The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief)

England, 1804

Tired of being paraded before every eligible bachelor, Peony
Whistleby decides it’s time to find her true love—through the ancient custom of
rolling naked in the dew on May Day morning. But the magic goes awry when she is
caught in the act—and by an entirely unsuitable man. And yet, the way his eyes
linger upon her flesh ignites a sensual craving that can only be satisfied by
his touch…

Book one of the May Day Mischief
duet.

The Magic of His Touch

Barbara Monajem

Contents

The Magic of His
Touch

Historical
Undone BPA

Copyright

Warwickshire
,
1804

“I’m going to roll naked in the dew,” said Peony
Whistleby. She set down her broom, flung herself onto the ancient tester bed and
said it again.

She had just finished sweeping, dusting and airing the Haunted
Bedchamber at Whistleby Priory. None of the servants would venture near the
room, so if she didn’t take care of it, no one would. Besides, this was the only
place in the house where she could be alone—except for the ghosts and bogeys, if
they happened to be about. She thought they would approve of the step she was
about to take.

Her father and Aunt Edna wouldn’t. Nor would her cousin
Lucasta, but she might understand what had driven Peony to take such a drastic
step. Peony followed the maze of stairs and corridors to the library where
Lucasta was hard at work on her research. Peony seated herself on the sofa,
folded her hands in her lap and promised it aloud for a third time. “I’ve
decided to roll naked in the dew.”

This time, said before a living witness, it truly felt like a
vow.

Lucasta spattered ink on her precise, perfect notes and cursed.
It was she who had told Peony about the custom of rolling in the dew on May Day
to call one’s true love to one’s side. “Have you lost your wits?”

“That would be another solution to my problem,” Peony said,
“but only as a last resort.”

Lucasta tore the page out of her notebook and began a fresh
one. “Peony, this is no laughing matter.”

“Nor is being paraded before one eligible bachelor after
another when none of them are interested in me,” Peony said. “The instant Aunt
Edna heard the Earl of Elderwood was coming here, she starting planning
entertainments. Dinners, card parties and even an evening party with dancing,
not to mention everyone in the county coming to call day after day after day. It
will be as bad as a London Season, only I shan’t be able to cry off any of the
engagements.”

Lucasta made a face. “I don’t know what possessed Alexis to
invite Lord Elderwood here.” Sir Alexis Court was Lucasta’s long-time fiancé.
Peony had never met him, but he sounded like a wonderfully reasonable and
patient man. He had already agreed to postpone their wedding several times, as
Lucasta wanted to finish her magnum opus on folklore before embarking on a new
career as wife and mother. “I wish neither of them were coming. They will
interrupt my work at a most critical time.”

“But don’t you want to see your betrothed?” Peony asked. In the
three years they’d been engaged, he had never come for a visit. They’d seen one
another briefly during the London Seasons, but surely that wasn’t enough.

“Yes, of course,” Lucasta said testily, “just not right
now.”

Peony couldn’t imagine choosing to be separated for so long
from a man she loved.

“I daresay it won’t be so bad,” Lucasta said. “Aunt Edna has
already tried foisting all the locals onto you. She must know by now that none
of them are going to come up to scratch.”

Men seldom were interested in Peony; she was too tall, with an
almost boyish figure, pale flyaway hair, boring blue eyes and what Aunt Edna
described as no conversation. This was most unfair, as Peony had plenty to say
to other females, but she had no notion of how to flirt. “That’s never stopped
her before,” she said. “But this time it’s much, much worse. She wants me to set
my cap at the earl!”

Lucasta went into a peal of laughter, quickly suppressed. “I’m
sorry, Peony, but that’s absurd. You’re incapable of setting your cap at anyone,
and Lord Elderwood is a rake without the slightest interest in marriage.”

“I know that.” Peony twisted her hands together. “But she has
got it into her head that this is a God-given opportunity, and that I should be
grateful and do my utmost to catch him, as I would become a countess. What do I
care about that? I want to marry a man I can love, and I could never love the
earl. There is something about him that is positively strange. He gives me the
shivers.”

Lucasta set down her pen, raising elegant brows. Everything
about Lucasta was elegant—her face and figure, her graceful carriage, her
confidence and composure. “Surely he’s not that dreadful.”

“He’s not bad-looking,” Peony said. “In fact, most women find
him attractive. Haven’t you noticed? At each occasion, a different one is seen
hanging on his arm, and more than one poor girl has gone into a decline because
he didn’t return her interest.”

Those brows became incredulous—almost scornful. “That gives you
the shivers?”

Peony shook her head. “No, it’s that he doesn’t even try to
attract them. He practically ignores them, and yet they come to him like moths
to a flame. It’s...uncanny.”

Lucasta’s shrug was so faint as to be almost nonexistent. She
frowned at something on the page and picked up her pen again.

“The idea of marrying him makes me ill,” Peony said. “I tried
to discuss it with Papa. I told him I disliked the earl and would never consider
marrying him, but he said I must do my duty and obey Aunt Edna, and if the earl
is so kind as to offer for me, I must accept.”

“Calm down,” Lucasta said. “He won’t offer for you.”

“I know that!” cried Peony, hurt in spite of herself at
Lucasta’s callous acknowledgment of her lack of feminine charms. “I shall be
shoved forward and scolded and mortified while he’s here, and berated and pitied
when he’s gone.” Peony’s insides churned at the thought of it all. Lucasta meant
well, but the last thing Peony needed was a painful reminder that most likely no
one would offer for her. Ever.

Unless she called him to her side with magic. “I can’t bear it
anymore. If by rolling in the dew I shall find my true love—”

“You won’t,” Lucasta said, painstakingly at work on her
folklore research once again. “It’s nothing but a foolish custom. If it ever had
any result, it’s because young men who wanted to gape at silly girls got caught
doing so and were forced into marriage.” She sniffed. “There is no such thing as
magic.”

Yes
,
there
is
. Magic was a great part of the heritage of
Whistleby Priory, which over the centuries had had more than its fair share of
ghosts, hobgoblins, fairy rings and so forth, although not, as far as Peony
knew, that particular May Day custom.

* * *

There was always a first time.

“No modern woman in her right mind would disrobe at dawn on the
first of May—or any day, for that matter—and roll in a meadow,” Lucasta said.
“At best, she will be stared at by curious wildlife and catch cold, and at
worst... I shudder to think.”

Some cowardly part of Peony shuddered, as well. To be sure,
calling upon magic was a little risky, but she’d had enough of the alternative,
which was much, much worse.

“I wish I hadn’t told you about it,” Lucasta said.

“And I’m passionately glad you did.” Peony mustn’t let her
cousin’s worried frown deter her. Tomorrow was the first of May; Sir Alexis and
Lord Elderwood were due to arrive any day now. “I believe it’s meant to be. At
any other time of year, I shouldn’t have had this option. I’d have been obliged
to go through torment while the earl was here and for months afterward. Either
that, or try to change Aunt Edna’s mind.”

“Now, that really would require magic,” Lucasta said.

* * *

In the chill of the next morning, Peony wasn’t so sure
magic was on her side or that it even existed. Lucasta had spent the evening
arguing and cajoling by turns, promising to support Peony through all the social
occasions that loomed ahead. This was noble of her, since she would far rather
concentrate on her research, but it wouldn’t work. Peony would appear more
awkward than ever when contrasted with her cousin’s elegant figure and cool
self-possession. Eventually Peony had pretended to waver, just to get Lucasta to
leave her be.

She’d slept poorly, waking over and over, and now, in the
darkness before dawn, discouragement pressed about her like a dense gray cloud.
But she mustn’t let fatigue deter her, or, although she would never admit it, a
prickling of fear. Today was the most important day of her life.

She dressed hurriedly in a shift and an old wool round gown
that had once belonged to her mother, who had died when she was a child. It was
a little too big for her, so getting it on and off would be quick and easy. She
had to do without stays, for she couldn’t lace them without help. For once,
Peony was glad of her small breasts; nevertheless, she felt dreadfully fast
without her stays.

How could anyone imagine Lord Elderwood would take the
slightest interest in her? A rake such as he wouldn’t think much of her tiny
bosom after bedding buxom women far and wide.

She tied her hair with a ribbon and, gripping her half boots in
one hand and a candlestick in the other, she tiptoed on stocking feet past
Lucasta’s room, past Papa’s and Aunt Edna’s, and down the staircase to the side
door. She sat on the bottom step, donned her boots and stood. Ready to go.

She didn’t feel ready. She felt like crawling cravenly back to
her bedchamber. Instead, she shoved up the latch. The thud seemed to echo in the
silent house. She blew out her candle, set it on a nearby shelf and opened the
door.

She’d never been outdoors alone at night. Dawn couldn’t be too
far away, but the moon had set, and it was very, very dark. She picked her way
along the twisting paths of the herb garden, squeezed through the orchard gate
and ventured between the ranks of Papa’s prize pear trees. A solitary bird burst
into song. Leaves rustled over her head, and something fluttered in the
hedgerow. Behind her, a twig crackled. She whirled...

No one. It must be some nocturnal animal returning to its
burrow.

A whisper of light showed in the eastern sky by the time she
reached the ride that circled the wood, and all around her birds greeted the
day. She hurried through the brief stretch of woodland that led to the meadow,
her heart pounding madly now.

She stood at the edge of the lovely little circle of open land
to catch her breath. No one knew why it was called the Enchanted Meadow, but at
daybreak it certainly felt so. The very air seemed to glow. For a long moment,
she gulped it in and watched.

Again, no one was about. In this enlightened age, no one rolled
in the dew. She might be a fool, but she was alone and perfectly safe.

She tossed her shawl over one of the hawthorn bushes that edged
the meadow and sat on the wet grass to remove her boots. She laid her stockings
on top of the shawl, followed by her gown. Morning was breaking; it was now or
never. She pulled her shift over her head, laid it on another bush and waded
naked into the meadow.

Dew, quivery cold and wet, brushed her legs. She bent and ran
her hands through the fresh green grasses. She raised the dew to her lips and,
in a silent prayer, begged for the boon of love.

Then she shivered, lay down and rolled.

* * *

Sir Alexis Court was already bored with the London
Season when his friend Lord Elderwood came up to him at Tattersall’s one brisk
April day, saying he wanted to visit Whistleby Priory. A journey to Warwickshire
sounded just as tedious as London, and when Alexis demanded to know why,
Elderwood grinned and said, “You don’t want to know.”

Which meant it had to do with Elderwood’s absurd fascination
with folk magic. Alexis rolled his eyes but agreed to arrange the visit and
accompany him. Alexis’s mother, whose sole aim in life was to see him married,
was once again pestering him to wed Lucasta Barnes and be done with it. As often
happened, he found himself giving thanks for the day Lucasta had come to him in
distress, begging him to pretend to become engaged to her. Lucasta wished to
remain single, but her uncle wanted her married and off his hands. With her
mother only a few months in the grave, he had already begun looking about him
for a suitable match.

Alexis knew all too well what that felt like, and how little
power a girl in Lucasta’s position possessed. A false engagement seemed the
perfect solution for both of them, satisfying both her uncle and his mother.
They’d managed to prolong the engagement for three years now. A visit to the
Priory might help stave off Alexis’s mother a while longer.

Now, riding toward the Whistleby estate in the chill of dawn,
he wondered for the thousandth time why he put up with his friend’s lunatic
starts.

“It’s got to be someplace close by,” Lord Elderwood said. They
weren’t expected at the Priory yet, but legend said the estate included an
enchanted meadow, which would be particularly brimful of magic at dawn on May
Day. They’d ridden up a day early, stayed briefly at an inn several miles away
and left at an ungodly hour to ride over here and see the meadow.

Dawn had arrived; birds broke into tentative song, and far in
the distance, a cock crowed. Alexis longed for a warm bed.

“According to the directions, the Priory’s on the other side of
this wood.” Elderwood waved a vague hand at a formidable stand of trees. “How
about you take this way round and I’ll take the other? Try anything that looks
like a path. If you spy the meadow, give me a shout, and I’ll do the same.”

“That wood looks as dense and forbidding as anything I’ve ever
seen—not the place to find a meadow,” Alexis said.

“It’s an enchanted meadow, my dear fellow. Trees surround it
but don’t grow there.”

That was Elderwood’s bizarre sense of humor. “What about Mr.
Whistleby’s keepers? I’ve no ambition to be taken for a poacher and shot
at.”

“On May Day morning?” Elderwood laughed. “Never! It’s a sacred
day.”

Sacred
to
lunatics
, thought Alexis, but there was no point
arguing. The vista to the left looked particularly forbidding, so he chose it in
the hope of finding no way into the wood. He would far rather ride its perimeter
than venture into the gloom. Let Elderwood seek his blasted meadow; Alexis would
think about what to order for breakfast.