rob.'

'Oddly enough I don't want my only sister and the girl I love at

each other's throats,' he retorted rather sullenly.

'No,' she said with deliberate lightness, resisting the impulse to

retort that most of the hostility was on Elaine's side, and always

had been. 'I can see it might create problems.'

'I'm being serious,' he said crossly.

'I know you are.' Morgana paused. 'Perhaps you want to reconsider

some of the things you said to me earlier in the evening.'

'That's the last thing I want.' His tone was vehement. 'I want you to

marry me, darling, and soon. Elaine's attitude will alter altogether

when she knows you're going to be her sister-in-law.'

'But I haven't said I will yet!' She was faintly alarmed. 'Rob, you

said you'd give me time to think.'

'You can have all the time you need,' he said with a new

confidence in his voice, and she realised he had no doubt about

what her ultimate answer would be. She sank back into the seat,

feeling utterly dismayed, unable to come to terms with this sudden

change in his attitude towards her, the apparent intensifying of his

feelings. _

When they reached Polzion, he said hopefully, 'Coffee?'

Morgana said apologetically, 'Not tonight, Rob. I— I'm rather

tired.'

'That's what you always say,' he complained moodily. He reached

for her, pulling her into his arms. She allowed him to kiss her, but

there was no response to him in her. She felt as if every warm,

breathing sensation in her had been numbed, and she could sense

his bewilderment and disappointment as he realised her.

She stood at the front door and watched until his car was out of

sight, smiling and waving. She felt she owed him that. Then she

relaxed with a deep sigh and let herself noiselessly into the house.

She glanced towards the drawing room door, hoping against hope

that her mother might still be up, as she often was, but the room

was in darkness, apart from a few embers which still smouldered

in the grate. She turned away from the doorway and went slowly

upstairs to her room.

She put on the light, closing the door behind her, and leaning

wearily against the panels for a moment. Then, as she glanced

towards the dressing table, ,she gave an involuntary gasp. Two

unlit candles in brass candlesticks had been placed there, flanking

the mirror, and a large rosy apple on a plate reposed in the middle.

'Elsa,' Morgana thought grimly, not knowing whether to laugh or

cry, and strongly tempted to do both. She'd hardly been more than

a child when Elsa had first told her of the old Hallowe'en

superstition whereby a girl who stood in candlelight, brushing her

hair and eating an apple, would see the reflection of her future

husband in the mirror. She didn't have to eat the apple, of course.

She could put it under her pillow and dream of her lover instead.

For several years she had carried out one ritual or the other with

naive eagerness, but the only face which had ever looked back at

her was her own, and the apple under the pillow had given her a

crick in the neck, so gradually she had let them lapse.

So why had Elsa nudged her to revive them this year of all years?

'She's probably been reading the cards and seen Rob's proposal,

and is hoping to push me in the right direction,' Morgan told

herself without amusement. She was sorely tempted to rid her

dressing table of the whole caboodle with one sweep of her arm,

but guessed the ensuing clatter would wake the whole house and

convince everyone that there were burglars at the very least.

She pulled off her cap and veil and tossed it down on the chair,

pushing her fingers through her hair. The unlit candles seemed to

mock at her, accusing her of cowardice.

She thought, 'It's just a silly superstition, and I'm not going along

with it. I'm too old to believe in such nonsense. I'm not a child any

more. Elsa should be ashamed of herself.'

But even in her own ears, her words lacked conviction. And the

apple looked delicious, she had to admit. There wouldn't be any

harm in eating a little of it, she argued to herself. After all, her

supper at the Templetons' had been interrupted, and she was still

hungry.

A small inner voice which said that it would be far more sensible

to go down to the kitchen and fetch a sandwich and a glass of milk

she ignored. She picked up the box of matches which Elsa had left

conveniently to hand and lit the candles.

There was something about candlelight, she thought dreamily, as

she switched off the main light. It created its own pools of

brilliance, and its own shadows too. She reached for her hairbrush

and began to stroke it across her hair while with the other hand she

picked up the apple and took her first bite. Its flavour was sharp

but juicy, like all the other Hallowe'en apples she had ever tasted,

and suddenly the years rolled back and she was a child, thrilled,

hopeful and a little frightened too, peering into the shadows of the

mirror, waiting for them to lift for one second of infinity and show

her a glimpse of the future.

She bit into the apple again, and she was Eve—all woman, all

tremulous longings, waiting for her lover to come to her. The hand

drawing the brush through her hair grew languorous, and a slow

tingle of pleasure ran from the nape of her neck to the base of her

spine.

The candle flames flared upwards suddenly as if in a sudden

draught, and she stood motionless, the apple falling from her

nerveless fingers and rolling away across the carpet, as she looked

into her mirror and saw, beyond reason and beyond doubt, Lyall's

face.

MORGANA wanted to scream, but the sound choked in her throat,

emerging as a kind of moan. At that moment, hands warm and

hard and all too human descended on her shoulders, swinging her

round.

'It's all right,' Lyall said roughly. 'I'm not a ghost that you've

conjured up.'

'What are you doing here?' In spite of herself, her voice quivered.

He lifted an eyebrow. 'At the risk of sounding repetitious, this is

my home—or one of them.'

'But no one knew where you were. We weren't expecting you.'

He gave her a sardonic look. 'You're not actually admitting that

you might have missed me?'

'No, I'm not,' she said angrily. 'It makes no difference to me where

you are or what you're doing, but other people have different

views. Elaine Donleven, for instance.'

He shrugged. 'Where does she come into this?'

'Tonight is Hallowe'en,' she reminded him. 'You were supposed to

be taking her to the Templetons' party.'

He smiled faintly. 'I wasn't aware I'd made any kind of promise

about it—my plans were far too uncertain for that. I'm afraid the

lovely Elaine tends to take far too much for granted—probably

because she's so lovely.'

'Well, she was very upset,' said Morgana, wondering rather

helplessly why she should be fighting Elaine's battles for her.

'Oh, really?' he said cynically. 'How very uncharacteristic of her.

I'd have said she'd have immediately looked round for an

alternative escort.' He paused. 'Well, am I wrong?'

'No,' she said reluctantly, aware that he was still holding her

shoulders. She moved restively, and he released her.

'I'm sorry if I frightened you,' he said conversationally. 'I assumed

you'd hear the door opening, but you were much too intent. What

spell were you casting tonight?'

Morgana flushed, feeling a total idiot. 'No spell at all,' she denied.

'No?' He bent and retrieved the apple, handing it back to her.

'Finish your supper,' he suggested gently.

'I'm not hungry.' Suddenly she felt close to tears. 'And it's only

Elsa's foolishness anyway.'

'It's more than just foolishness if it prompts you to stand around in

the dark frightening yourself to death,' he said. 'If it's any

consolation to you, you also startled me.'

'I don't see how,' she muttered.

'I was downstairs in the drawing room just now. I looked up,

Morgan le Fay, and there you were standing in the doorway. For a

moment I thought your grandmother's portrait had come to life.

Where on earth did you find that dress?'

'It was in the bottom of one of the trunks, so I decided to wear it to

the party. It Seemed like a good idea at the time,' she said wearily.

'I'd say it was still a good idea.' Lyall looked her over slowly, and

she felt her body grow warm under his all-encompassing gaze.

'Have you any idea what you look like?'

'Oh, yes.' Deliberately she tried to make her voice cool, and even

slightly amused. 'A sexy mediaeval princess was one comment, but

I feel just mediaeval at the moment, so if you're quite satisfied that

I'm not a ghost perhaps you'd get out of my room, because I want

to go to bed.'

He said quite gently, 'So do I,' and reached for her.

Morgana was too startled to struggle or even protest as he gathered

her to him. His hands burned through the thin silk of the gown, and

she could feel the texture of the suit he was wearing, the imprint of

every button and fastening on his clothes on her skin as is she had

been naked.

He kissed her hard and deep, bending her backwards so far that she

thought her spinal column would snap. She tried to say 'No,' but

his invasion of her mouth was too total, too ruthless. Speech was

impossible, the simple act of breathing nearly so.

When his mouth left hers to travel the length of her slender throat,

it was a reprieve, but only a short-lived one, she thought dizzily.

The movements of his lips on her skin were devastating,

plundering a response she could neither understand nor control.