The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief) by Barbara Monajem Page B

never have entered his mind.
    It is wiser to err on the side of belief .
    Whatever Elderwood pronounced, Alexis wasn’t likely to start
believing in magic, but...Peony Whistleby, he realized suddenly, was in grave
danger of not believing. Not about ghosts and
boggarts and such—it was easy enough to believe in that sort of thing because it
didn’t involve any sort of action—but about herself. Surely she must know that
many men who were in no hurry to marry eventually settled down. Perhaps it had
never occurred to her that one such man might settle down with her. Just because
Alexis wasn’t thinking of marriage a few days ago didn’t mean he hadn’t come
round to the idea now.
    No, she had such a low opinion of herself that even after
performing a folk rite and experiencing what must, to her, be astonishing
results, she still didn’t believe the magic had worked.
    Alexis hatched a plan.
    * * *
    Peony wanted to do it again.
    She stood at her bedchamber window early the next morning—a
little way back so she wouldn’t be visible—and watched Sir Alexis and Lucasta in
the knot garden. Lucasta was doing most of the talking, her gestures wild with
emotion, while Alexis paced calmly beside her, hands behind his back, nodding
and offering a word or two from time to time. Peony loved everything about him,
from his hair to his eyes and mouth, to his hands and his beating heart and the
powerful thighs in his pantaloons, and the member that had pushed inside her
last night and given her such pleasure.
    She wanted him again. And she was sure to want him again after
that.
    She mustn’t. It wasn’t right. Why wouldn’t the magic let her
be?
    She crept closer to the window, drinking in the sight of
Alexis’s calm, competent figure. Had he spoken to Lucasta in spite of promising
he wouldn’t? Peony couldn’t really blame him if he had; he believed himself in
love, so of course he would feel it necessary to act.
    Lucasta didn’t seem angry at him, which was one small comfort.
She appeared, rather, to be asking his advice—not that she was permitting him
much opportunity to give it. She threw up her hands as if at her wit’s end.
After a minute, Alexis said something to her, and they both raised their
eyes.
    Peony’s heart fluttered, but they weren’t looking her way. They
were discussing something higher up and to the right, and Lucasta
pointed—perhaps at the trees where the rooks always nested, or...at the Haunted
Bedchamber? Not likely. Sir Alexis didn’t believe in ghosts.
    He turned his head and saw her. He grinned and raised a hand,
and she jumped back, hot with embarrassment and chilly with regret. What was she
going to do?
    For most of the day, she had no difficulty avoiding him. He
rode away with Papa and Lord Elderwood to inspect the estate and see a hunter
the squire had up for sale. The vicar’s wife and daughter called and talked and
talked, but drove away disappointed at not having yet met the earl. Lucasta went
walking for hours and behaved awfully strangely upon her return, staring into
space and starting whenever anyone spoke to her. The squire and his wife and son
came to dine.
    Then, just after the syllabub was served, Sir Alexis said, “I’d
like to spend tonight in your haunted room.”
    * * *
    From the babble that greeted this announcement, two
voices were notably absent: Lucasta’s and Peony’s. Lucasta’s lack of reaction
didn’t surprise him; she was completely absorbed in concerns of her own. Peony,
on the other hand, caught his eyes for the first time all day.
    He winked at her and dealt with the hubbub—the dire predictions
of Mr. Whistleby’s sister and the squire’s wife, the gruesome tales of the
squire and his son, the anxious protests of Mr. Whistleby, and Lord Elderwood’s
seemingly uncontrollable laughter.
    “Miss Barnes,” said the squire’s wife. “He’s your betrothed.
Surely you can prevent him from taking such a foolhardy step.”
    Lucasta emerged from her brown