Read The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief) for Free Online

the
salt cellar, she dropped it with a horrified hiss. What if his sleeve had
brushed her bare arm? She would have died of heat on the spot.
    Something had gone terribly wrong with the morning’s ritual.
This sort of reaction might be appropriate with a man one loved and who loved
one in return—not that she’d ever imagined such a feverish sort of
attraction.
    On the other hand, apart from the fact that Sir Alexis was the
wrong man, it did feel rather good. No, extremely good.
    She set that unacceptable truth aside. At first, she’d thought
the magic had failed her, but the explanation wasn’t that simple. It had
certainly affected her . She was in danger of
tumbling into love with Sir Alexis, which was not only traitorous but absurd. He
was far too attractive to want a beanpole for a wife.
    Perhaps not , she thought wistfully. Perhaps some gentlemen
liked tall women with flat figures. Couldn’t Sir Alexis be one of them?
    Dinner came to an end, and the ladies left the men to their
port. Lucasta excused herself briefly, leaving Peony to suffer Aunt Edna’s
raptures over Lord Elderwood’s looks and charm. She berated Peony for not trying
harder to attract him but concluded bitterly, “Your case is clearly hopeless.
You’d never attract a pimply nobody like the curate’s son, much less a catch
like Lord Elderwood.”
    Nor a wonderful man like Sir Alexis. She’d been a fool to even
think it possible. In numb silence, she sorted embroidery silks and made her
plans. In her ignorance, she must have performed the ritual the wrong way. It
was too late to try it again. Instead, she must undo what she’d done.
    Rather like walking around a church widdershins, she would
simply do things in an opposite sort of way. Instead of dawn, she should have
performed her counter-ritual at dusk, but it was too late for that. Instead, she
would choose darkness as the opposite of light. Instead of rolling naked, she
would remain clothed—what a relief.
    Some tiny, disappointed part of her whispered that nakedness
was much more exciting. She shook the whisper away. She wasn’t doing this for
excitement. She was trying to correct an error. When at last they’d had tea and
gone to bed and the house was quiet, she dressed in the same old gown and crept
out the side door once again.
    Nighttime was unexpectedly noisy and much more unpleasant than
morning. She far preferred friendly birds and imminent light to this dense
darkness filled with skittering feet and unseen wings. She set her nervousness
aside and thought of additional ways of counteracting the magic. Instead of
lying with her head facing the center of the meadow and her feet toward the
perimeter, she would turn the other way. Instead of hoping with her heart, she
would resolve with her mind.
    Something erupted from a thicket with a screech. Peony clapped
her hands over her mouth, muffling a whimper. Twigs crackled beside her, behind
her, everywhere . She whirled, stumbling, and caught
herself with a gasp.
    No one was there. How could she resolve anything with her mind
if she let it play tricks on her? She had fallen asleep once in the Haunted
Bedchamber and woken after dark—something grown men were afraid to do. There was
nothing to fear out here, either. She strode fiercely forward until she reached
the meadow.
    It stretched ahead of her, encircled by ancient trees and
blossoming may, bathed in moonlight and alive with magic. She gathered her
thoughts and concentrated on what she must do. Banish hope and longing; replace
them with reason and self-control. Banish unacceptable desire and replace it
with—
    From somewhere nearby came a soft laugh.
    She squeaked. A hand clapped over her mouth and a strong arm
pulled her backward. She thrashed.
    “Stop struggling, Miss Whistleby,” said a sharp male voice in
her ear. “It’s I, Alexis Court.”
    She slumped in his arms, her heart threatening to burst from
her chest. Slowly, he released her, setting her gently on her feet.
    She