Bewitched by His Kiss (May Day Mischief) Page 3

So did Peony, interestingly enough. She, too, didn’t understand what appealed to so many foolish females. Yes, he was darkly good-looking, with plenty of charm if he chose to wield it, but... How had Peony put it, when she’d explained why she would never consider marrying him? That his uncanny effect on women gave her the shivers.

  He didn’t scare Lucasta, or at least not usually. Very little frightened her, and certainly not this man. She’d been uneasy for a few minutes this morning, but only after she’d so gravely insulted him.

  No, rather than frightening Lucasta, he made her want to—to crawl all over him, to bury her nose against his skin and inhale him, to lick his naked flesh and—

  Without meaning to, she glanced at Lord Elderwood. His eyes caught hers. His lip curled. He knew!

  He didn’t frighten her, he infuriated her. She squashed the unacceptable lust as if it were an ant.

  Aunt Edna simpered. “Sometimes, guests become quite lost in this rabbit warren of a house.”

  Elderwood turned his smile on the older woman, so obviously in perfect control that Lucasta wanted to scream. “Yes, they would do. It’s because of the magic. It is by nature convoluted, so it prefers this rambling sort of environment.”

  Magic again? Thank God for the reminder that he was a lunatic. She couldn’t possibly desire someone so unhinged. She couldn’t take such a fool seriously.

  Not Peony, who giggled her delight at this frank assumption that magic was real. Aunt Edna fluttered her fan and said, “My lord, you mustn’t encourage our Peony in such nonsense, even in jest.”

  Elderwood smiled at Peony, his expression almost kind for once. “You believe in magic, Miss Whistleby?”

  “Of course not!” Aunt Edna burst out, batting her eyelashes at him sickeningly, like some green girl.

  “We live in the modern world,” Mr. Whistleby said. “The Priory has a history of unusual occurrences, but my daughter knows it is naught but superstition.” He tried to change the subject, hurrying them toward the dining room with talk of the carp from the ponds on the estate.

  When it came to magic, Lord Elderwood wasn’t so readily put off. “Surely you can’t dismiss your heritage so easily,” he chided. “Well, Miss Whistleby?”

  “I don’t know what I believe,” Peony said unhappily. Thank heavens the morning’s disappointment with rolling in the dew had gone a little way toward convincing her that magic didn’t exist.

  “I hear Whistleby Priory has a haunted room,” Lord Elderwood said. “I daresay the ghosts wail from time to time, and everyone tries to assure everyone else it’s the wind.”

  Trust him to encourage Peony’s stupid beliefs! Alexis looked pained—rightly so.

  “Because it is the wind,” Aunt Edna said predictably.

  “Yes, often it must be,” Elderwood went on, “which makes matters even more confusing. Even after growing up in several haunted houses, I’m not always certain which is which.”

  Elderwood was admitting to uncertainty? Lucasta stifled a snort.

  “Nor am I,” Peony said, “but I keep the Haunted Bedchamber clean and tidy because no one else will go there.” A note of defiance entered her voice. “And I made a point of thanking the ghosts when they scared a horrid governess away.”

  “Quite right,” Elderwood said. “It is far wiser to err on the side of belief.”

  This startled Lucasta so much that she gaped at him for a full second before clapping her mouth shut. Her mind stuttered, while Alexis protested, as did Mr. Whistleby in his weak way. For a second time the earl seemed, astonishingly, to be admitting that he might sometimes be in error.

  Impossible.

  “An open mind is always preferable to a closed one,” Elderwood said.

  Much as she wished to disagree with everything he said, Lucasta couldn’t deny that. Closed minds refused to believe she could do the same scholarly work as a man.

  “Just because one doesn’t believe in or understand all the forces about us, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  From a strictly logical viewpoint, she couldn’t argue with that, either, but...

  “Perhaps not, but one can’t read a magical meaning into every circumstance,” Alexis said, and she smiled her relief. How kind of him to come to her rescue.

  Elderwood’s features hardened into dangerous implacability. “No, but life has taught me that if one cannot avoid the unusual—and I have never been able to do so—one must learn to live with it and work within its parameters. Otherwise, the consequences are disastrous.”

  The only “unusual” Lucasta had been unable to avoid was Lord Elderwood, but surely for a week or so she could put up with him. As far as possible, avoid him. And absolutely, positively blot out all lustful thoughts of him.

  She addressed herself to her dinner and did her best. She didn’t get much help from Alexis. Ever the gentleman, he did his duty with Peony, who seemed even shyer than usual—except, of course, when the topic moved to a discussion of magical creatures. Suddenly voluble, Peony babbled to Elderwood about a boggart which had supposedly resided at Whistleby. Lucasta kept her mouth shut, irritated beyond measure at the way the two of them encouraged one another. Alexis seemed annoyed, too. When Elderwood asked—so very condescendingly—if Lucasta had included the Whistleby boggart in her research, she snapped at him.

  He grinned at her. “A foolish question, I know. Your thoroughness is remarkable.”

  That smile sent a flush straight to her privates. His gaze made it clear he knew it. She wrenched her eyes away from his, forcing herself to take control. That couldn’t possibly be a compliment, so it must be a not-so-thinly-veiled insult. With difficulty, she recovered her composure and set out to bore him with every boggart story she knew.

  But...he didn’t seem bored. On the contrary, he proved as knowledgeable about boggarts as about buttery spirits. He asked pertinent questions and supplied the occasional tidbit that was new to her. If only he didn’t actually believe in these beings, they might get on very well.

  Visions of how well poured into her mind. Horrified, she slammed the floodgate shut, but it was too late; desire, powerful and insistent, heated her blood once again.

  Desperately, her hands shaking, she cut her stuffed sirloin into tiny pieces and stared at her plate as she chewed each one. It didn’t do the least bit of good. How could it, when he was sitting next to her, radiating lust and plotting who knew what? She must keep her distance at all costs.

  When the ladies finally left the gentlemen to their port, she excused herself to go to the necessary, but instead flew up the stairs to Lord Elderwood’s bedchamber, determined to find her muff pistol, the only thing that might force her into private conversation with him. Where would he hide it? Thank God he hadn’t brought a valet with him; that should give her a little leisure to search.

  The room smelled of him. How could that possibly be? He’d done nothing in there but change his clothing, but his masculine scent lingered, stirring her barely banked desires into flame. She stifled a moan. The atmosphere crackled with her awareness of him...his valise, his boots, his...bed.

  On the middle of the counterpane lay her little gun.

  She snatched it up, clutching it to her breast. He must have known she would come for it. Her heart thudded. Why hadn’t he hidden it? Oh, she had no idea how his mind worked; it was probably as convoluted as magic.

  What if he came after her, trapped her in here, threw her on the bed and had his way with her?

  The vision deprived her of thought, of strength. She slumped against one of the bedposts. Over the past three years, she’d imagined just such a scene whilst safely alone in her bed. Sure no harm could come of it, she had given in to the pleasure her hands and mind had wrought.

  With Elderwood here in the solid, powerful, flesh, she wanted more. No, she positively yearned for it. Too bad; she would satisfy herself tonight in bed. But no, she knew with utter certainty that it would only make the yearning worse.

  Despair assailed her. What was wron
g with her? It was dangerous folly to encourage something she so badly didn’t want.

  Who was she fooling? She did want it. Not the magic, not the marriage he proposed—God forbid—but she desperately wanted to slake her lust.

  Just once more, a breathy little voice inside her said. There is only one way to get rid of this itch—to scratch it.

  Would that really get rid of anything? She’d been scratching it on her own for three years, and it hadn’t gone away. Oh, but that was different. That was fantasy, whereas this was real. She didn’t trust that voice, but there might be an element of wisdom in its urgings. If she gave in to him, he might realize that his ideas about eternal bonds, et cetera, were sheer nonsense. If he bedded her and then lost interest, she might hurt a little, but it would be worth it. She would get him out of her system once and for all.

  No, she would hurt quite a lot—she had her pride—but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t do it. She returned to her own chamber and hid the gun at the back of her bookshelf, still battling desire with common sense. Perhaps she should leave it to fate.

  That sounded far too much like magic. She gave up and went downstairs.

  Below, Aunt Edna chattered like a girl about Lord Elderwood’s looks and charm, whilst at the same time scolding Peony for her complete lack of attributes that would attract such a man and berating her for not trying harder. Wooden-faced, Peony sorted the embroidery silks. Meanwhile the men, judging by the shouts of laughter from the dining room, told salacious stories over their port.

  How would it feel to share warm stories with Lord Elderwood? To be entirely open about their mutual lust? To revel in it?

  She turned hurriedly away before Aunt Edna commented on her burning face.

  Just once.

  * * *

  She’d taken the gun. A hint of her essence lingered in David’s bedchamber. He breathed it in, suffused with longing. He’d botched it this morning and hoped the return of her gun showed that he had no intention of coercing her. That whatever they did, it must be with her consent.

  He had set about finding ways to gain it. He’d tried his best at dinner. He’d done as she’d asked, via Alexis—paid as little attention to Peony as possible, although he wouldn’t have minded drawing the girl out more, as it was a pleasure to find someone else who believed in magic. He’d been thankful for the opportunity to emphasize his fascination with folklore. He’d hoped it would show Lucasta that they had more in common than lust.

  And yet she’d clearly resented his interest. She seemed to take his compliments as insults and his questions as mockery, as if he wished to prove her wrong. He didn’t, at least not about most of it. If only she would acknowledge that magic might be real... A little agnosticism would go a long way toward...

  Toward what? She was engaged to marry another man. He shucked his shoes and pondered ways and means.

  Why was she so determined to refuse him, in spite of the intensity of their attraction? The only reasonable explanation was that she loved Alexis very deeply. Not for the first time, he considered telling Alexis that his prospective bride was no virgin. That deny it though she might, she had a wanton streak that made her respond to David’s advances even while engaged to Alexis.

  He didn’t want to. She wasn’t a wanton by nature, but rather influenced by magic. Disclosing their entanglement would probably break the engagement, but it might also destroy his friendship with Alexis. It certainly wouldn’t help his cause with Lucasta. Not only that, his sexual feelings for Lucasta and, more important, hers for him, were private business. They were intense, intimate and eternal.

  Enchantments were the devil to break, and often death was the only way out.

  He didn’t intend to die anytime soon, but without Lucasta, his life had become purposeless and gray. She didn’t realize it, but unless she married him, a tedious fate hung over her, as well. She might become hard and brittle; she might simply fade away. Probably the former, but contemplating either option made him ill. Such a bright, vital woman deserved a full life.

  When he heard soft footsteps outside his door, a wild hope sprang to his breast—and then died away as the footsteps passed. Another set passed a minute later. Curious now, he opened the door.

  Alexis turned, scowling at him, putting a finger to his lips.

  To hell with that. “Where the devil are you going?”

  Taken aback, Alexis stared at him for a long second before saying, “None of your damned business.”

  Fury roiled up inside David. If Alexis had arranged a tryst with Lucasta... He watched his friend through a door at the end of the corridor, cursed, and went to put on his boots. If Alexis so much as touched Lucasta, he would bloody well kill him.

  A minute later, armed with a candle and his rage, he hastened down the passageway in the same direction as Alexis. The door at the end led onto a secondary staircase. He descended quickly and quietly.

  “Oof!” Lucasta Barnes bumped into him as she exited a room at the bottom of the stairs, brandishing the muff pistol again. His candle flame wavered, flickered and went out. Dense darkness enveloped them.

  “What in God’s name are you doing down here?” she demanded, a tremor in her voice.

  “I could ask you the same question,” he drawled. The darkness was a drug, luring him to her musky sweetness. His fingers itched to take hold of her.. He reminded his rapidly swelling cock that she had probably loaded the gun again.

  She brushed past him, sending a shudder of lust to his loins, and pushed open another door. Moonlight flooded a small vestibule, and he followed her outdoors. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she whispered, “but I’m going out to keep an eye on Peony.”

  “Miss Whistleby is outdoors?”

  “Yes, and don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. All I do know is that she’s innocent and foolish.”

  “What sort of harm is likely to befall her in this backwater?” He paused. “Good God, is she by any chance meeting a lover?”

  “Of course not,” Lucasta scoffed. “Knowing Peony, it’s something to do with magic. Until she realizes that magic doesn’t exist, she will continue to put herself in danger. I must see that she comes to no harm.”

  “You needn’t worry,” he said. “She’ll be fine.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” Lucasta hurried ahead of him to the orchard. The gate stood open. “How careless of her to leave the gate ajar. That’s not like Peony.” She barely gave David time to squeeze past before she shut it and hurried toward the wood.

  “She wasn’t the last one through. I believe Alexis has gone after her,” David said.

  * * *

  “You saw him follow her?” Lucasta hissed. Good God, if Peony had decided to roll naked again...

  “Less than two minutes before me, he crept down the passage toward the same staircase.”

  Lucasta strode onward, unsure what to think. Alexis wasn’t the sort to tryst with the housemaids, and he was chivalrous in the extreme, but how could he know Peony needed someone to protect her? It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t take advantage of a naked girl, nor would he let anyone else do so.

  “Shall we go verify that she’s safe?” Elderwood’s voice was a silky dare. “Or rather, that he’s safe?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “Alexis is a gentleman through and through.” Unlike Lord Elderwood, who would take advantage of a woman with or without clothing. She remembered leaving the future to fate and shivered. No, this meeting was pure chance. Nothing else.

  That didn’t stop every nerve in her body from coming alive and afire.

  The path through the wood appeared like magic. No, not magic—just luck that they’d found it easily in the dark. She hastened onward. “But for her safety, I must make certain he is with her.”

  Elderwood laughed. From ahead came a startled squeak, stifled immediately. Urgent whispers stretched toward them, ghostly and unintelligible. Peony was talking to someone, but she didn’t sound frightened, and she
hadn’t had time to disrobe. It must truly be Alexis, thank heavens. He was a reassuring sort of man. He would convince her to keep her clothes on. He would make sure she returned to the house safely.

  Elderwood laughed again. “Come now, my love. Tell the truth. Don’t you want to know what your darling betrothed is doing with your cousin?”

  “Damn you,” she said too loudly, whirling back toward the orchard. She lowered her voice. “Stop laughing, for God’s sake. Have you no discretion?”

  A muffled snort came from directly behind her. He must be close enough to touch her and intending to do so.

  “Stupid question,” she muttered. She was at his mercy, or rather at the mercy of her own rampaging desires. She hurried forward, clutching the pistol close so he couldn’t get it, but suddenly the path petered into nothing. She must have mistaken the way in the dark; she dodged the other direction, around a massive oak she’d passed on the way in.

  Blocked again, this time by a wall of undergrowth and a closed rank of trees. She whirled again and stumbled.

  Lord Elderwood caught her. “Dear, dear,” he said. “Are we lost?”

  “Where did the path go?” she burst out. “It was right here. I’m sure of it.”

  “And now it isn’t,” Elderwood said, one arm strong around her, the other plucking the muff pistol from her hand.

  She moaned. “That makes no sense at all.”

  He took her chin in his hands and tipped it up. His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. “It does, if you believe in magic.”

  * * *

  “No,” she said, but when he kissed her, she succumbed instantly, just as she was meant to do.

  “Yes,” David said, worshipping her with kisses, almost clumsy in his need to take her, to prove that she was his and his alone. Later they would do this slowly, make love languidly in cool sheets, but now he needed to possess her quickly and surely before she had a chance to deny herself again.

  “No,” she whispered, but she didn’t stop kissing him.

  “Yes,” he said once more. He palmed her breasts through the bodice of her gown. As before, she wore no stays. Nothing hindered his roving hands as they raised her skirts.