The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes: How to Disgrace a Lady / How to Ruin a Reputation

‘Yes. I heard that the Cow is about to run away with the Spoon,’ Merrick said in his best conspiratorial whisper.

‘Isn’t the Dish supposed to run away with the spoon?’ Alixe corrected.

Merrick didn’t so much as blink over his error. He leaned closer, a wicked grin taking his elegant mouth. ‘I do believe it is. That’s why my “news” is so astonishing. It’s entirely unexpected.’

Uncontainable laughter surged up inside her. Before she knew it, she was leaning forwards, her hand on his forearm in gentle camaraderie. ‘Oh, do tell,’ she managed in gasps between bouts of laughing.

‘Well, I heard it from the Cat who heard it from the Fiddle...’ Merrick was struggling against losing his composure entirely. It was a fascinating battle to watch on his expressive face—mock seriousness warring futilely with the hilarity of their conversation. In that moment it was all too easy to forget who he was, who she was, as they had in the library.

Alixe’s eyes dropped to his mouth with its aristocratically thin upper lip. Merrick’s eyes followed her down, his head tilting to capture her lips in a gentle buss. He sucked lightly at her lower lip, sending a pool of warm heat to her belly. This slow, lingering kiss carried an entirely different thrill. There was sweetness in its tender qualities. She wanted to fall into it, wanted to feel it turn into something more passionate. She’d never guessed kissing could be such a lovely pastime.

‘That’s how you know you did it right. The proof is in the pudding. Top marks,’ he whispered playfully. ‘You’re an apt pupil. Keep this up and we’ll have London at your feet in no time.’

The words were said in jest and perhaps reassurance, but Alixe could not take them that way. How had it become this easy to forget what this man was? He was a flirt. No, he was more than a flirt. He was a consummate seducer of women. She’d been warned by her own brother. She knew precisely what his role was in this farce to see her married. And yet that knowledge had not been able to prevent it; when he kissed her, it felt real. It didn’t feel like a lesson. It was positively mortifying to forget herself so entirely.

Alixe stood up and brushed at her skirts, summoning anger to be her shield. ‘Let me make one thing clear. I do not need love lessons. Most especially, I do not need them from you.’

Merrick laughed softly at her indignation, having the audacity to smile. ‘Yes, you do, Alixe Burke. And you most definitely need them from me.’

* * *

Love lessons, indeed! Alixe fumed. She could barely sit still long enough to let Meg dress her hair for dinner that night. The man was insufferable. He treated the whole shambles as if it were a lark. More than that, he treated her as if she were a lark.

He’d merely laughed at her riding habit. If he thought he could laugh away her ugly gowns or cajole her into better looks, he would soon learn she wouldn’t give up her strategy easily. Her excessively plain wardrobe had been an excellent defence against unwanted suitors up until now. He was very much the exception. She would remind him of that this evening.

Meg had laid out her second-best dinner gown, but Alixe had opted for an austere beige gown trimmed in unassuming lace of the same colour. Meg had clearly disagreed with her choice. Her maid tugged a braid up into the coronet she was fashioning.

‘I don’t know why you want to wear that old thing. Lord St Magnus seemed plenty interested in you this morning. He’s a handsome fellow. I would have thought you’d want to wear something pretty tonight.’

‘He was just being polite.’ Alixe sat up straighter and squared her shoulders. Polite enough to trade banter at the picnic, polite enough to show her how to kiss. Polite enough to make her forget he had a job to do and that job was her. But she couldn’t confess that to Meg.

Her father had truly humbled her this time, blackmailing St Magnus into this ludicrous proposition. No. She had to stop thinking that way. She had to stop thinking of St Magnus as a victim. She was the victim. St Magnus was on her father’s side. Perhaps not by consent, but he was on the side that wanted to see her married off and that meant her father’s side.

‘Would you like a little rouge for your cheeks?’ Meg suggested hopefully, holding a little pot.

‘No.’ Alixe shook her head.

‘But the beige, miss, it washes you out so.’

Alixe smiled at the pale image she presented in the mirror. ‘Yes, it does do that beautifully.’ She was ready to go down to supper. St Magnus would see that she meant business. No matter what kind of love lessons he offered, she did mean to scare him off by revealing to him the futility of his task.

Chapter Eight (#ud65efc4b-de5a-5629-872a-181afb2f8254)

In the drawing room, Merrick discreetly checked his watch. Alixe was late and he worried that he’d overstepped himself today with his offer of love lessons. There was some irony in that offer. What did he know about love? He knew about sex and every game that went with it. But love? Love was beyond him. It had not existed in his home. His father did not love his mother. His father did not love him. He was merely another means to an end—a loose end in this particular case. Growing up, he’d loved his mother, a beautiful, delicate woman, but that had turned out poorly. His father had used that devotion with merciless regularity in order to obtain what he wanted until Merrick had finally decided to put as much distance between himself and his family as he could. That had been seven years ago. No, Merrick knew nothing about love and he’d prefer to keep it that way.

There was a rustling at the door and Merrick spied Alixe immediately. He’d been hoping she would not meekly accept defeat. Part of him was intrigued about what she would do next, and he was certain there would be a ‘next’. He understood his situation was precarious for a bachelor wishing to avoid matrimony. But regardless of the peril, he’d been intrigued by Alixe Burke again today, proving that his earlier fascination hadn’t been a one-day novelty.

She was a beautiful, spirited woman attempting to hide in dismal clothing. He suspected she was hiding not only from the world, but from herself. It had been difficult for her to acknowledge the passionate side of her nature today. The responses he’d drawn from her had surprised her greatly. Watching her let go and simply be herself for even a few moments had pleased him immensely.

Alixe made her much-anticipated entrance and Merrick smiled. She had not disappointed. The beige gown was even ‘better’ than the grey riding habit because there was less one could technically take issue with. The gown was cut in the latest fashion. She wore very proper pearls around her neck and her hair was done up neatly. But she looked invisible. Everything about her ensemble was completely unassuming, from the colour to the sparse trimmings. She was almost convincing. Almost.

Her head was held too high for the kind of woman who would wear that gown and her eyes were too sharp. Her natural disposition betrayed her in ways the gown could not hide. Merrick would be damned if he’d tell her.

Merrick made his way to where she stood surveying the room and probably wondering where best to put herself out of notice.

‘You look beautiful tonight.’

‘I do not.’ She responded proudly. ‘I’m the plainest woman in the room.’

He took her arm and tucked it through his own. It was a lovely proprietary act, one that everyone in the drawing room noticed while they were trying hard not to. He was well aware every woman’s eyes in the room had discreetly watched him cross the floor to Alixe’s side.

‘Beauty is often found in the eyes of the beholder,’ Merrick replied smoothly, strolling them around the perimeter of the drawing room.

‘A very useful cliché.’

‘A very true cliché. You’ll see.’ Merrick winked slyly. She was not nearly as seasoned at the games of flirtation as he was. She only knew how to avoid them. He knew how to play them. She didn’t quite understand what he was doing. But he did.

A man’s undivided attentions were a potent lure for other males. Once other men saw his attentions they would swarm: some out of curiosity, wanting to see what he saw, others out of fear that something of merit might slip beyond their grasp and still others because men were by nature competitive creatures and could not stand to be bested. And the women in the room would make sure the men noticed. Already, a few of them whispered to companions behind their fans.

Ah, yes, Merrick thought. He would pretend the beige gown was beautiful and by the end of the evening the other men would think so, too.

* * *

Merrick was up to something. The knowledge that the ‘game was afoot’ had Alixe on edge throughout dinner. But she could detect nothing. Merrick sat beside her, solicitous and charming, his manners without fault. She heartily wished she knew more about the games men and women played with one another. She was starting to see the large flaw in her strategies. Her tactics had all been focused on avoiding the game. As a result, she hadn’t the faintest idea how to play the game or even what the rules might be.

The ‘rules of engagement’ was taking on a vastly differently meaning. Before Merrick, Alixe had thought of the term solely in its military capacity, part of the historic vocabulary of war. But now she was starting to see it in a different light, unless one wanted to speculate that love and war were fought on similar fields of battle.

Rules, like the ones Merrick had introduced, were not the rules she’d learned from her governesses. Governesses taught a person how to walk, how to sit and how to make polite conversation; all of which were apparently useless skills in spite of society’s argument to the contrary. What a girl really needed in her arsenal was the ability to coax a kiss. A man, too, for that matter.

Merrick hadn’t said as much, but Alixe suspected the converse was indeed true. Merrick had demonstrated that quite aptly this afternoon at the villa. His allure most definitely did not stem from his ability to make polite conversation or from his talent for sitting ramrod straight. In fact, he was proving it right now across the drawing room while they waited for the games to begin. It was the first time all evening that he’d left her side.

Merrick lounged where other men stiffly posed against the mantelpiece. Merrick said what he thought while others searched for careful phrasing.

And it was working. The pretty Widow Whitely tilted her blonde head to one side, giving Merrick a considering look, a coy half-smile on her lips, her eyes dropping to his mouth and then to an unmentionable spot just below his waist.

Oh. Alixe felt a blush start to rise on Mrs Whitely’s behalf. Had Mrs Whitely really done that? It had happened so quickly, Alixe couldn’t be entirely sure of what she’d seen. Merrick was leaning forwards and smiling, a behaviour that sent an unlooked-for surge of jealously through Alixe. He had smiled at her in a similar manner up at the villa today. Jamie had warned her Merrick liked women. But a warning wasn’t quite as effective as seeing the evidence first-hand.

Watching him with Widow Whitely was a gentle reminder that these were the tools of his trade. It was also a reminder that he wasn’t hers to command. He was merely her unconventional and secret tutor at the moment. If he wanted to flirt with Mrs Whitely, she had no right to countermand him.

As if drawn by her thoughts, Merrick looked up from his tête-à-tête with the engaging widow, his eyes discreetly finding hers.

Five minutes later, he materialised at her side. ‘Did you learn anything, ma chère?’

Other than that Mrs Whitely might have a fascination with certain parts of yours? That could absolutely not be said out loud. Alixe elected to say nothing. She shook her head.

‘I did,’ Merrick continued, his voice low at her ear. ‘We were noticed at the picnic today and again in the drawing room. I’ve been approached by no less than three ladies who have commented on it.’

‘In a good way, I hope.’ Alixe could imagine the ways they might have been noticed. She was not used to deliberately drawing attention to herself. ‘The last thing I need before going to London is too much attention.’ She would prefer no one had spied them up at the villa or actually heard what they were laughing over at the picnic.