Witching Hour (24 page)

Her arms went up to twine round his neck, her fingers twisting

almost convulsively in his hair, and she heard him give a groan of

satisfaction.

At last he tore himself away from her. His eyes burned down into

hers. He said thickly, 'My God, these last days have been endless! I

couldn't get you out of my mind for a moment in Sweden. You

even kept me awake at night.' He laughed unsteadily. 'You're the

first lady who's ever done that by being absent.'

She said in a low voice, 'Lyall—let go of me, please.'

'Don't be a little fool. That isn't what you want, and you know it.'

He kissed her again .with a searching warmth that left her pliant

and gasping in his embrace. 'And it isn't what I want either,' he

murmured against her lips.

'Wanting isn't enough,' she pleaded, trying to think coherently

against the drugging sensations that his kisses were evoking.

'I'll make it enough,' he promised huskily. He ran a caressing

finger across her lips, then stroked the line of her jaw, and the

supple column of her throat. He drew a sharp breath and let his

fingertips brush across the swell of her breasts above the square

neckline of her dress. Her body arched in immediate instinctive

response, and she heard him laugh deep in his throat.

'You don't need this dress,' he said. 'You wear silk already—every

inch of you, my cool, beautiful witch.' His hand slid over her

shoulders and down her back, making a nonsense of the tiny hooks

and eyes on the bodice which she and Elsa had laboured to fasten.

The, dress slipped away from her, and she gasped, seizing it and

pulling it up to cover her.

'Let it go,' he ordered. 'Unless you want me to tear it off you.'

He wasn't teasing. There was a . note in his voice that warned her

that he was deadly serious, and with a little helpless gesture she

obeyed his order, letting the softness of the green silk drift down

round her ankles, lifting her hands to cover her bared breasts.

'Don't hide from me,' he said quietly. 'It's too late for that,

Morgana, and we both know it. You cast your spell and now we're

both caught.'

It was true, she thought almost faintly. He wasn't holding her. He

wasn't even touching her, but the look in his eyes was a potent

caress, making her shiver and burn at the same time. She found

herself swaying towards him, and with a little groan he reached for

her.

His lips were achingly sensuous as they parted hers, and she

returned his kiss without reservation, the slow sweet spiral of

desire uncoiling slowly in the pit of her stomach. His hands

cupped her breasts as if they were flowers, and she gave a whisper

of pleasure against his mouth.

He whispered, 'Help me,' and she realised he meant with his

clothes. Her fingers shook as she unbuttoned his shirt, curling her

hand against the firm muscularity of his chest. He lifted her in his

arms, burying his face in the warm valley between her breasts, his

mouth and tongue moving erotically against her flesh. Morgana

clung to him trembling, every nerve ending in her body alive and

pulsating with a need she had never guessed existed. But she knew

now, and she knew too that before Lyall had finished with her,

every facet of that need would have been explored and fulfilled.

She pressed her body against his, winding her arms and legs

around him, answering his sensual demand with her own.

'Hellfire, Morgana,' his voice was harsh, 'I'm trying to be patient—

I know it's the first time for you. Do you want me to blow what's

left of my self-control completely?'

'Yes,' she whispered, burying her face in the curve between his

neck and shoulder, overwhelmed by the scent, the taste of his

heated, sweat-dampened skin.

Then don't say you weren't warned,' his voice deepened and

became husky.

He lifted and carried her, and she felt the yielding softness of her

bed beneath her back. It was darker here, out of the range of the

flickering candlelight, and she propped herself up on an elbow,

looking for him. He had moved away to discard the remainder of

his clothing, and with them he seemed to toss away the last

vestiges of the smooth, civilised veneer he presented to the world.

She realised that the feeling of power he emanated did not come

merely from his wealth, or the size of the business empire he

controlled. Stripped, he was physically tough, lean and muscular,

broad at the shoulder, tapering down to slim hips. She stared at

him, filling her eyes with him, while her pulse beats quickened and

her mouth grew dry.

As he came back to bed, she said quickly, 'The candles.'

'Leave them.' There was a breath of laughter in his voice. 'It's too

late for shyness now, lady, and it's my turn to look at you.' He lay

down beside her, taking her face gently in his hands. He said,

'Each night in Sweden I used to torture myself picturing you like

this, with your hair spread across the pillow.' He lifted a few

strands to his mouth, pulling at them gently with his teeth, then let

his hands slide the length of her body, lingering, caressing,

arousing, while his mouth nibbled teasing, provoking kisses over

her face and throat. Morgana was on fire for him. This was what

she had wanted, she thought dazedly, to feel his body next to hers

like this, and the reality was better than any imagining. Tentatively

at first, then with growing boldness, she allowed her hands to

begin their own exploration.

'God!' The word was forced from him almost convulsively. 'I want

you so much, I've got to have you. Darling, I—I'll try to be gentle .

. .'

'It doesn't matter,' she gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders as

he moved across her, and her eyes closed in surrender. Somewhere

she was dimly aware of an alien sound, but all her absorption wag

centred on Lyall, on the exquisite sensations his hands and mouth

were rousing, and all the satisfaction her body was screaming for.

So that when he jack-knifed away from her in a sudden tense

movement, the shock was all the greater. She stared up at him, her

eyes widening endlessly, realising almost incredulously that she no

longer had his undivided attention, and at the same moment she

recognised what the alien sound was. It was the front door bell,

and as she listened unbelievingly she heard the sound of the

knocker being vigorously applied.

Lyall muttered savagely, 'What in the name of God .. .' He swung

himself to the floor, reaching for his clothes. He threw Morgana a

glance in which impatience was pre-eminent.

'I'd put something on if I were you,' he advised drily. 'The whole

house will be awake soon it that racket goes on.'

Her face crimsoned as his words registered, and she sat up in

silence, grabbing for her dressing gown.

He went on almost conversationally, 'I take it you weren't

expecting any callers at this hour.'

'Of course not.' To her amazement, her voice sounded almost

normal. 'It's after midnight.'

Lyall looked at her with irony. 'I'm fully aware of that. The

witching hour. Don't you think you should answer that door before

someone knocks it down?'

Thrusting her feet into heelless slippers, Morgana fled from the

room. At the top of the stairs she paused, trying to steady her

breathing and regain a modicum of control over her shaking limbs.

Below her, Elsa, massive in a flowered housecoat, was already

making her way grumbling to the door. As Morgana reached the

foot of the stairs, she had unlocked the door and drawn back the

massive top bolt and was demanding truculently of the unseen

caller, 'Whatever is it?'

She was thrust aside and Elaine Donleven, strangely dishevelled,

almost fell into the hall.

She said thickly, 'Phone—I must phone. Jimmy's hurt.'

Morgana went to her. 'What's happened. Where is he?'

Elaine gestured, her breathing shallow. 'Down—by the gate. The

car went into the ditch. He took the corner too fast.' She drew a

long shuddering breath. 'He hit his head. I—must phone.'

'I'll do that,' said Morgana. She glanced at Elsa. 'Will you take

Miss Donleven in the drawing room and bring her some tea?'

But Elaine was paying attention to neither of them. Her eyes were

riveted on Lyall, who was coming slowly down the stairs.

She cried out, 'Oh, Lyall—darling!' and flung herself into his arms,

sobbing hysterically.

He said quite gently, 'It's all right, Elaine. We'll see to everything.

You go with Elsa and try to keep calm. I'll go down and stay with

Jimmy while Morgana gets an ambulance and phones his parents.'

He freed himself from her clinging hands and turned towards the

front door.

Her telephoning completed, Morgana went along to the kitchen to

see if the tea was ready. Elsa was still muttering darkly to herself,

but the tea was hot and strong, and the tray daintily laid.

Morgana said wearily, 'What a dreadful thing. Daddy always said

there would be an accident on that corner sooner or later. But what

on earth were they doing on this road anyway? The turning for the

Home Farm was about a mile back.'

Elsa snorted. 'Off to the clifftop for a spot of canoodling, of

course.'

Morgana had never felt less like laughing in her life, but the

application of the word 'canoodling' to the elegant and

sophisticated Elaine brought a reluctant grin to her face.

When she carried the tray into the drawing room, she found Elaine

lying on the sofa with her feet up and a peevish expression on her

lovely face.

Elaine said sharply, 'Where's Lyall? Isn't he back yet?'

'I imagine he intends to stay with Jimmy until the ambulance gets

here,' Morgana returned pacifically, pouring the tea and handing

her a cup.

'But I need him here with me,' Elaine protested. 'I've had a terrible

shock.' She sipped the tea and grimaced. 'Ugh, it's got sugar in it!'

'For the terrible shock,' Morgana said drily, adding some judicious

pieces of wood to the still smouldering embers in the hearth and

coaxing them into a small blaze.

'Jimmy should never have been driving, of course. He'd had far too

much to drink,' said Elaine after a pause. 'I wanted to call a taxi,

but he wouldn't let me.' She shot Morgana a venomous look. 'If

Rob had been around, none of this would have happened.'

'Are you trying to say this is all my fault?' Morgana asked

helplessly.

'Well, there was certainly no need for you to flounce off like that,'

Elaine said coldly. 'You're far too thin-skinned, my dear.'

There was an obvious retort to that, but Morgana forbore to make

it. And at that moment Lyall came in.

He said abruptly, 'Templeton's father has arrived. He's going to

stay with him until the ambulance gets here—not that it's

necessary. I think he'll have a black eye tomorrow, but that's all.

The car was the chief sufferer.' He looked at Elaine. 'Perhaps you'd

better stay the night. Morgana will get a room ready for you.'

'Yes, of course.' Morgana rose from the hearthrug, tightening the

sash of her dressing gown as she did so, desperately conscious that

she was naked beneath it, and aware of Elaine's increasingly

speculative gaze.

Her prime objective when she got upstairs was to put some clothes

on. The act of putting on jeans and sweater and brushing back her

hair, securing it at the nape of her neck with an elastic band,

helped in some odd way. Physically and mentally, she ached, but

at least she presented a cool and reasonably competent appearance

to the world.

There was nothing at Polzion House to compare with Elaine's

luxurious bedroom at the Home Farm, but Morgana did her best,

and when the room was prepared with freshly aired sheets, and the

bedside lamp lit invitingly, it had a comfortable if rather faded

charm. Gritting her teeth, Morgana arranged her favourite

nightdress on the bed, and added a spare toothbrush, still in its

cellophane wrapping.

As she turned to leave the room after a last glance round, it was to

see Lyall standing in the doorway watching her.

She asked, 'Checking on the suitability of the accommodation?'

'Not exactly,' he said. 'You and I have some unfinished business.'

She shook her head. 'No, we haven't. This is my business—the