Read Online The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief) by Barbara Monajem - Free Book Online Page A

Radcliffe. There was even enough wood in the basket by the
fireplace to start a fire on the remnants of the old, which by the look of it
wasn’t from long ago. Did Peony use this room as a retreat?
    He removed the key from the door and pocketed it. He knelt
before the fireplace and arranged a tidy pile of kindling, then took a small
taper to light from his candle’s flame. A rattle sounded in the chimney, a gust
of wind whistled down and his candle went out.
    Alexis laughed, wondering if this happened to everyone. He got
out his tinder box, coaxed a small flame to life and held it aloft where a draft
from the chimney wouldn’t reach it.
    A flapping casement did. No wonder people were easily unnerved
up here.
    He lit another piece of tinder. “Do as you please, but this
isn’t meant to be a test of my belief,” he said. “It’s a test of Miss
Peony’s.”
    Dead silence greeted this. He got his bearings, blew out the
little flame and went to shut the window, but the bolt was broken, so the wind
would open it again soon enough.
    Very well, he opened it wide. The moon, now a day past full,
shone helpfully into the room. Clouds scudded past, blocking its light, then
freeing it again. Footsteps skittered behind the paneling; could be mice
or...could be bogeys. Alexis didn’t particularly care. What he believed or
didn’t had nothing to do with what existed—or didn’t. “Louder,” he said. “Make
all the commotion you can, if that’s what it takes.” Briefly, he explained his
predicament, in case the ghosts and bogeys didn’t already know. “Wake her up to
the fact that she can’t call upon love and then deny it.”
    Whoever or whatever it was that did or didn’t exist had a go at
testing him, as well. He’d never been in a room full of so many night
noises—creaks, hisses, moans and busy little footsteps. More than once,
something seemed to brush past him in the darkness. He wasn’t afraid of rats, so
he ignored whatever it was. He took off his coat, shoes and stockings, and tried
out the bed; it creaked, as well, but bore his weight. He drank some wine. He
tried to light the fire again, but a draft from nowhere blew the flame out. He
huffed, and spent a good long while watching out the window. He spied
Elderwood’s tall figure striding across the lawn, coattails flapping in the
wind. He spared a brief thought for Lucasta, who didn’t need to believe in
ghosts; she was battling specters of her own.
    Shortly after that it began to rain, first softly and then in
such a downpour that he had to hold the window shut. The room went wild with
commotion, but he stuck it out until the rain stopped and the wind died down. He
tried lighting the fire again. This time it caught. By the light of the flames,
he read his watch: almost three o’clock.
    Five minutes later, soft footsteps approached the room—human
ones. “Sir Alexis?”
    “Miss Whistleby.” He shucked his shirt; might as well have some
advantage to start with. He opened the door and smiled down at her. “Have you
come to rescue me?”
    Her eyes widened, and he thought she blushed. She averted her
eyes from his bare chest and came slowly into the room, a candle in one hand and
a key in the other. “I feared the bogeys might have locked you in and stolen the
key.”
    He took the key from his breeches pocket and silently showed it
to her. “I left the door unlocked for my beautiful rescuer.”
    Her eyes rested on his chest again. She swallowed and faced the
fireplace. “Did you start the fire without difficulty? Did you hear no footsteps
or moans?”
    “I heard plenty, and the fire took three tries. But whether or
not I believe in ghosts or bogeys is beside the point. The one whose belief is
in question...is you, my love.”
    * * *
    My love ...
    Those precious words echoed through her mind and heart. She
tried to capture and crush them, tried to cast them as powder to the wind. Tried
to stifle the clamor within her at the nakedness of his chest, its