“The May Queen represents the Roman goddess Flora, who personifies spring.” Zach smiled. “Are you hungry? There’s a feast to be had here, my lady.”
“You know, I am, actually. I got up with the birds to gather flowers for the baskets, and I had not but a scone with lemon curd to break my fast.”
“Then let’s get you some beef on a stick and a Beltane Cake.” Zach took her arm.
“A Beltane cake? What is that?”
“Beltane is the English pagan name for May Day, and it’s a celebration of fertility and renewal. Perfect for spring, of course. A Beltane cake is a rich eggy confection with scalloped edges. But,” he warned, his eyes grave, “if you get the piece that has been darkened with charcoal on the bottom, you might be pelted with eggshells.”
Sophie jerked back. “What?”
Zach laughed. “Old folklore, love. That won’t happen today, I promise you. The only people who get the blackened pieces at this festival are jesters who are paid to be in on the fun.”
The cake was indeed rich and delicious, though Sophie sneaked a peek at the bottom. No black charcoal mark, thank goodness.
Next, they took part in the Maypole dance. Zach led her in the patterns of the dance, and they each held an end of ribbon, weaving it around the pole.
They watched groups of men dressed in green-and-white do a rhythmic dance with swords to folk music. Morris dancing, Zach called it. By then, midafternoon had set in, and the party was becoming raucous. Alcohol was flowing freely, and a group of pagan Druids were starting the spiral dance. Sophie had seen the dance last summer, at the Midsummer celebration, but this time, the Druids began stripping off their clothing.
Sophie shuddered, looking away.
“Sorry, sweet. Things tend to get a little rowdy at this festival. It’s the celebration of fertility and all.”
“I don’t particularly want to see anyone create life here out in the open,” Sophie said. Clearly, the Druids were headed that way. The air was thick with lust.
“I understand. I’ll take you home.” Zach kissed her cheek chastely and took her arm.
But Sophie didn’t want to go home. The mood of the festival had aroused her. She felt free. Alive and free. Sexually free. And bold.
“It strikes me, Zach, that I’ve never been to your home. Might we go there?”
* * *
“Spectacular!” Sophie gazed with widened eyes.
Zach’s townhome in Bath was lush with the finest furniture in the parlor and dining room. Decorated in hunter green and burgundy, the entire home screamed of masculinity. It was perfect for Zach.
Of course, what she really wanted to see was his bedchamber.
As they ascended the stairway, Zach said, “Sophie, I don’t think you know what you’ve done for me. I still can’t believe someone could stick her neck out for me like that.”
“My parents found out,” Sophie said demurely. Iris had spoken to her quietly the previous night. She’d left the earl out of the conversation, thank goodness.
“Yes, I know. Brighton spoke to me.”
“Oh!” Sophie cringed. “I hope he wasn’t too hard on you.”
“No. I got to escort you to the festival, didn’t I?” He winked.
Sophie smiled, her body tingling. “You don’t have to thank me anymore. I did what was right. But I do have to thank you for the lovely day at the festival.”
At the top of the stairwell, she grabbed Zach and kissed him. She was not in the mood for formalities. She wanted Zach, and she would have him. Now. And she had a surprise for him.
She bit on his lower lip, its lushness filling her senses. So soft and full, like silk against her tongue. As they kissed ferociously, Zach toyed with the buttons of her dress in back. Soon the white silk was in a heap on the wood floor at the tops of the stairs.
He ripped his mouth from his. “God, love, you’re not wearing a corset.” His breath was ragged.
She smiled, her body blazing. Her surprise. “I didn’t have a peasant dress to wear to the festival, but I wanted to be authentic in some small way. Peasant girls often don’t wear corsets.”