Charade in Winter

by Anne Mather

  Alix’s breathing was as unsteady as the rest of her. The things he was saying, the words he was using, were as double-edged as a rapier, and just as dangerous.

  ‘I want to go back to the house, Mr Morgan,’ she blurted out childishly, and at last he gave her his undivided attention.

  ‘Why? You were in no hurry before.’

  Alix made a futile gesture. ‘I’m interrupting you…’

  He shook his head. ‘No, you’re not. I’d gone back to the house. That was how I found you were missing.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Alix was momentarily speechless, but when he left the plinth to approach the fire and kick carelessly at the smouldering logs with his booted foot, she moved away from the table in the hope of putting some distance between them. She had the choice of stumbling over the tools and lifting tackle, which she guessed he used to swing the huge blocks of stone from the floor below, then edging past the plinth and circling the central well to reach the stairs, or she could simply walk past him, the way she had come in. And what was she afraid of, after all? He wouldn’t touch her!

  Holding her head up high, she walked round his bed—and came up against the hard length of him as he stepped into her path. She gulped as the impact knocked the breath out of her, and then trembled violently when his hands linked themselves loosely about her throat.

  ‘Tell me what you meant,’ he demanded softly, and she couldn’t think for the pounding of her heart in her ears.

  ‘Wh—what do you mean?’ she faltered.

  ‘What have I implied? And to whom?’

  ‘Oh!’ She went weak and would have swayed against him had she not exercised an extreme effort of will power. ‘You—you don’t have to take everything I say literally.’

  ‘But I do,’ he insisted, his eyes glowing maliciously. His thumbs caressed her ear lobes. ‘I mean to know. One way or the other.’

  ‘I think you ought to let me go,’ she declared unsteadily. ‘I didn’t ask to come here, and this—this isn’t the usual way to treat a—a governess.’

  ‘I agree. But you’re no usual governess, are you, Mrs Thornton?’

  ‘Aren’t I?’ she echoed. Then she remembered: ‘No—no, of course I’m not. I’m a librarian. I suppose that’s what you meant.’

  ‘What else could I mean?’ he countered, and she trembled beneath his probing fingers.

  ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘stop teasing me!’

  ‘Was I doing that?’ he parried, and she lifted her hands in protest to push him away.

  But he had loosened his thick suede jacket, and when her hands encountered the smoothness of his shirt they lingered sensuously, feeling the muscle under the silk material. As if taking her hesitation as an invitation, his hands left her throat to unzip her anorak, so that it fell open to reveal the rounded curves of her breasts, clearly outlined beneath the woollen sweater.

  Immediately Alix came to her senses and would have drawn back, but his hands at her elbows prevented her, propelling her towards him. She had never been so close to a man’s body before, and the hard muscle of his legs against hers robbed her of all strength.

  ‘I imagine Myra and her mother believe our relationship to be an—intimate one, don’t they?’ he demanded roughly, and she could only nod her head. ‘And you think I encouraged that belief?’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ she protested, dragging her face back from his chest to look up at him. ‘Please—let me go!’

  But the slightly cruel face looking down into hers held no sympathy for her appeal, and his dark eyes explored every inch of flushed skin and cheekbone, lingering disturbingly on the wide fullness of her mouth.

  ‘I don’t think you really mean that,’ he said at last, and she twisted against him desperately, realising that the longer he held her like this, the weaker her desire to escape was becoming.

  ‘I do!’ she cried, and as she did so she became aware of a hardening in him, a throbbing urgency that spread from his body to hers and suffused her limbs with a burning heat that ran through her veins like wildfire.

  ‘Keep still!’ he muttered thickly, and she knew that he was no longer in control of the situation. And while she rejoiced in it, she also knew that this was her last chance to get away from him. If he bent his head…if he laid his mouth on hers…

  But with an exclamation he set her free and turned away from her abruptly, raking unsteady hands through his hair, striving for composure. This was her opportunity, but strangely she didn’t want to go. She stood there, feeling like a schoolgirl wringing her hands, and said foolishly: ‘Are you all right?’

  He turned on her then: ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I’m fine!’ he snarled angrily. ‘What are you waiting for? I thought you were eager to get away?’

  Alix licked her lips. ‘Are—are you coming?’

  ‘Why?’ Oliver gave her a smouldering look. ‘Can’t you find your way back?’

  Alix didn’t answer him, turning away and noticing the unmade bed once more. Without really understanding why, she moved towards it, taking the blankets and pulling them straight, smoothing the covering quilt with unnecessary care.

  ‘Leave it!’ he snapped coldly, taking off his coat. Then: ‘Just give Cinnamon her head. She knows the way back.’

  Alix straightened. ‘Of course. She was your wife’s horse.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Alix shrugged. ‘Just that…well…’

  ‘You think Joanne came frequently here to watch her husband working?’ he demanded.

  ‘She—she must have done.’

  ‘No!’ He spoke harshly. ‘Oh, she came here frequently all right—but not when I was working.’

  ‘No?’ Alix was confused.

  ‘No.’ He glared at her grimly. ‘Would you like the facts? Would you like to hear how my wife spent her time when I was elsewhere?’

  ‘No!’ Now Alix looked away, staring down at the toes of her boots, realising that unwittingly she had aroused memories of a less than pleasant nature.

  ‘Why not?’ In an instant Oliver had covered the floor between them, and was standing staring down at her with tormented eyes. ‘You stirred up this hornets’ nest! You with your talk of things implied and never spoken; your innocence—that isn’t innocence at all!’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she declared nervously.

  ‘But you’re married yourself, aren’t you?’ he mocked. ‘You must know what goes on. Why else are you here, and your husband almost three hundred miles away?’

  Alix’s face burned. ‘That…that’s different…’

  ‘How? A civilised affair, is that what you mean? A mutual decision to lead separate lives?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  He stared at her angrily for a few moments, and then his face suddenly relaxed. He smiled, but his smile was crooked, and there was little amusement in it. ‘Oh, Alix!’ he said, and she was too distraught to notice he had used her Christian name. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘That—that’s your prerogative, of course.’

  ‘My prerogative,’ he mimicked her. ‘What long words you use, Grandmother!’

  Alix took a sideways step to get past him, but again he prevented her, grasping the collar of her anorak, so that when she struggled wildly to free herself she only succeeded by leaving it in his hands. She stood staring at him impotently, her arms wrapped almost protectively around her body, and he tipped his head on to one side.

  ‘You’re not leaving without your coat, are you?’ he taunted.

  Alix sighed. ‘May I have it, please?’

  He nodded. ‘If you come and get it.’

  Alix came forward slowly, aware of a feeling of inevitability. She held out her hand, but he tossed the anorak aside, and caught her wrist instead, jerking her towards him.

  ‘You—you liar!’ she gasped, trying unsuccessfully to free herself, but he shook his head as he pushed her down on the bed and imprisoned her body with the weight of his own.

  ‘Y
ou asked if you could have it,’ he told her harshly, ‘and I agreed. I don’t recall exactly stating what.’

  ‘Oh, you—you pig!’ she choked, twisting herself desperately from side to side, but he hauled her close against his now fully-aroused muscles and sinews, and her limbs melted beneath his thrusting masculinity. When one hand imprisoned her face long enough to cover her mouth with his own, all resistance went out of her, and she yielded to the insidious desire to respond to his undoubted experience.

  She sank down into the pliant softness of the mattress, her mouth opening beneath his, admitting his passionate exploration of its sweetness. Her hands, which had been trapped by her sides, slid up over his thighs and the base of his spine to lock together in the small of his back, holding him closer as his lips pillaged the hollow of her eyes and ears, his teeth fastening on her lobe and tugging her awareness. His tongue blazed its own trail of fire down her neck to where the neckline of her sweater created an impassable barrier, and she heard his muffled oath.

  ‘Let me take it off,’ he demanded roughly, and then his hands were beneath the sweater, forcing it upward. When his mouth took possession of one hardening nipple, she moaned with pleasure, moving sinuously against him, until he said hoarsely: ‘Wait!’ and rolled on to his back to unfasten the belt of his pants, pulling his shirt free and loosening the buttons to reveal a brown chest lightly covered with dark hair. Alix turned on her side, watching him, half-bemused, her emotions roused to such a pitch that she was unwilling for him to move away from her. When his shirt was unfastened, she shifted so that she was looking down at him, deliberately lowering herself against him until his hand came behind her head, forcing her mouth to his once more.

  He rolled over then, and his breath filled her mouth as he groaned urgently: ‘Let me love you, Alix,’ and buried his face between her breasts.

  The sudden crash of the door downstairs as it banged back against the wall of the tower was a terrifying sound in the darkening room and even Oliver started up from the bed as a masculine voice echoed hollowly up to them:

  ‘You up there, Mr Morgan?’

  It was Giles, and with a muffled curse, Oliver rose to his feet, searching for his shirt. ‘Yes!’ he called tersely. ‘What do you want?’

  In an agony of embarrassment, Alix scrambled off the other side of the bed, pulled on her sweater and ran combing hands through her tumbled hair. She was shaking, as much from reaction as anything, but a sense of horror was filling her at the realisation of what had almost happened. Dear God, he thought she was a married woman, a woman moreover who was separated from her husband and therefore not averse to taking a lover, while she…she…

  Oliver had moved to the head of the stairs, and she heard Giles explaining: ‘Lady Morgan’s here, sir. She arrived about half an hour ago, and nobody knew where you were—’

  Lady Morgan! Alix quivered. Oh, God, what was she doing here? What would she think when she discovered her son-in-law and the governess she had supplied for him were out together?

  ‘I’d taken Poseidon,’ Oliver stated grimly, clearly not enchanted by this news, and Giles hastened on:

  ‘I see that, sir. But you didn’t tell Thomas where were going—’

  ‘He wasn’t there.’

  ‘He’d be having his tea-break sir, like as not. Mrs Brandon gives him tea in the kitchen on cold days—’

  ‘I’m not really interested in what Mrs Brandon does,’ replied Oliver with freezing candour. ‘You must have noticed there were two horses tethered outside.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Giles sounded subdued.

  ‘But you chose to come in anyway.’

  ‘The young lady’s with you, sir?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Yes—well, young Thomas was worried about her, too. Seeing as it was getting dark, and her not used to riding here…’

  ‘She’s quite safe, I assure you.’

  The cold irony in Oliver’s voice did not go unnoticed. Alix heard Giles give a deep sigh, and then he said: ‘That’s all right, then, isn’t it?’ He paused. ‘Sorry to have troubled you, sir.’

  Oliver said nothing, but he flashed a look in Alix’s direction and when he saw she was dressed again, the coldness of his expression almost froze her where she stood. The sound of the outer door closing with rather less ferocity signified Giles’ departure, and buckling his belt Oliver walked slowly back to where she was standing. His dark face was taut with displeasure, and he reached wordlessly for his jacket and put it on.

  ‘I suppose you want to go back now,’ he stated flatly.

  Alix cleared her throat. ‘As—as you have a guest waiting for you, I think that would be best, don’t you?’

  Oliver gave her a hard look. ‘Reprieve?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You do, you know.’ He stepped aside and gestured to her to precede him towards the stairs. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well. I can do without that kind of entanglement.’

  Alix gasped. ‘You flatter yourself!’

  His expression was wry. ‘Don’t go coy on me again, Alix. We both knew what we were doing a few minutes ago. I understand how you feel—having been married myself.’

  Alix stared at his sardonic face for a moment, tempted to strike him for his deliberate provocation, but then she walked straight past him, not trusting herself to say anything more. And what could she say, after all? How could she explain to him that she had never allowed any man to touch her as he had touched her, or that the intimate aspects of such a relationship were as yet unfamiliar to her?

  During the ride back to Darkwater Hall an uneasy silence prevailed, and Alix left Oliver at the stables to explain the situation to Thomas, and ran swiftly back to the house.

  To her astonishment she heard Melissa’s excited voice as soon as she entered the hall, and the sound of the front door closing brought both the child and the woman with her to the door of the drawing room where they had been sitting.

  Lady Morgan viewed Alix’s appearance with evident disappointment, as indeed did Melissa. Obviously, they had hoped to see Oliver, and after a brief word of greeting, Alix explained that he was at the stables and would be in shortly.

  ‘You’ve been riding with Daddy!’ exclaimed Melissa accusingly. ‘And you didn’t take me! You mean thing! I—I hate you!’

  ‘Melissa!’ Lady Morgan spoke reprovingly, offering an apologetic smile and Alix was at once made aware of the charm which exuded from all the Morgans. As well as being Oliver’s mother-in-law, she was also his aunt, and although her dark hair was now liberally streaked with grey, she was still an extremely good-looking woman. Unlike the archetypal image of a dowager lady, she wore a slim-fitting green trouser suit, and although the pearls around her neck were real, the matching rings on her fingers were of a much more modern design. ‘Melissa,’ she said again, ‘apologise at once!’

  Melissa pursed her lips, and perhaps it was just as well that Oliver chose that moment to come in. A confrontation with the child was the last thing Alix needed just now after the events of the last hour, and besides, if Melissa were well enough to get up and greet her grandmother, perhaps she was well enough to take up lessons again. Lessons! Deep inside her, Alix could feel hysterically hollow laughter rising. How could she think of lessons after the traumatic emotions Oliver had aroused in her? Her sanest course would be to pack her bags and leave tonight, and forget all about the Morgans, if she could…

  Now Oliver’s cold glance flicked her like the blade of a knife before he came forward to greet his aunt, kissing her cheek with a gentleness Alix had never experienced. He touched Melissa’s cheek with careless fingers, and then said sardonically: ‘Well, well—my two favourite females! To what do I owe the honour?’

  Alix registered the snub as she went towards the stairs, but Lady Morgan turned from greeting her nephew to say: ‘Won’t you join us for tea, Mrs Thornton?’

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ refused Alix politely, avoiding Oliver’s cold eyes. ‘I—er—I’
m feeling rather tired. If you don’t mind, I’ll join you later.’

  ‘Very well.’ Lady Morgan made an understanding gesture, and shooed Melissa before her back into the drawing room. But as Alix fled up the stairs she was aware of a tall figure standing watching her with unmistakable impatience.

  After reaching the comparative security of her room, Alix went into the bathroom and turned on the taps. She poured bath salts liberally into the water, needing the physical sensation of cleansing they gave, sponging vigorously at her breasts, as if to erase the sensuous brush of Oliver’s lips.

  Afterwards, wrapped in a warm towelling robe, she curled up in a chair before her television set to try to dismiss thoughts of the afternoon from her mind. But they wouldn’t be dislodged. Time and again she relived those moments in his arms, moments when all the moral teachings of her girlhood had been thrust aside by the purely sexual assault he had made on her senses. She had never felt that kind of weakness before, never thought herself the kind of girl to experience actual physical desire for a man. She thought of all the other men she had gone out with, danced and dined with, and later shared embraces with. She had all the normal reactions to members of the opposite sex, but always she had been in control—until now.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DINNER was not the ordeal Alix had expected.

  After hesitating for some while over what she should wear, she had eventually descended the stairs in a simple jersey caftan, its muted shades of blue and green throwing her fair beauty into stark relief.

  She found Lady Morgan alone in the drawing room, seated at the piano, running her fingers lightly over the keys, but she looked up with a smile at Alix’s entrance and immediately rose to her feet.

  ‘No, please…’ Alix didn’t want to interrupt her. ‘Go on. What was that you were playing as I came in?’

  The older woman glanced down at the keys. ‘The nocturne?’ she asked, shaking her head. ‘One of Chopin’s easier compositions. But I’m no pianist, Mrs Thornton. This is Oliver’s piano. Haven’t you heard him play?’