The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ approached the sofa and made the appropriate flattering remarks to the older lady, who probably only heard half of them. ‘Lady Alixe, might I steal you away for a moment or two?’

      ‘What could you possibly have left to say to me?’ she asked as Merrick manoeuvred them over to ostensibly take in a painting on the far wall.

      ‘I think we need to agree that our encounter is to remain a private event between the two of us,’ Merrick said in low tones.

      ‘I do not wish to have you blather about it to anyone any more than you would want me to publicly discover that the girl in question was you. We both know what society’s answer to such a scandal would be.’

      ‘I do not “blather”.’

      ‘Of course not, Lady Alixe. My apologies. I confused blathering with kicking me under the table.’

      She ignored the reference. ‘And your friends, they do not blather either, I assume.’

      ‘No, they will not say anything,’ Merrick promised.

      ‘Then we have reached an accord and you need not seek my company out again.’

      ‘Why so unfriendly, Lady Alixe?’

      ‘I know men like you.’

      He smiled at that. ‘What, precisely, is a “man like me”?’

      ‘Trouble, with a capital “T”.’

      ‘That might be because you’re beginning the sentence with it.’

      ‘Or it might be because you charm women into compromising themselves with you. You, sir, are a rake if ever I’ve seen one.’

      ‘Have you seen one? A rake? How would you know? Oh, I forgot, you’ve seen the David. Well, for your information, I know women like you, too. You think you don’t have much use for men, but that’s because you haven’t met the right one.’

      That sobered her up. ‘You are too bold and you are no gentleman.’

      Merrick laughed. ‘No, I’m not. You should have known better, Lady Alixe. Don’t young misses learn in the schoolroom that you can always tell a gentleman by his clothes?’

      Her jaw tightened. ‘I must admit, my lord, on that point you have me at a distinct disadvantage.’ Lady Alixe turned on her heel and made a smart retreat to the newly arrived tea cart.

      * * *

      In a quiet corner of the room, Archibald Redfield watched the animated exchange between St Magnus and Alixe Burke. It was the second such interaction they’d had that evening. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but St Magnus was laughing and Alixe Burke was in a high-coloured huff as she set off for the tea cart. That was nothing new. Alixe Burke was a shrew in his opinion. He didn’t have much use for sharp-tongued women unless they were rich or knew how to use their tongues in other ways.

      Fortunately Alixe Burke was quite rich and so he tolerated what he classified as her less-attractive qualities. Redfield tapped his fingers idly on the arm of the chair, considering. Things were not getting off to a brilliant start. He’d come to the house party with the specific intention of putting himself into Alixe Burke’s good graces. She’d shunned his advances earlier this spring and he was hoping to recoup his losses there. He’d arrived early that afternoon, only to discover she was out somewhere. She hadn’t put in an appearance until dinner and then she had been seated too far away from him for conversation. Now, that libertine from London was stealing a march on him.

      It was not to be tolerated. He had chosen Alixe Burke as a most specific target. She was the reason he was in this sleepy part of Kent to begin with. He’d done his research in London, looking for ‘forgotten’ heiresses, or wealthy spinsters on the shelf. In other words, women who might be susceptible to a man’s charms, or families desperate to marry them off. That’s when he’d heard of Alixe Burke, from a viscount she’d rejected. She hadn’t been back in town since. So he’d come to her, pretending to be a gentleman. He’d even gone so far as to buy an old manse in the area to complete the charade. After having done so much, he would not lose his advantage to a golden-haired second son who deserved the title of ‘lord’ no more than he did himself.

      St Magnus—where had he heard that name? Oh, yes, the son of the Marquis of Crewe. Always in the midst of a scandal—most lately it had been something with the Greenfield Twins. Redfield was thoughtful for a moment. Maybe he could use St Magnus and his wild tendencies, after all. He would wait and watch for his opportunity.

      * * *

      Alixe had taken the first opportunity to retire for the night, something she should have done hours ago. In the privacy of her room, Alixe pulled the pins from her hair and shook the dark mass free, breathing a sigh of relief.

      The evening had gone moderately well if she counted the fact that this time she’d managed to stay upright in his presence. Kicking him was probably not the best choice, but, all in all, she had survived mostly intact. Somehow she’d managed to sit through dinner beside him and not become entirely witless under the barrage of his clever conversation. While it hadn’t gone well, it certainly could have gone worse. If things had gone well, he wouldn’t have shown up at all. If things had gone worse...worse hardly bore thinking about. After all, he hadn’t shouted their encounter from the rooftops and he’d sworn himself to secrecy.

      Her secret was safe with him and depressingly so. If the secret got out, he’d have to marry her and that could hardly be what a man like Merrick St Magnus wanted. He’d want a beautiful, stylish woman who said sophisticated things.

      Alixe gave her reflection in the mirror a sultry smile, a smile she’d never dare to use in public. She pulled the bodice of her gown down a bit lower and shrugged a coy shoulder. ‘Why, St Magnus, it is you. I hardly recognised you with your clothes on.’ She gave a toss of her head and lowered her voice to a purr. ‘So you do have clothes. I was beginning to wonder after all this time.’ A sophisticated woman would trail a well-manicured nail down his chest, look up at him with smoky eyes and he would know exactly what she wanted. And then he’d give it to her. One had only to look at him to know his body didn’t promise pleasure idly. Whereas, she would only be that sophisticated woman in the solitude of her room.

      Alixe pulled up the bodice of her gown and rang for her maid. It was time to put the fantasy to bed, among other things. That was precisely what St Magnus was. What he promised was a temporary escape. It wasn’t real.

      She knew what society said a real marriage was. It was what her handful of lacklustre suitors had seen when they looked at her: a responsible alliance that came with an impeccable lineage, a respectable dowry and a nice bosom. Admittedly, it was a lot to look beyond. No one had made the effort yet. That suited her. She’d seen the reality and decided it was better to hole up in the country with her work than to become trapped in a miserable relationship.

      Her maid entered the room and helped her out of the dress and into her nightgown, brushed out her hair and turned down her bedcovers. It was the same routine every night and it would be for the rest of her life. Alixe crawled beneath the covers and shut her eyes, trying to shut out the day. But Merrick St Magnus’s face was not easily dismissed. His deep blue eyes danced in her head as her mind chased around the question, ‘Shouldn’t there be more than this?’

      * * *

      After a restless half-hour, Alixe threw back the covers and snatched up СКАЧАТЬ