The Unbreakable Spell

by Barbara Cartland

  “Where are you going?” Rocana asked.

  “To Nice,” Caroline answered. “Is it not so exciting? And although we guessed you were in Paris, we would not have dared to call and see you if the Marquis had not found out where we were staying and brought us here.”

  She smiled at him as she added,

  “You are so much nicer than I thought you were, that I feel I ought to apologise.”

  “That would embarrass me,” the Marquis replied, “and I am only so glad that everything has turned out so well for us – all.”

  The two men went ahead into the hall to see if the carriage which was to take them to the station was ready, and Caroline put her hand on Rocana’s arm as she said in a low voice,

  “You are all right, dearest? He has not been unkind to you?”

  “No, of course not!” Rocana answered. “He has in fact, been extremely kind.”

  “He is not half as frightening as I thought he would be,” Caroline said, “and he was so charming when he brought us here to see you.”

  “I wondered where he had gone,” Rocana replied, remembering how painful her feelings had been.

  “I want you to be as happy as Patrick and I are,” Caroline said, “or at least very nearly! Being married is just like being in Heaven!”

  Patrick called her from the hall and she rose to her feet.

  “Thank you, thank you, dearest Rocana. If it had not been for you, I should have lost Patrick and just wanted to die!”

  Rocana walked with her to where the Marquis and Patrick were waiting.

  She watched them climb into the carriage, Caroline waving through the open window as they drove away.

  Rocana and the Marquis walked back to the salon and as they did so she asked,

  “How could you have thought of anything so kind as finding Caroline and Patrick and bringing them here to see me?”

  “I did not want you to go on worrying about your cousin,” the Marquis answered, “and, as I discovered they were staying at an hotel in Chantilly, I drove there this morning and insisted they came here before they caught their train to Nice.”

  “They are so very – very – happy,” Rocana said with a little sigh.

  “That was what I thought,” the Marquis agreed.

  Rocana would have sat down on the sofa, but he then suggested,

  “You realise it is nearly five o’clock and if you are going to dine with me tonight, which I would like you to do, I think you ought to rest.”

  Rocana gave a little cry of protest.

  “Oh, no! I don’t want to leave you!”

  “We are in France,” the Marquis replied, “and cinq à Sept is the time when every sensible Frenchman and woman rests so that they shall be at their sparkling best in the evening.”

  He did not wait for Rocana to reply, but picked her up in his arms.

  She wanted to tell him that she had no wish to return to her bedroom, but, because he had said she could dine with him, she thought it best to do as he desired.

  Then, as he carried her up the stairs and she was conscious once again of his arms and his closeness, she remembered her father had laughed about the French interpretation of cinq à sept.

  He had been talking to her mother in the library and had not realised she was listening.

  “It is a French habit, my darling, which has much to commend it. The French say they are resting, which is a polite word for a tête-à-tête, an assignation and of course, making love.”

  Her mother laughed.

  “And they actually set that special time apart for such things?”

  “Can you imagine anything more sensible?” her father replied. “It is something I think I shall introduce into my house. And make quite certain that between the hours of five and seven we are not interrupted!”

  Her mother had laughed, but Rocana had known that when her parents went upstairs with their arms around each other they were going to ‘rest’ in the French fashion.

  Now it flashed through her mind that perhaps because the Marquis was so insistent that she should rest, he had an assignation with somebody else.

  ‘After everything I have said to him – he has no idea that I would – mind,’ she thought unhappily.

  Then once again there was that stabbing pain of jealousy in her breast and she wanted to hold onto him and beg him not to leave her.

  When he set her down in her bedroom, Marie was there and, although she looked at him beseechingly, her pride prevented her from asking him to stay.

  “I am pressing your prettiest negligee for you to wear tonight, madame,” Marie was saying. “Monsieur has ordered dinner in the boudoir.”

  “In the boudoir!” Rocana exclaimed.

  “To save you going downstairs and having to dress up as Monsieur put it,” Marie explained. “But I am going now to order some special flowers from the garden for you to wear in your hair.”

  “Thank you, Marie.”

  Rocana thought, as she climbed into bed, that whatever she wore the Marquis would not notice.

  Doubtless at this moment he was driving to call on some exquisitely beautiful lady who would be waiting for him in her boudoir.

  He would find her so attractive that he would hold her in his arms and kiss her in the way her father had kissed her mother as if she was infinitely precious.

  “That is – something he will never – feel about – me,” Rocana told herself.

  Because she felt so lonely tears came into her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  She did not attempt to wipe them away.

  She merely lay thinking that the love she had for the Marquis was more agonising than any other pain that could be inflicted on her.

  Then surprisingly the door that led into the boudoir opened and the Marquis came into the room.

  Because her eyes were filled with tears, she could only feel he was there and could not see him very clearly.

  He came towards the bed and sat down on the side of it facing her and it was all so unexpected that she felt herself tremble.

  Equally she was vividly conscious of the vibrations and magnetism coming from him that were overpowering.

  “You are not crying, Rocana?” the Marquis asked in his deep voice. “Are you in pain?”

  “N-no.”

  “Then what has made you unhappy?”

  She did not mean to tell him, but somehow, because he was waiting for her answer, she found herself saying,

  “I thought you had – left me – alone.”

  “You had said that you wanted to stay with me,” the Marquis said quietly, “and so I thought it would be a good idea if we rested together.”

  Because of the way he spoke and because he was so near Rocana felt her heart turn several somersaults in her breast.

  The pain had gone and there was a strange excitement seeping through her as if the sunshine was moving inside her body.

  The Marquis took a soft linen handkerchief from his pocket and very gently wiped the tears away from Rocana’s cheeks and eyes.

  It made her tremble and, now that she could see him clearly, she realised that he too had undressed.

  He did not speak, but went round to the other side of the bed and, taking off his robe, got in between the sheets and lay back against the pillows.

  Rocana gave a little gasp but he had left a gap between them.

  Although she wanted to look at him, she felt shy.

  “Now what shall we talk about?” the Marquis asked. “Oh, yes, of course! Pictures and horses in which you know we are both interested, but I feel there is something else we should discuss first.”

  “What is – that?”

  “You have not yet told me why you were brave enough to save my life.”

  She did not answer and he added,

  “I don’t think any other woman would have thought so quickly or been so amazingly brave.”

  Because there was a deep note and something very warm in his voice, Rocana felt herself quiver.

  The
n she said and there was almost a frantic sound to her words,

  “Suppose he – tries again? Suppose he – shoots or stabs you – and you are unable to – protect yourself?”

  “It is something he will not do,” the Marquis declared confidently.

  “H-how can you be – sure?”

  “The Prince has already left Paris and returned to his own country.”

  Rocana gave a sigh of relief.

  “I am glad – so very – very glad.”

  “Why?”

  The question took her by surprise and now she turned to look at the Marquis enquiringly.

  He seemed nearer than she had expected and for a moment she could think of nothing except how handsome he was and that he was very close.

  “I was asking you, Rocana,” he said quietly, “why you are so glad that I am safe.”

  He paused and then continued,

  “When you saved me, you made me think at first that perhaps I meant something special to you and that, if I had died by the Prince’s hand, you would have been upset.”

  “Of course I would have been!” Rocana replied. “How could I lose you when – ”

  She stopped, realising she had spoken without thinking and that what she had been about to say would have been very revealing.

  Then she gasped as the Marquis put out his arms and drew her close against him.

  He moved her very gently so as not to hurt her shoulder and, at his touch, she felt a thrill run through her whole body and she quivered against his, but not with fear.

  It was impossible to think or to speak, but only to feel the magnetism of him.

  Because it was so exciting, she turned her face against him, aware that she could feel the strength of his hands through the thin transparent nightgown she was wearing.

  “You have not answered my question, Rocana,” the Marquis said very softly.

  “I-I have forgotten what it – was.”

  “Now you are not telling me the truth and you promised you would always be frank with me.”

  Because she did not answer, he put his fingers under her chin and very gently turned her face up to his.

  His action made her feel once again thrill after thrill running through her and she felt that he must be aware of it.

  Their faces were very close together and, as he looked down into her eyes, she thought there was an expression in his that she had not seen before.

  “Now, tell me,” he said, “tell me exactly and truthfully what you feel about me.”

  As if he mesmerized her by the magic she could feel pouring out of him to tell him the truth, Rocana found herself whispering what she had never meant to say out loud,

  “I-I love you! I – cannot – help it – but I – love you!”

  “As I love you!” the Marquis replied, then his lips were on hers.

  She knew then that this was all she was longing for and crying for and wanting as she had never wanted anything in her whole life.

  His kiss seemed to give her not only the sunshine, but the moon, the stars, all the magic she had found in everything beautiful and had known instinctively she would one day find it in love.

  It was a magic that seemed to pour through her, making her feel as if the Marquis drew her very soul from her body and made it part of his.

  His kiss was so wonderful, so perfect, that Rocana knew that like Caroline she had reached Heaven and found the love that was not only human but part of God.

  This was what she had prayed for, this was what she had thought she had lost for all time and yet it was suddenly hers.

  The Marquis set her lips free and, as if she was bewildered by the sensations he had given her, Rocana said, her words tumbling over each other,

  “I love you – I love you – but I never thought you – would love – me!”

  “I think I loved you from the first minute I saw you,” the Marquis replied, “when you were so clever with Vulcan and, afterwards when I left The Castle, I kept thinking about you and although I tried not to do so, your eyes haunted me.”

  “Is that – true?”

  “It is the truth and I thought today when Caroline was here that my usual luck had not failed me and, by a sheer quirk of fate, I had married the right person instead of the wrong one.”

  “Can it – really be – true?” Rocana asked.

  The Marquis smiled.

  “I can see it is going to take me a long time to convince you that I am telling the truth, my darling. And I will start by kissing you again, which I have been longing to do ever since you told me we could only be friends.”

  “How – could I have been so – foolish?”

  Then he was kissing her demandingly, possessively, passionately until as her whole body seemed to vibrate with the thrills he evoked in her, she pressed herself closer and still closer to him.

  As her heart beat frantically against his, she knew that she had excited him and he too was experiencing the magic sensations that rippled through her body.

  Only when she felt as if he carried her into the sky and they had left the earth far behind did he say in a voice that she could hardly recognise,

  “My darling! My sweet! I want you! God knows, I want you. But I would not do anything to frighten you.”

  “I – am not – frightened.”

  “Do you mean that? You are quite certain you mean that?” the Marquis asked.

  There was a little note of passion in Rocana’s voice he did not miss as she replied,

  “Teach me about love – please – teach me to love you – as you want to be – loved.”

  “You are sure you are not frightened of me?”

  “I am only – frightened of – doing something wrong.”

  He made a sound that was half a laugh and half an expression of happiness.

  Then he was kissing her once more, in a way that was even more possessive, more demanding than it had been before.

  His hands were touching her and she knew they were both of them being carried away by a strange magic that seemed to leap up like a flame within them.

  Although it was a fire, it was still mystic, spiritual and enchanting.

  There was a light which was dazzling, a music which came from their hearts and as the Marquis made her his, she knew that this was the beauty that she had sought and which she had sensed in everything she saw.

  The beauty of love, of life and of God, which could only be found when two people became one with the ecstasy and rapture that lifted them up into Heaven.

  *

  A long time later, when the afternoon sun had gone and the room seemed as full of shadows as the garden outside, Rocana turned to kiss the Marquis’s shoulder.

  His arms around her tightened and he murmured,

  “I have made you happy, my lovely darling? I have not hurt you?”

  “I-I did not know it was – possible to be so – utterly – completely happy – and at the same time – not myself!”

  “That is what I wanted you to feel my precious, and I think just now, we were neither of us human, but one with the Gods.”

  “How can you be so wonderful?” Rocana asked. “Your magic is so strong that I know now that it is – love.”

  The Marquis gave a low laugh before he said,

  “It is your magic, my adorable little wife, from which I have never been able to escape since I first met you. I felt it drawing me, holding me, and while I told myself I was imagining things, I know that you have cast a spell over me from which I can never escape.”

  “Supposing I – bore you?”

  “That would be impossible.”

  “H-how can you be sure?”

  He pulled her a little closer before he answered her,

  “You know it without my telling you that there have been many women in my life. But they have always disappointed me and, although I would not admit it, I was searching for something different, something I could not put into words, but which I knew at the back of my mind and in the depths of my he
art.”

  It was as if he was telling her a fairy story and Rocana looked up at him, her eyes very large and mysterious and yet she understood exactly what he was saying.

  “I was like a pilgrim,” the Marquis went on, “who climbs a mountain that is on the horizon only to find there is another mountain and another horizon beyond that and then yet another.’

  His tone changed as he added,

  “I thought myself to be so self-sufficient, so complete in every way, that I would not listen to what you would call the ‘magic’ which told me that something was missing.”

  “But you were – aware of it?”

  “Of course I was aware of it,” he replied, “and every time a woman disappointed me and the love I had expected to find was not there, I told myself cynically that I was expecting too much and asking the impossible.”

  He sighed before he went on,

  “Then I was back climbing another mountain in the hope that I would discover at the top of it the Holy Grail, the Golden Fleece or to put it simply, the love which every man, if he is honest, searches for and believes that one day he will discover.”

  Rocana drew in her breath.

  “And – now?”

  “I have found you.”

  “But – suppose – just suppose – ”

  He put his fingers over her lips.

  “I have found you!” he said firmly. “You are everything for which I have been seeking and thought was just a figment of my imagination.”

  He looked down at her face as if he was absorbing its beauty and continued,

  “I adore your face, your eyes, your little straight nose and your lips, which are different from any other woman’s. When I touch them with mine I am aroused differently from any way I have ever been aroused before.”

  “How is it – different?”

  “It is difficult to put into words,” the Marquis answered, “but while I desire you as a woman and nobody, my precious, could be more desirable, I also want you in a thousand other ways.”

  He kissed her forehead before he went on,

  “Your brain stimulates me and I find myself thinking over the conversations we have had with each other and longing to be talking to you again.”

  It was what Rocana felt too and she gave a little murmur of delight as he carried on,

  “I know also that in some strange way your heart speaks to my heart and your soul to my soul. We have the same ideals, the same feelings, the same urge to help other people, to improve everything we touch and to be generous with everything with which we are endowed.”