The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

the top, Alixe was transformed. ‘Oh, look at this!’ she gasped. ‘This would have been a splendid look-out. They could see all the way down the coast. Perhaps they could even have sent signals from here. A tower in Dover or Hythe would be able to pick them up.’ She turned to him, her enjoyment evident on her face. ‘I’ve never been up here, you know. In all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve been to the ruins several times, but I’ve never come up the stair.’

      She turned back to the view spread before them. ‘To think it’s been here all the time and I’ve missed it.’ The last was said more to herself than to him. The breeze took that moment to be slightly more forceful, toying with her hat. She reached up, hesitated for an instant, then took it off. ‘That’s better,’ she said to no one in particular. Then she closed her eyes and gave her face over to the wind and the sun.

      Realisation hit him all at once.

      Alixe Burke was a beautiful woman. It was objectively true. He could see it in the fine line of her jaw, the elegant column of her neck, visible only because her head was tilted upwards to the sun. She had a perfect nose, narrow and faintly sloped at the end to give it character. It fit the delicate boning of her face, the slightly raised cheekbones one could only fully appreciate in profile, the generous mouth. Cosmetics could not manufacture a bone structure like that. The grey habit she wore might distract from those finer points of beauty, but a discerning man would see the narrow waist and long legs beneath the bulky skirt. A man wouldn’t have to be that discerning at all to note the high thrust of her breasts beneath the jacket, tempting a man to wonder whether or not that was the doing of nature’s bounty or the assistance of a corset.

      It would be simple work to see her gowned according to her attributes, her beauty fully displayed to the gentlemen of the ton. He doubted her earlier debutante wardrobes had done her beauty complete justice. No whites or pale pastels for this lovely creature. She belonged in rich earthy tones, deep russets and golds to show off the walnut sheen of her hair.

      Merrick moved behind her, his hands finding a comfortable place at her shoulders. He was used to touching women. He hardly thought anything of the gesture. It was casual and easy. But she tensed at the contact. They would have to work on that. She would want to be comfortable with a casual touch now and then, perhaps even doling out a few touches herself, light gestures on a gentleman’s arm. Men liked to be touched as much as women. Touch had enormous effects to the positive; it made a person memorable, it created a sense of closeness and trust even when a relationship was new.

      Well, now he might be going too far. She wasn’t going to seduce anyone. She didn’t need to know all of the tricks he could teach her, just enough to be pleasant, to draw London’s attention and thus the eye of the right kind of gentleman.

      ‘The view is intoxicating,’ Merrick murmured at her ear and was rewarded with a small sigh of wistfulness.

      ‘The sea goes on and on. It makes me realise how little of the world I know. I wonder if the Roman who sat here watching wondered the same thing—what’s out there? How much more of the world is there beyond what we’ve already discovered?’

      With one of his experienced lovers he’d have drawn her back against him at this moment and wrapped his arms about her, but he knew better than to dare such a thing with Alixe. ‘I wasn’t talking about that view,’ he whispered. ‘I was talking about this one.’ He tucked an errant curl behind her ear. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Alixe Burke.’

      She stiffened. ‘You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.’

      ‘Do you doubt me? Or do you doubt yourself? Don’t you think you’re beautiful? Surely you’re not naïve enough to overlook your natural charms.’

      She turned to face him, forcing him to relinquish his hold. ‘I’m not naïve. I’m a realist.’

      Merrick shrugged a shoulder as if to say he didn’t think much of realism. ‘What has realism taught you, Alixe?’ He folded his arms, waiting to see what she would say next.

      ‘It has taught me that I’m an end to male means. I’m a dowry, a stepping stone for some ambitious man. It’s not very flattering.’

      He could not refute her arguments. There were men who saw women that way. But he could refute the hardness in her sherry eyes, eyes that should have been warm. For all her protestations of realism, she was too untried by the world for the measure of cynicism she showed. ‘What of romance and love? What has realism taught you about those things?’

      ‘If those things exist, they don’t exist for me.’ Alixe’s chin went up a fraction in defiance of his probe.

      ‘Is that a dare, Alixe? If it is, I’ll take it.’ Merrick took advantage of their privacy, closing the short distance between them with a touch; the back of his hand reaching out to stroke the curve of her cheek. ‘A world without romance is a bland world indeed, Alixe. One for which I think you are ill suited.’ He saw the pulse at the base of her neck leap at the words, the hardness in her eyes soften, curiosity replacing the doubt whether she willed it or not. He let his eyes catch hers, then drop to linger on the fullness of her mouth before he drew her to him, whispering, ‘Let me show you the possibilities’, a most seductive invitation to sin.

      * * *

      Alixe knew she was going to accept. He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. She could no more stop herself than she could hold back the tides on the beach below them. There was only a moment to acknowledge the act before she was in his arms, his mouth covering hers, warm and insistent that she join him in this. He would not tolerate false resistance and, frankly, she did not want to give it. His tongue brushed her lips. She opened, instinctively parting her lips, giving him access to her mouth, kissing him back with all the enthusiasm her limited skill in this area permitted.

      She felt his hand at her nape, his fingers in her hair, guiding her ever so gently into the kiss, his other hand at her back, guiding her not into him precisely, but against him. The planes and ridges of him were evident beneath his clothes: the structured hardness of his chest, the muscled pressure of his thighs. She had seen all this at the pond, of course, but to feel it, ah, to feel a man was heady indeed.

      It ended all too soon. Merrick drew back, murmuring, ‘My dear, I fear you tempt me to indiscretion.’ He stepped backwards, putting a subtle distance between them, his eyes soft with a look that warmed her to the toes of her half-boots and made her feel bold beyond her usual measure of cautious restraint.

      ‘Surely a little temptation is tolerable? It is just a kiss, after all,’ Alixe flirted, stepping forwards—perhaps this time she’d kiss him. Her intentions must have been obvious.

      Merrick side-stepped her efforts. ‘Careful, minx. There are those who would take advantage of your enthusiasm for the art. With the gentlemen of London, you’d do best to let them do the pursuing and to be discriminate in bestowing your favours. The rarer a treasure is, the more sought after it becomes.’

      Alixe turned sharply, presenting Merrick with her back. She flushed, furious and embarrassed. She’d let herself get carried away. She’d let herself believe they were two people caught up in the beauty of the moment, the kiss a celebration of having shared the stunning vista together. It was no use. No matter how she tried to rationalise it, it sounded like nonsense even in her head. The point was, she’d got carried away and pretended the kiss was something more than it was, which obviously it wasn’t. He was unperturbed by what had transpired while she was all too worked up.

      She wasn’t ready to turn around and face him yet, but she could see him in her mind’s eye leaning with easy grace against the rock wall of the ruins, letting the breeze ruffle through his hair. At least he could be angry.

      ‘Alixe, look at me.’

      ‘Don’t you dare be nice and say something pithy.’

      ‘I wasn’t going to.’

      She could hear him pushing off the wall and crossing the villa floor, pebbles crunching beneath his boots. She blew out a breath. She wanted to vanish, wanted the cliff to