The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief) (2 page)

He set his horse at an amble around the wood. He’d gone perhaps
a hundred yards when a path appeared on his right—where he could have sworn, a
few seconds ago, there was nothing but thick underbrush and ancient oaks and
elms. Intrigued in spite of himself, he followed it. Birdsong greeted him; the
path wound deeper, opening before him at every turn as the day dawned...and
there it was, a small meadow surrounded by hawthorn in the first stages of
bloom.

He was about to shout for Elderwood when he saw her. He reined
in his horse and stared.

She was young and fair—and removing her clothing! What the
devil? He glanced about him; her lover must be nearby, and the last thing he
wanted was to intrude on a tryst...

No lover crept out from around the flowering may. No sound
disturbed the dawning day but the ever more ecstatic birds.

He should turn away. He shouldn’t stay and watch her
disrobe—and yet he couldn’t help himself. He dismounted and crept forward.
Protected by the last rank of trees, he drank in her dewy freshness. His groin
tightened, reacting fiercely to her beauty. She pulled her shift over her head
and tossed it across a hawthorn bush with her other clothing.

Such sweet, small breasts! His fingers itched to fondle them;
his mouth longed to kiss and suckle them. She bent to brush her hands through
the grass, showing him the palest, loveliest behind, and...oh, God, he
ached
with wanting her. She splashed dew on her face,
patting it on her cheeks and her smooth white neck. He’d heard of maids
gathering dew for their complexions, but...

Her lips moved soundlessly; her attitude was one of
supplication. She stepped further into the meadow, lay down on the grass and
rolled in the dew.

Over and over her slender curves tantalized him—sleek back and
gently curving bum, breasts and belly and long, shapely legs. And back again,
over and over, while he gazed, bewildered and transfixed. He hadn’t had a woman
for a while, but he realized, somewhere in the part of his rational mind that
was still functioning, that his fascination with this girl was far more powerful
than anything he’d felt before.

She stopped to catch her breath, and her breasts, now dotted
with bits of grass, quivered invitingly. He longed to pick the grass off piece
by piece and bury his face in those sweet mounds. She closed her eyes, put her
hands together as if in prayer, then raised them over her head and rolled
again.

A distant whinny jerked Alexis from his trance. Hell and
damnation! That must be Elderwood’s horse. He leaped to prevent his own mount’s
answering whinny; he mustn’t let his friend get a glimpse of this naked girl.
Elderwood wouldn’t force her if she didn’t want it—he wasn’t that sort of
man—but faced with such temptation, he could be very persuasive, and he would
doubtless offer her compensation...

The very thought offended Alexis beyond belief. He dashed into
the meadow.

* * *

“Get up! Get dressed!”

Peony froze in midroll. A strange man bounded toward her,
gesturing, his voice low but urgent. She scrambled to her feet, a shriek
catching in her throat.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, but he kept on coming. Her heart
clambering into her gullet, she tried to cover herself with her hands.

“Who—What—” She couldn’t get a word out.

“Don’t stand there like an idiot, girl! I already know what you
look like naked.” A blush crowded up her neck and burned her cheeks. “Get your
clothes on, and be quick about it.” With brisk, shooing motions he herded her
toward the hawthorn where she’d left her shift and gown.

Anger swelled up, overcoming her fear. How dare he order her
about? “Go away,” she said, hating how her voice trembled as she fled before
him. “What are you doing here? You have no right.” A little way round the circle
of meadow, she spied a horse, cropping the grass at the edge of the wood.

“You should be thankful I’m here,” he said, stopping several
feet away when she reached the hawthorn. “I don’t know what foolishness you’re
up to, but clearly your lover isn’t coming, and—”

“No, because you spoiled everything,” she said. Her hair had
fallen out of its ribbon and stuck wetly to her face. She clawed it away,
wanting to hit him. Her chance at finding love was gone. “Go
away
!”

He folded his arms and just stood there, scowling—and looking
at her as if, underneath that frown, he was enjoying himself. “Not until you put
your clothes on and be off home where you belong.”

Another flush overwhelmed her, this time of shame and misery,
as she realized what he meant. He thought she’d come out here to tryst with some
likely village lad, as if she were a scullery maid. And who was he, anyway?
She’d never seen him before. He was dressed like a gentleman and spoke like one,
too, but he didn’t belong here.

“Who gave you the right to order me about?” she demanded. “This
is private land.”

His eyes widened. “You silly little fool, I’m trying to protect
you. I traveled here with a friend. To him, a naked woman is a blatant
invitation. You’re lucky it’s I who came upon you and not he.”

She grabbed her shift and turned it right side out. “Stop
staring at me.”

“You’re a beautiful girl without any clothes on,” he said. “I
wouldn’t be much of a man if I didn’t stare.”

At that bold statement, she should have taken fright once
again, but...she didn’t. Instead, a rush of unexpected heat shimmered through
her from the tips of her nipples to the place between her thighs.

Appalled at herself, she struggled to pull the shift over her
head. She was wet with dew, and bits of grass stuck to her everywhere, and so
did the shift.

And she wasn’t beautiful, either—she was too tall and entirely
the wrong shape, and passably pretty at best. Perhaps that was why she’d had
such a shocking reaction to what he’d said.

“A lovely girl like you deserves better than this,” the man
said.

She wanted to scream at him. She wasn’t lovely at all. She’d
been assured of that often enough. His words hurt, which was ridiculous, seeing
as she didn’t know him and didn’t care what he thought. Covering herself took
forever and made her angrier with each passing second, at both him and
herself.

When she finally emerged, he wasn’t watching her anymore, but
gazing across the meadow as if alert for something. His lecherous friend?

Unnerved, she hastened into her gown and settled the skirts
about her. “You may leave now,” she said with what she hoped passed for icy
dignity.

He turned and eyed her. The corner of his mouth curled up.
“Your stockings and boots.”

It was infuriatingly obvious that he wouldn’t budge until she
obeyed him. She sat on the cold, damp ground and pulled on her stockings and
then her boots. She stood and grabbed her shawl.

“Ho!” came a distant voice. “Where are you, old fellow?”

“Coming!” cried her persecutor. “Go home,” he said softly. He
vaulted onto his horse and was gone.

Deprived of even the pleasure of stalking away in high dudgeon,
Peony did as she was told.

When Lucasta tapped on her bedchamber door a while later, Peony
was stark naked again. “You may come in if you don’t laugh,” she said bitterly,
turning the key in the door.

Lucasta slipped in, her usually tidy hair falling down around
her ears, and mud, leaves and several white blossoms clinging to her gown.

Peony burst into giggles. “Whatever happened to you? All that
mud! Your gown is ruined.” She locked the door again.

“A stray bull,” Lucasta said, “and it’s all your fault. I saw
you were gone and went out to check on you, but the horrid creature took a fancy
to me. I’m lucky I arrived home intact.” She eyed Peony and snorted. “You’ve
bits of grass and weeds stuck all over you.”

Peony shivered, returning to the painstaking task of picking
every bit of greenery from her skin. “I should love to wash it off, but I
daren’t ask for a bath. The maids will be sure to tell Mrs. Groggins, and she’ll
tell Aunt Edna and Papa, and then I’ll really be in the soup.”

“Let me help.” Lucasta shed her gown. “We can say the mud and
grass were stuck on me. I shall explain that I went out to check precisely where
the sun first falls on the Enchanted Meadow on May Day. I’ll say it’s
significant in an ancient Beltane rite.”

“Thank you,” Peony said dully. “Is it?”

“I have no idea, but it’s absurd enough to be plausible.” She
poured wash water into the basin, wet a towel and wrung it out, and began to
swab the debris from Peony’s goose-pimpled skin.

Her cheerfully sympathetic expression only made Peony feel
worse.

“I gather rolling in the dew produced no result,” Lucasta said
after a while.

Peony shivered all over, and it wasn’t just from being naked
and cold. She pushed the memories of the man who’d ruined everything to the back
of her mind, along with her inappropriate reaction to him. “It was freezing cold
and sopping wet, and I felt horridly exposed. Now what am I to do?”

“Maybe you could try something that will give Lord Elderwood an
immediate disgust of you, such as passing wind at dinner. Your father and Aunt
Edna won’t dare to push you at him after that.”

That made Peony laugh, but of course she would never do
anything so impolite.Later that afternoon, she made her way slowly downstairs to
cross the Great Hall to the drawing room, still casting about for ways to
convince Aunt Edna to give up on Lord Elderwood, when a bustle at the front door
made her pause.

Surely not. Please, not yet!

Her heart pummeled inside her breast. She backed up a few
stairs. At the sound of male voices, she backed up even more.

“Whatever are you doing?” said Aunt Edna from the landing
above. “Sir Alexis and Lord Elderwood are here. Their coach just drew up
outside.”

Peony whirled. “I need to...change my hair ribbon,” she said
desperately.

“Nonsense. Your hair is a tediously insipid color and
unmanageable to boot, and a different ribbon will do nothing to alter that.”
Aunt Edna gripped Peony by the arm and marched her down the stairs. If only
she’d said there was something in her shoe, poking into her foot. Her aunt
couldn’t very well have forced her to limp to the door. Peony never, ever
thought of clever rejoinders until it was too late.

“Come along now and strive to make a tolerable impression,”
Aunt Edna said. “Albert! Where are you?”

Papa bustled out of his study and joined them. With him on one
side and Aunt Edna on the other, Peony plodded like a prisoner being conducted
to her execution. She was doomed to make a bad impression and be blamed for it.
Very well, but she would at least summon the courage to meet the earl with
composure, just as Lucasta would do.

Groggins, the butler, had the door wide open; footmen were
carrying trunks and valises. Papa hurried ahead, rubbing his hands. “Welcome,
welcome!”

Two men turned at the sound of his voice. One was Lord
Elderwood, as cool and unnerving as ever. The other...

Had seen her stark naked at dawn.

* * *

Alexis watched the blood drain from Miss Whistleby’s
face and wondered for a moment if she might faint, but she got herself under
control and came forward, pale as ice, curtsying first to Elderwood and then to
himself. She gave Lord Elderwood a wavering smile, but treated Alexis to a
defiant stare.

He gave her his most appreciative grin in return. “A pleasure
to meet you, Miss Whistleby.” At some point in their conversation this morning,
he’d realized the girl was gently bred and wondered if they might meet again at
some dinner or evening party. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might be the
daughter of his host.

His grin didn’t have the expected effect; she looked tense and
rigid. Was that embarrassment, or did she imagine he would tattle to her father
about her tryst? Much as he disapproved of her behavior, it was no concern of
his if she chose to ruin herself—and with the sort of coward who would run off
when another man appeared. For all the fellow knew, Alexis might have been a
ravening lecher.

Lucasta appeared through a door from the rear, complete with
ink-stained fingers and an abstracted expression. They’d been friends growing up
in the same village, and he couldn’t have found a better woman with whom to have
a false betrothal. She’d gone on a more or less permanent visit to her cousin,
Miss Whistleby, so he’d only had to dance attendance on her briefly during the
London Seasons. In less than a year, she would reach her twenty-fifth birthday,
at which time she would come into control of her inheritance and break off the
engagement.

And then, alas, he would have to start evading his mother’s
matchmaking attempts again. His mother simply had no idea what would suit him.
Definitely not one of the fashionable ninnies she preferred, who seldom had two
thoughts to rub together. He wanted a woman with a mind of her own and the
courage of her convictions—who at the same time would cooperate with and depend
on a man. Most likely such a woman didn’t exist, in which case remaining single
suited him perfectly well.

Lucasta’s sharp eyes took in Lord Elderwood with sardonic
amusement and swept him a mocking curtsy. She had a poor opinion of men in
general, but she greeted Alexis with her typical brisk cheerfulness. “How lovely
to see you. It’s been ages.”

“How’s the opus going?” he asked. She really was writing a
massive tome and preferred scholarship to marriage. He wondered if she knew that
her supposedly innocent cousin had a lover. Should he mention it to her? He
didn’t rightly know. It would be damned awkward, but the thought of that lovely
girl taken advantage of by a louse made him burn up inside.

The housekeeper arrived to escort them to their rooms. Alexis
had almost finished changing for dinner when a tap sounded on the door, followed
by Lucasta’s voice. “Are you decent?”