The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief) Page 3

  Whatever was wrong with her? She shouldn’t think such things about her cousin’s betrothed. Yes, Sir Alexis was a fine-looking man with a highly attractive mouth. She’d noticed it when he’d smiled at her. He’d also had a reprehensible gleam in his eye. But although she envied Lucasta her fortune in having a fiancé, she didn’t wish she had Sir Alexis for herself.

  To prove it, she imagined Sir Alexis touching and kissing Lucasta...and envy’s sister, jealousy, blossomed inside her.

  Horrified, she tried to withdraw, but it was too late. Lucasta flitted along the passageway toward her. Desperately, Peony banished the images insinuating themselves into her mind.

  Lucasta peered at her. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Peony lied.

  “Alexis promised to ask Lord Elderwood to help discourage your father and Aunt Edna,” Lucasta said.

  Peony cringed. Lucasta was doing her best to help, while Peony indulged in traitorous thoughts. “How—how very kind,” she muttered.

  “That’s Alexis for you,” Lucasta said. “The perfect fiancé. I’d better go change, or I’ll be late for dinner.” She hurried across the corridor and disappeared into her own bedchamber.

  Peony shut her door again. Her heart pitter-pattered against her breast. She took a deep breath. And another. She must control her wayward thoughts. Such disloyalty to her cousin was intolerable. She wasn’t attracted to Sir Alexis. She refused to be.

  Footsteps approached in the passageway, and somehow she just knew.

  “Miss Whistleby,” said Sir Alexis on the other side of the door. She stood paralyzed, wishing with all her heart that she was someplace else, but just like that morning, magic paid her no heed.

  * * *

  “Open up,” Alexis said. “I know you’re there.”

  Miss Whistleby pulled the door just wide enough to scowl at him. “This is most improper. What do you want?”

  “You’re scolding me for being improper?” He tried to look stern but knew he wasn’t succeeding. How could he, while distracted by the gentle curve of her bosom in a pretty pink gown? He smiled at her. “That won’t wash, and well you know it.”

  She gritted her teeth at him. He couldn’t tell whether she was furious or on the verge of tears. “What do you want?”

  He almost laughed out loud. If he let himself think about it, he wanted her naked again—but this time underneath him.

  Which was impossible, since he wasn’t a dastardly lecher like her so-called lover.

  He should be gentler with her. Softly, he said, “Merely to tell you that I won’t tattle on you to your father.”

  Her bosom rose and fell. “Oh.” Pause. “Thank you. And thank you for agreeing to speak to Lord Elderwood.” She made as if to shut the door again.

  He thrust his boot in the way. “And to suggest that you reconsider your actions. You may love the fellow you went to meet this morning, but if he loved you, he wouldn’t run off like a dashed coward when another man is nearby.”

  A furious blush mounted her cheeks. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  An answering anger rose inside him. “On the contrary, I know precisely how dangerously you’re behaving. As I said this morning, you deserve better. A man who loved you would marry you before expecting you to take your clothes off.”

  Her bosom heaved. “You know nothing!” She kicked him, but her slippers were no match for his boot. “Ouch!” she cried, hopping on one foot. “It’s none of your business, but I wasn’t meeting a lover. Now go away!”

  “Dash it all, you needn’t lie to me,” he said. “I’m trying to help you.” A door opened down the passage. Hurriedly, he stepped back.

  “It’s that way,” Miss Whistleby said after the briefest of pauses. She stuck her arm out, pointing. “Take the first left and the second right, go down one flight of stairs, then left and left again. Whatever you do, don’t go upstairs instead of down, or you might end up in the Haunted Bedchamber. If you can’t find your way, ring one of the bells. They’re installed all over the place for visitors who get lost.”

  * * *

  It was only a footman in the passageway. To lend credence to the exasperating Miss Whistleby’s ploy and still fulfill his promise to Lucasta, Alexis pretended he’d changed his mind about going to the drawing room and needed directions to Lord Elderwood’s bedchamber instead.

  Then, because he couldn’t resist, he asked, “And how would I get to the Haunted Bedchamber?”

  The footman shook his head. “You don’t want to do that, sir.”

  “No?”

  “Not even the master will venture there. Only Miss Peony, who’s done it since she was a child. She gets on fine with the ghosts and bogeys, she does.” He lowered his voice. “Now and then a young fellow begs the master to let him spend a night there, but they never last long. A matter of a hundred years or so ago, a visitor stayed in there all night and went stark raving mad.”

  Alexis had already heard that ridiculous story from Lord Elderwood, but he pretended to be suitably impressed and proceeded to his friend’s room.

  “She doesn’t want to set her cap at me? That’s unusual,” Elderwood said after Alexis explained his errand. “I can’t help but be thankful. I couldn’t tolerate another young fool flinging herself into my arms, protesting that she will die without me.” He chose a cravat. “I fancy I saw Miss Whistleby in London last Season, but she’s not the memorable sort.”

  “She isn’t?” Alexis didn’t think he was likely to forget Peony, and not only because he’d seen her naked. “I find her quite attractive.” Very attractive, as a matter of fact, even when she was berating him. Something about her mattered to him. Maybe that was why her lack of proper judgment distressed him so.

  “There’s nothing precisely wrong with her,” Elderwood said, “but I’ve always found fair hair to be insipid, and she’s colorless as a ghost.” He paused to tie an intricate fold in his cravat. “Too tall, as well. Not entirely unbeddable, but close.”

  Fury, as unexpected as it was powerful, boiled up inside Alexis at this heartless analysis. Peony Whistleby was the perfect height and wonderfully fair.

  Elderwood met his friend’s eyes in the mirror. “Why do you look so appalled?”

  “If you’re going to wrinkle your nose at Miss Whistleby as if she’s a garden slug, then you may as well go home now.”

  “Dear me,” Elderwood said, “how unexpectedly hot under the cravat you are! I shan’t be so rude, I promise you. I shall merely make it clear that my only interest in Whistleby Priory is its heritage—as long as you promise not to get annoyed if I monopolize your knowledgeable Miss Barnes. No offense meant, but what do you see in her? Apart from the pretty face and curvaceous figure, needless to say.”

  This was far safer ground. “She’s intelligent and capable, and she doesn’t need cosseting.” Actually, she was too independent for Alexis’s taste, but in this instance it was a good thing Lucasta could take care of herself. She wasn’t the sort to succumb to the charm of a rake. In fact, she would probably run circles around Elderwood. It would serve him right.

  * * *

  Peony had noticed more and more about Sir Alexis when he’d stood so close to her. He was lean but powerfully built, with deep brown hair and warm dark eyes. Something about the way he looked at her, about the sound of his voice and the intentness of his gaze...made her go all soft and hot inside.

  And she’d been so rude to him! He made her utterly furious,
which was awfully unfair of her. Insulting as he was, she knew he meant well. It must be the conclusion he’d drawn that upset her so. She didn’t have a lover and probably never would. She’d become almost resigned to that dismal fact...until now.

  What would Sir Alexis be like as a lover?

  A wave of yearning poured over her, so powerful she had to sit down and take several minutes to compose herself. How could she have such treacherous thoughts about her cousin’s betrothed? She waited in her bedchamber, trying to read a novel, but thoughts of Sir Alexis kept sidling into her mind. By the time Aunt Edna came to fetch her, Peony’s head ached from reminding herself that he belonged to Lucasta, and that she heartily disliked him besides.

  When they reached the drawing room, Sir Alexis was talking to Papa about crop rotation. Firmly, she refused to allow her eyes to do more than pass over him. She had no true interest in him; her amorous thoughts were an aberration caused by this morning’s encounter. So what if the memory of his eyes on her naked body sent shivers through her? Under his attractive exterior, he wasn’t her sort of man at all. He was Lucasta’s sort. Lucasta’s man.

  Lord Elderwood and Lucasta were arguing about the existence of buttery spirits, who haunted the houses of the dishonest and ungrateful. Surprisingly, Lord Elderwood claimed to believe in such creatures. He was probably just amusing himself, but Peony couldn’t help but be glad he had Lucasta’s full attention. At least she wouldn’t notice the guilt which must surely be written all over Peony’s face.

  Aunt Edna disapproved of Lucasta’s scholarly bent and thought folklore a waste of time. “I hope you found your way without too much difficulty, my lord,” she interrupted.

  “No difficulty at all,” he said with his typically bored air.

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

  Lord Elderwood smiled at her. “Yes, they would do. It’s because of the magic. It is by nature convoluted, so it prefers this rambling sort of environment.”

  An astonished giggle burst from Peony. First buttery spirits and now magic! Aunt Edna gestured deprecatingly with her fan and laughed. “My lord, you mustn’t encourage our Peony in such nonsense, even in jest.”

  Lord Elderwood’s gaze lit upon Peony. “You believe in magic, Miss Whistleby?”

  “Of course not,” cried Aunt Edna, batting her eyelashes when ordinarily she’d scowl furiously at such a topic. Evidently, she was like the other foolish women who fell under Lord Elderwood’s spell.

  “We live in the modern world,” Papa said. “The Priory has a history of unusual occurrences, but my daughter knows it is naught but superstition.” He nodded to the footman to open the door for them. “Let us go in to dinner. I think you will find the carp to be excellent, as it comes from our own ponds.”

  “Surely you can’t dismiss your heritage so easily, Mr. Whistleby,” the earl said. “Well, Miss Whistleby?” All eyes were upon her. She hated it when everyone was watching her. Aunt Edna frowned, Papa looked worried and Lucasta pursed her lips.

  Sir Alexis let out a tiny huff.

  How dare he? “I don’t know what I believe,” she said and marched toward the door.

  A volley of tsks, huffs and scolding pursued her, broken by Lord Elderwood’s detached voice. “I hear Whistleby Priory has a haunted room. I daresay the ghosts wail from time to time, and everyone tries to assure everyone else it’s the wind.”

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

  “Yes, often it must be,” he went on, “which makes matters even more confusing. Even after growing up in several haunted houses, I’m not always certain which is which.” He sounded so sincere that Peony turned in spite of herself, but Lord Elderwood had fallen a little behind, and Sir Alexis’s frown confronted her instead.

  She whirled to face front again. “Nor am I, but I keep the Haunted Bedchamber clean and tidy because no one else will go there, and I made a point of thanking the ghosts when they scared a horrid governess away.” So there, Sir Alexis!

  “Quite right,” the earl said, as if he agreed completely. Sir Alexis didn’t. His silence crackled with disapproval. Good. She didn’t want him to approve of her. She wanted him to dislike her and show it, so her treacherous thoughts would go away.

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

  “For God’s sake, Elderwood,” Sir Alexis burst out. “Must you talk such drivel?”

  “I feel positively obliged to.” The earl’s airy voice became suddenly serious. “An open mind is always preferable to a closed one. Just because one doesn’t believe in or understand all the forces about us doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “Perhaps not, but one can’t read a magical meaning into every circumstance,” Sir Alexis said.

  A smile flitted across Lucasta’s face. Well, it was only natural and most kind of him to be supportive of the views of his betrothed, but—

  Peony halted her thoughts right there. She was not jealous. She had no right or reason to feel that way. She couldn’t desire a man who belonged to someone else. She was incapable of such perfidy. She loved her cousin and would never, ever betray her.

  Lord Elderwood’s voice hardened. “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 can be disastrous.”

  All at once Peony knew. Magic had always been on the perimeter of her life, but she’d never tried to work with it. This morning, she’d dabbled in it for the first time—and something had gone terribly awry.

  * * *

  She’s as mad as Elderwood, thought Sir Alexis in dismay. Believing in magic! Perhaps she thought some spell or other would keep her from getting with child by her dastardly lover. The very idea made him ill.

  While Elderwood was obediently proving to one and all that he had no interest in anything but folklore—and that he was unbalanced, into the bargain—Sir Alexis found himself sitting next to Miss Whistleby. She smelled soft and sweet and infinitely desirable, but she answered his attempts at polite conversation with equally polite monosyllables. After a while he gave up and decided to enjoy his dinner. The baked carp in gravy was indeed excellent, and as for the veal collops, he would have to send a laudatory message to the cook.

  Miss Whistleby reached across to pick up a dish of pickles. Her aroma drifted his way, circling around him enticingly. How could he possibly concentrate on spring spinach dressed with cream, however well prepared? He had to exert the utmost control not to lean closer to Miss Whistleby and inhale her scent.

  This was ridiculous. She was putting him off his feed! Much good it did him being so strongly attracted to her. The one instance when her arm almost brushed his, she gasped, dropped the salt and cringed as if she’d been burned.

  “Bad luck,” he said, almost irritably, before he could stop himself. “Better throw some over your shoulder.”

  “That’s nothing but a silly superstition,” she retorted.

  “And, er—” He chose a topic Lord Elderwood had mentioned on the drive over. “Boggarts are not?”

  “No, they’re not.”

  “Peony!” chided her aunt.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask about boggarts,” Elderwood said. “Whistleby Priory is reputed to have one of its own.”

  “We used to,” Peony said.

&nb
sp; “Peony!” said her aunt again. “Lord Elderwood will have a very odd idea of you if you say such things. You’re not a baby anymore.”

  Something about the way Peony stiffened, at the way she caught her lip between her teeth, tore at Alexis’s heart. Damn it, she had the right to believe what she chose, whether they or he or anyone else agreed.

  “There is such a legend,” said Mr. Whistleby uneasily, “and as a boy, I thought I saw the boggart.” He gave a deprecating little laugh. “But children do have such fancies, and of course there’s no sign of one now.”

  “That’s because it left when Great-Aunt Wilma died,” Peony said.

  “Fascinating,” Elderwood said. “Did her death release him, or did he choose to go?”

  “She had released him long before. She told me so. I don’t think he wanted to stay once she’d gone.”

  “Quite possible,” Elderwood said. “I trust you’ve included this story in your opus, Miss Barnes?”

  “Of course,” Lucasta said in an icy voice, which she immediately moderated by embarking on a recitation of the various stories of boggarts she had recorded. At any other time, Alexis might have been amused by the sparks flying between his two dearest friends, but instead he wished he could pull Peony into his arms and tell her that she was bright and beautiful, and that she should believe whatever she damn well pleased.

  What with her aunt’s constant scolding, her father’s weakness of character and Lucasta’s forceful personality, it was no wonder she had run to the arms of someone who pretended to appreciate her.

  She was headed for devastating disappointment and perhaps worse. He wouldn’t put up with it. Something had to be done.

  * * *

  Sitting next to Sir Alexis Court through an interminable dinner drove Peony quite, quite mad. She could have cheerfully boxed Lucasta’s ears for arguing with Lord Elderwood about folklore throughout the meal and paying no attention to her betrothed, thereby obliging him to talk to Peony. He was good-natured about it, but she couldn’t manage to put two words together. For once, it wasn’t shyness that deterred her. Strangely, she didn’t feel shy with him at all. Perhaps that was the result of being viewed in the nude.