The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

      Oh. That made it better. ‘Just for the record, you’re not boosting my confidence.’ The best kiss she’d ever had and it was entirely juvenile to him, probably no better than the sloppy work of a three year old.

      He was standing behind her. She could feel the heat of his body. She couldn’t put off facing him any longer. She turned, trying very hard to look irritated instead of mortified. Her eyes darted everywhere in an attempt to avoid looking at him directly. He would have none of it. After a few futile seconds of looking past his shoulder, he gently imprisoned her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

      ‘Look at me, Alixe. There’s nothing wrong with your kiss, just your approach. You need finesse. Your suitors will want to feel this was all their doing. You can initiate the kiss as long as they think it was their idea. Here, let me show you.’

      That was a dangerous phrase. Alixe made to move backwards, but he captured her hand and continued smoothly with his instructions. ‘Touch your gentleman on the sleeve. Make it look like a natural act during conversation. Lean forwards and laugh a little at something he says when you do it. That way it looks spontaneous and sincere. Then, flirt with your eyes. Give him a little smile and look down as if you hadn’t meant to get caught staring. Later, when you’re walking in the garden, let your gaze linger on his lips a bit. Make sure he catches you at it. You can shyly bite your lip and look away quickly. If he’s any sort of man at all, he’ll stop within the next ten feet and steal a kiss. When he does stop, you can close the deal by parting your lips, a sure sign that his affections will be welcomed.

      ‘I should have brought paper for notes,’ Alixe mumbled. ‘I was not expecting a treatise.’

      ‘Now that’s a fine idea. Perhaps I should write a book on kissing as a noble art.’ Merrick laughed.

      Unfazed by her reticence, he pushed on. ‘Now you try it. I already know it works. Sit there and I’ll pretend I’ve brought you some punch.’ Merrick gestured to a rounded boulder.

      ‘This is silly,’ Alixe protested, but she did it any way.

      ‘I’ve heard the very best bit of news while I was at the refreshment table,’ Merrick began their faux conversation.

      ‘Oh, you have?’ Alixe widened her eyes in simulated interest.

      ‘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

      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