Merlyn's Magic

CHAPTER TWO

SHE looked at her host with new eyes when she joined him in the lounge, able to see some remnants of styling left in the overlong dark hair, also able to see the grey among the black on closer inspection. She knew Brandon Carmichael, or Rand Carmichael as he seemed to prefer to be known by those he chose to admit into the intimacy of his friendship—and after the way she had blundered in here she doubted she would ever be admitted into that small circle—was thirty-nine years old and, despite the youthfully overlong hair and the lean muscularity of his body, he looked it!

He was watching her in return, those silver eyes narrowed speculatively as she eyed him nervously. ‘You'll want to telephone the hotel,’ he spoke with sudden impatience.

‘Will I?’ She blinked cat-like eyes, wondering where all her confidence had gone when she needed it so desperately. ‘I mean, I will. Of course I will,’ she dismissed, irritated with herself for acting like a bumbling idiot. ‘Anne will be worried about me.'

Those silver eyes glinted warily now. ‘You're a friend of hers?'

She wouldn't recognise the other woman if there were only the two of them in the same room together! But she didn't stand a chance of persuading this man into letting her play the part of his wife now, had ruined any chance of that the moment she struggled to open those iron gates and drove inside. She should have known a hotel wouldn't shut its gates in that way, and she probably would have done if she hadn't felt so wet and cold by that time that she just wanted to take shelter somewhere, anywhere. Christopher was going to be far from amused when she told him what she had done, she didn't find it all that amusing herself!

‘Sort of,’ she answered Rand evasively, avoiding going into the details of that acquaintance as she frowned up at him. ‘Is the hotel far from here?'

He shrugged. ‘A couple of miles. It's at the other end of the estate.'

Merlyn knew from her research on Suzie Forrester that the Forrester sisters had been the only children of wealthy land-owner John Forrester, and that his estate had been left jointly to his daughters on his death. As she had initially guessed, this was the main house, so Anne must have built her hotel on her half.

‘Don't worry,’ Rand mocked, positioned to the left of the fireplace, a cheery fire burning there in the chill of this mid-summer day. ‘You're far from the first person to make this mistake, this house is called The Forresters, the hotel, The Forest.’ He shrugged. ‘They're too similar. Although usually the wall and gates keep people out of here,’ he added dryly, seeming to imply as he did so that there was nothing ‘usual’ about her!

She was blushing more today than she had the last eight years, and she felt incredibly stupid. ‘I'm sorry,’ she grimaced. ‘I've driven up from Manchester, taken so many wrong turns that I must have added twenty miles on to my journey; I was just desperate to reach the hotel by the time I spotted your gates.'

He nodded. ‘I'll pour the coffee while you call Anne. You aren't going to be able to make it there tonight, I'm afraid.'

‘What?’ she gasped, her horror reflected in her eyes. ‘But you said it's only a couple of miles away.’ She shook her head. ‘I can leave straight after I've had my coffee.'

‘Unfortunately not,’ he drawled, pouring the coffee.

‘Why not?’ she attacked. She had driven up here, she could drive back out again!

‘You remember the ford you crossed about half a mile from here?’ He arched dark brows, down on his haunches beside the low table.

She had been so blinded by the rain by that time that she had been lucky to stay on the road, let alone remember crossing a ford; the whole road had looked like a river to her. But if he said there was a ford then she believed him; she doubted many people disbelieved what this man said. If they did they were fools.

‘It's flooded.’ Rand straightened, the silver eyes cold at her dismayed expression.

‘You mean it's completely impassable?’ she groaned, needing to have her worst fear confirmed rather than just imagined.

‘Unless your car floats, yes.’ He gave a mocking inclination of his head.

Is there another hotel near here?’ Merlyn could feel her panic rising at the thought of being stranded here and left dependent on this man. When she had to tell him who she was she would be lucky if he didn't throw her out into the rain again to take her chances!

‘The ford is on the private road to this house,’ Rand told her. ‘There is no other way out. You're stuck here until the river goes down again.'

She winced at his obvious displeasure as the realisation of her enforced stay struck him too. ‘And how long will that take?'

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘If the rain stops soon, probably tomorrow.'

Merlyn turned to look out of one of the long windows at the steadily pouring rain; it didn't look like it was ever going to stop!

‘Oh, it will,’ Rand assured her in an amused voice as she unwittingly spoke her dismay aloud. ‘Some time,’ he added mockingly, the expression in his eyes one of challenge.

She inwardly groaned her despair. Her feelings for this man had been bewildering enough before she knew who he was. Now that she knew he was the still-grieving widower of Suzie Forrester, they were absolutely ridiculous. And she only had to look at him to feel her temperature rise and her senses quiver into life in a way she had never known before.

‘You can use the bedroom you used earlier, opposite mine,’ he added softly, as if guessing her response to him was the reason for her dismay.

And why shouldn't he have realised how he affected her, her behaviour earlier had been rather obvious! ‘That's very kind of you—–'

‘Kindness doesn't have a damned thing to do with it,’ he rasped. ‘I don't have a choice.'

Neither did she, by the sound of it. And she couldn't blame him for resenting her intrusion either, he didn't come over as the sort of man who enjoyed having to be polite to a woman who had been stupid enough to get herself lost the way that she had.

‘I'll telephone Anne,’ she said quickly.

‘Do that,’ he nodded tersely, standing up to restlessly pace the room.

Merlyn watched him as she dialled the hotel number. He was prowling about like a caged lion, as if impatient with the confines even this large house offered. Continuous rain often had that effect on her too, and yet she sensed there was more to it than that where Rand was concerned; he and Suzie had shared this house all of their married life, so he must be used to the weather here after all these years.

She was prevented further speculation about him as she was put through the switchboard to Anne Benton. ‘It's Merlyn,’ she explained, looking questioningly at Rand as she heard his snort of disbelief as he heard her name.

‘Thank God.’ Anne's relief at hearing from her distracted her attention back from Rand. ‘I've been so worried about you; we expected you hours ago.'

‘Yes. Well, I—I got lost.’ She avoided Rand's mocking gaze at this understatement. ‘A—a neighbour of yours has kindly offered me a bed for the night,’ she added awkwardly.

‘A neighbour? But we don't have—Brandon?’ Anne realised suddenly. ‘Are you with Brandon?'

‘He says his name is Rand,’ she confirmed with a casualness she was far from feeling, relieved the other woman had guessed who the neighbour was and she didn't have to go into the details of her stupidity in front of this broodingly quiet man.

‘Oh dear,’ Anne groaned.

‘Yes,’ she agreed wholeheartedly.

‘What a mess,’ the other woman muttered.

That had to be even more of an understatement than the one Merlyn had made seconds ago; it was a catastrophe! From what Anne had told her, and what she had read herself about Brandon Carmichael, he was never going to believe she hadn't planned this whole thing, right down to the rain!

‘The ford is flooded, right?’ Anne guessed heavily.

Merlyn glanced at Rand as he crossed the room to pour himself a glass of brandy. ‘I'm afraid so,’ she answered the other woman.

‘Does Brandon—know, about you?’ The grimace could be heard in Anne's voice.

‘Not yet,’ she sighed, wishing she could be long gone from here before he did.

Anne drew in a ragged breath. ‘Do you want me to tell him?'

‘God, no!’ she protested; she had to spend the rest of the evening and the long night in the same house with this man!

‘No, probably not,’ Anne conceded ruefully. ‘You'll come up to the hotel and see us before travelling back to London?'

There was no point in either of them pretending there was any reason to go through with the visit now, and Merlyn was grateful for the other woman's understanding. ‘Yes,’ she agreed heavily. ‘I'll do that.'

‘Does Brandon want to talk to me?’ the other woman prompted with obvious reluctance.

Merlyn glanced across at him as he grimly swallowed down the contents of his glass. ‘Rand?’ She held out the receiver to him questioningly, shrugging as he shook his head. ‘He—he's busy at the moment,’ she excused his rudeness to his sister-in-law.

‘I'll bet,’ Anne said knowingly. ‘Merlyn, go easy with him today. It's—–’ The line went dead.

‘Anne? Anne!’ she questioned worriedly, shaking the receiver, as if it were its fault that the call had been terminated so abruptly.

‘The lines have gone down,’ Rand informed her without concern, confirming her worst suspicions. ‘I'm surprised it didn't happen before now in this weather,’ he told her in a calm voice.

She was completely alone, cut off here, with a man who would have reason to hate her if he realised who she was! Although her name hadn't elicited the response she had been dreading, only a mocking scepticism. Christopher had said Rand turned down every actress he proposed. Maybe, by the time they got to her, the fourth in line, they hadn't even got as far as the relating-her-name stage!

‘Merlyn?’ Rand looked at her scornfully.

She frowned, putting down the telephone receiver now that it was no longer of any use to her, running her hands nervously down her denim-clad thighs as she felt their damp palms. ‘Yes?'

‘No, I meant—Merlyn?’ He sceptically repeated her name.

The flush to her cheeks came from anger this time. ‘That is my name, yes,’ she challenged.

His mouth twisted, his eyes cold. ‘And can you do magic?’ he jeered.

‘I don't know,’ she answered. ‘I've never tried!'

He gave a bitter laugh. ‘There's no such thing as magic,’ he dismissed in a hard voice. ‘How on earth did you get a name like that?’ he derided harshly.

‘After the birth of my brother, my mother had herself sterilised,’ Merlyn told him quietly. ‘She was more than surprised to find herself pregnant again eight years later.'

‘Magic!’ acknowledged Rand hardly.

‘Considering my parents rarely saw each other enough to make love, it was all the more of a shock,’ Merlyn nodded. ‘My father was the one sent for an operation this time.'

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Poor bastard!'

She shrugged. ‘I don't think he was all that thrilled to find himself a father again at forty-six, either!'

Rand turned away. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he bit out, pouring himself another one while he waited for her answer.

‘The coffee will be fine—–'

‘It will be cold by now,’ he dismissed.

‘I'll make some more,’ she offered, picking up the tray. The way he was knocking back the brandy he was going to be needing a lot of black coffee soon! Unless this was how he spent his days now—she knew that he left the running of his considerable businesses to a number of assistants.

‘Could you manage to “conjure” up some dinner for both of us?’ he prompted. ‘The only household staff I have come up from the village each day,’ he explained abruptly. ‘And I gave them all the day off.'

Considering the weather, that had been a very wise decision; Rand might have ended up with a houseful of unwanted guests instead of just one! As far as Merlyn was concerned, that might not have been a bad thing. ‘I'll see what I can find,’ she nodded. Food might help to counteract the alcohol he had been consuming, too.

It was a delightful kitchen, obviously belonging to a time long-gone, with its huge open fireplace, copper pots and saucepans hanging from hooks along its ledge. But Merlyn quickly discovered that although the charm and character had been maintained in the room it was also filled with every modern convenience, from a dishwasher to an electric knife.

The freezer was stocked with already prepared meals that just had to be defrosted in the microwave and then heated in the oven, and Merlyn mentally thanked the absent cook as she placed the beef casserole in the oven to warm through, making the mixture for dumplings before dropping them into the already warming meal, its aroma mouthwatering.

The kitchen at her flat was adequate, but it was nothing like the luxury of this one, and Merlyn was humming softly to herself as she put an apple pie in the oven with the beef. The humming stopped abruptly as she straightened, her face flushed from the heat of the oven, to find Rand Carmichael leaning against the wall just inside the kitchen, watching her every movement.

‘As I haven't seen you since you brought up the fresh coffee almost an hour ago, I thought perhaps you had made your escape out the back door while you had the chance,’ he drawled.

Merlyn frowned a little as he made it sound as if she were a prisoner here, although considering the state of the roads and the broken telephone lines perhaps that was what she was! ‘That would have been ungrateful of me,’ she dismissed, with an effort at her usual confidence, although just knowing who he was made that difficult, if not impossible.

‘But perhaps wise.’ He straightened. ‘I was near to being drunk.'

‘Was?’ She frowned at the past tense; he had seemed pretty far gone to her.

He gave a mocking inclination of his head at her bluntness. ‘I drank a couple of cups of black coffee and then took a shower. I can assure you I am now completely sober.'

That he had taken a shower was obvious by his still-damp hair, although even now it was drying back into those riotously dark curls. But the reckless glint had gone from his eyes, the anger from his expression, and in its place had come a weary look, almost of defeat.

‘I hope you like what I've chosen for dinner,’ she said lightly, some of her tension dissipating now that she was sure she didn't have a drunken host to contend with; she had a feeling this man could be dangerous enough, without that. ‘There's a beef casserole, with baked potatoes, and apple pie—–'

‘I'm sure it will be fine,’ he dismissed as a man not much interested in the food he ate, ingesting it only through necessity.

‘Yes.’ She eyed him frowningly. ‘Well, if you would like to wait in the lounge—–'

‘I wouldn't,’ he cut in softly.

Merlyn was filled with a new wariness now as she sensed the speculation in his gaze as it moved slowly over her body, the hair on her nape seeming to stand on end as a ripple of awareness flowed down her spine, her nipples suddenly taut against the softness of her jumper.

‘Come here,’ Rand suddenly instructed throatily, his stance one of challenge.