The Magic of His Touch

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

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

The Magic of His Touch

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.”