How to Disgrace a Lady. Bronwyn Scott

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      The very thought sent a tremor of excitement through her even as she reached for the nearest garment. ‘You should cover yourself, sir.’ Alixe held out the shirt. It would be too bad, of course, but it was an absolute social necessity. No one stood around conversing without their clothes on.

      He took the shirt, his eyes were laughing at her. ‘Should I? I was under the impression you were enjoying the view.’

      ‘I think the only one enjoying this is you,’ Alixe countered, mustering all the outrage she ought to feel at this affront to her sensibilities.

      He cocked an eyebrow in challenge. ‘At least I’ll admit to it.’

      That comment did stoke her temper. Alixe squared her shoulders. ‘You are a most ill-bred man.’ With the body of a god and a face of an angel. ‘I must be going.’ She brushed at her skirts to give her hands something to do. ‘I can see everyone is all right. I’ll be on my way.’ This time she managed to exit the clearing without stumbling over any errant logs.

      Merrick watched her go with a laugh. He thrust his arms through the sleeves of his shirt in a belated overture to decency. Perhaps he shouldn’t have done it—shouldn’t have teased her so mercilessly. But it had all been good fun and she’d not shied away from it. He knew when a woman was curious and when she was genuinely mortified. This creature in the drab dress hadn’t been nearly as mortified as she claimed. Her lovely sherry eyes had been wide with curiosity satisfied as she looked her fill.

      Merrick reached for his trousers and slid them on. To be sure, she’d tried to look away, but healthy inquisitiveness is hard to defeat and she’d lost that battle from the start. Not that he’d been bothered by her frank enquiry into the male anatomy. She wasn’t the first woman to see him naked. He’d been naked in front of a lot of them.

      Women liked his body, with its lean lines and muscled contours. Lady Mansfield had once, quite publicly, declared it the eighth wonder of the world. Lady Fairworth had spent nights staring at him for hours. She’d made a habit of having him fetch things from around the room so that she could watch him walk across the floor stark naked for her.

      He hadn’t minded. He understood the needs of those experienced women and, in turn, they understood his. But today had been different. There’d been something unsullied in her gaze. He’d clearly been her first. Even now the knowledge fired a low heat in his groin. She’d been surprised, but she hadn’t shrunk from her discoveries. She’d welcomed them. Her response to him had sparked a kind of eroticism he was not familiar with. It had been ages since he’d been anyone’s first naked man.

      More than that, the very directness of her demeanour had appealed to him. He’d known he could push her sensibilities. For all her clumsiness, he’d known she could handle herself. Helpless misses didn’t run through the forest to the rescue of drowning victims. He’d not been disappointed. Her sharp conversation had been every bit as enjoyable as her hot, open gaze. Too bad he didn’t know her name. He’d just have to burn on his own.

      Alixe’s cheeks were still burning when she got back to the summer house. She resolutely settled in with her book, determined to not think about the encounter at the lake. But her mind would have none of it. Her mind preferred instead to recall, in vivid detail, the well-muscled torso with its defined abdomen and lean hips tapering down to that most manly part of him. And that smile. Even now, that wicked, laughing grin sent a curious skittering sensation straight to her stomach. He’d been flirting with her. Those dancing blue eyes knew exactly what they were doing, exactly what kind of havoc they were wreaking on her senses. It had been ages since anyone had flirted with her, even if it had been a little unorthodox.

      Well, more than a little. It was the most unorthodox thing that had happened to her to date. Until today, she’d never seen a man without his shirt. Probably, if she thought about it, she hadn’t seen a man without a waistcoat since her come-out. A gentleman didn’t dare remove even his coat in the presence of a lady, while this man had removed quite a bit more than his coat. It begged the question: what did that make him? Certainly not a gentleman.

      The blush started again and Alixe was swamped anew with the sensation. She’d seen a real, live, naked man.

      Up close.

      Very close.

      Extremely close. And it had been gorgeous. Which begged the question: what did that make her? Curious? Wanton? Something more? The answer would be worth exploring. She was no prude, genteel rearing and shielding aside. She’d partaken as eagerly in the sights as he’d displayed them. Alixe fought the urge to fan herself like an insipid miss. She had to find her focus and be done with this ridiculous mooning. She’d seen no more today than the gifts God had given mankind in general. Every man had one, which was roughly half the population.

      There.

      She’d taken the philosophical high ground—and failed miserably to dispel the image from her mind.

      It was official: she was definitely unsettled. She would get no reading done at this rate. Alixe tucked her book back into the bag. What she needed was a change of scenery. She might as well head back to the house; if she smiled like an empty-headed fool the whole way back, so be it.

      By the time she’d gained the safety of her rooms, Alixe had found perspective. She had indeed smiled the entire walk back to the house. She might even continue to smile her way through the tedious evening that lay ahead. If people wanted to believe she was smiling at them, they could. Only she would know what she was really smiling about. Other than that, she’d come to the realisation there was no harm in her secret. The man from the lake didn’t know her; she didn’t know him; they would never see each other again, except perhaps in her dreams.

      But the knowledge did make her feel undeniably more worldly than she’d felt four hours ago and she dressed with a little more care than she might otherwise have done in celebration of it. She had her maid lay out the pale-blue dinner gown with the chocolate-brown trim and the low-cut bodice. The gown was one of a few exceptions in her otherwise ‘sufficient’ wardrobe.

      She’d always been more interested in her books and manuscripts than clothes and society; a fact her family was not willing to accept, although she’d achieved the august age of twenty-six and had firmly put herself on the shelf. Despite her most persuasive efforts, not all of the family had despaired of marrying off the controversial, blue-stocking daughter of the Earl of Folkestone just yet. She’d refused to go to London this Season, so her dogged family had brought London to her in the form of a house party peopled with the very best of her brother’s acquaintances.

      Alixe clipped on her dainty pearl earrings and gave herself a final look-over in the mirror. It was time to go downstairs and pretend she’d never seen a man without clothes. Surely she could do that?

      ‘Alixe, there you are.’ Her brother, Jamie, materialised at the foot of the stairs. ‘You look pretty tonight; you should wear blue more often.’ He tucked her arm through his and for once she was grateful for the assurance of his presence. ‘There are some people I want you to meet.’

      Alixe stifled a groan. Jamie meant well, but he worried too much about her. As a result, he was always trying to matchmake.

      ‘Alixe, it will be all right. These are friends of mine from university. Now, be nice. Here they are,’ he whispered at her ear, whisking her into the drawing room.

      A group of gentlemen stood near the doorway. At Jamie’s entrance, four pairs of eyes turned her direction. One set she recognised. They СКАЧАТЬ