The Magic of His Touch

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.

He set his horse at an amble around the wood. He’d gone perhaps a hundred yards when a path appeared on his right—where he could have sworn, a few seconds ago, there was nothing but thick underbrush and ancient oaks and elms. Intrigued in spite of himself, he followed it. Birdsong greeted him; the path wound deeper, opening before him at every turn as the day dawned...and there it was, a small meadow surrounded by hawthorn in the first stages of bloom.

He was about to shout for Elderwood when he saw her. He reined in his horse and stared.

She was young and fair—and removing her clothing! What the devil? He glanced about him; her lover must be nearby, and the last thing he wanted was to intrude on a tryst...

No lover crept out from around the flowering may. No sound disturbed the dawning day but the ever more ecstatic birds.

He should turn away. He shouldn’t stay and watch her disrobe—and yet he couldn’t help himself. He dismounted and crept forward. Protected by the last rank of trees, he drank in her dewy freshness. His groin tightened, reacting fiercely to her beauty. She pulled her shift over her head and tossed it across a hawthorn bush with her other clothing.

Such sweet, small breasts! His fingers itched to fondle them; his mouth longed to kiss and suckle them. She bent to brush her hands through the grass, showing him the palest, loveliest behind, and...oh, God, he ached with wanting her. She splashed dew on her face, patting it on her cheeks and her smooth white neck. He’d heard of maids gathering dew for their complexions, but...

Her lips moved soundlessly; her attitude was one of supplication. She stepped further into the meadow, lay down on the grass and rolled in the dew.

Over and over her slender curves tantalized him—sleek back and gently curving bum, breasts and belly and long, shapely legs. And back again, over and over, while he gazed, bewildered and transfixed. He hadn’t had a woman for a while, but he realized, somewhere in the part of his rational mind that was still functioning, that his fascination with this girl was far more powerful than anything he’d felt before.

She stopped to catch her breath, and her breasts, now dotted with bits of grass, quivered invitingly. He longed to pick the grass off piece by piece and bury his face in those sweet mounds. She closed her eyes, put her hands together as if in prayer, then raised them over her head and rolled again.

A distant whinny jerked Alexis from his trance. Hell and damnation! That must be Elderwood’s horse. He leaped to prevent his own mount’s answering whinny; he mustn’t let his friend get a glimpse of this naked girl. Elderwood wouldn’t force her if she didn’t want it—he wasn’t that sort of man—but faced with such temptation, he could be very persuasive, and he would doubtless offer her compensation...

The very thought offended Alexis beyond belief. He dashed into the meadow.

* * *

“Get up! Get dressed!”

Peony froze in midroll. A strange man bounded toward her, gesturing, his voice low but urgent. She scrambled to her feet, a shriek catching in her throat.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, but he kept on coming. Her heart clambering into her gullet, she tried to cover herself with her hands.

“Who—What—” She couldn’t get a word out.

“Don’t stand there like an idiot, girl! I already know what you look like naked.” A blush crowded up her neck and burned her cheeks. “Get your clothes on, and be quick about it.” With brisk, shooing motions he herded her toward the hawthorn where she’d left her shift and gown.

Anger swelled up, overcoming her fear. How dare he order her about? “Go away,” she said, hating how her voice trembled as she fled before him. “What are you doing here? You have no right.” A little way round the circle of meadow, she spied a horse, cropping the grass at the edge of the wood.

“You should be thankful I’m here,” he said, stopping several feet away when she reached the hawthorn. “I don’t know what foolishness you’re up to, but clearly your lover isn’t coming, and—”

“No, because you spoiled everything,” she said. Her hair had fallen out of its ribbon and stuck wetly to her face. She clawed it away, wanting to hit him. Her chance at finding love was gone. “Go away!”

He folded his arms and just stood there, scowling—and looking at her as if, underneath that frown, he was enjoying himself. “Not until you put your clothes on and be off home where you belong.”

Another flush overwhelmed her, this time of shame and misery, as she realized what he meant. He thought she’d come out here to tryst with some likely village lad, as if she were a scullery maid. And who was he, anyway? She’d never seen him before. He was dressed like a gentleman and spoke like one, too, but he didn’t belong here.

“Who gave you the right to order me about?” she demanded. “This is private land.”

His eyes widened. “You silly little fool, I’m trying to protect you. I traveled here with a friend. To him, a naked woman is a blatant invitation. You’re lucky it’s I who came upon you and not he.”

She grabbed her shift and turned it right side out. “Stop staring at me.”

“You’re a beautiful girl without any clothes on,” he said. “I wouldn’t be much of a man if I didn’t stare.”