The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

Mr Redfield’s attentions.’

      ‘But he was?’

      ‘Yes. Yes, he was interested,’ Alixe replied tersely. She’d retreated from London to avoid men like Archibald Redfield. Merrick looked ready to ask another question. ‘This is not a seemly topic of conversation for a drawing room,’ Alixe said quickly. She had no desire to delve further into just how interested Mr Redfield had been or how naively she’d been taken in for a short time.

      ‘Then perhaps you’ll do me the honour of continuing the conversation later in the garden after the games. I believe I am to join old Mrs Pottinger and her cronies at whist shortly.’ Merrick was all obliging affability at the thought of an evening spent at cards with old ladies.

      ‘I hadn’t planned on staying for the games,’ Alixe admitted. ‘I am behind on my manuscript. I’d hoped to sneak off and get some work done tonight.’ She’d lost so much time since the house party had begun and the manuscript was still giving her fits.

      ‘Oh, no, that will not do,’ Merrick scolded. ‘You can’t be noticed if you’re not here. You need to stay and you need to enjoy yourself. Go over and join Miss Georgia Downing and the young ladies by the sofa. I promise they’ll be delighted to make your acquaintance. With luck, you can all make plans to call on one another in London.’

      It would be fun to spend an evening in the company of people her age—well, roughly her age. She knew she was a bit older. Still, Jane Atwood was in that group and she was twenty-two. ‘But the manuscript...’ Alixe protested weakly.

      ‘I’ll help you with it in the morning,’ Merrick promised.

      That coaxed a smile. Alixe could feel it creeping across her mouth. ‘So you really do understand Old French?’

      ‘Did you think I didn’t?’ Merrick feigned hurt. He touched a hand to her wrist. ‘You doubted me?’

      ‘Well, I did suppose rumours of your abilities might have been greatly exaggerated in that regard.’ Alixe found herself flirting in response to the light pressure of his hand at her gloved wrist. It was impossible to hate him; his charm proved irresistible even when she knew precisely what he was.

      ‘Bravo, that was nicely done, quite the perfect rejoinder—definitely witty and perhaps even a bit of naughty innuendo thrown in. Why, Lady Alixe, I do think you might have the makings of a master yet.’

      Alixe let herself be drawn into the fun of conversing with Merrick. She dropped a little curtsy. ‘Thank you, that’s quite a compliment.’

      ‘Then I shall depart on a good note and take up my chair at the whist table.’

      ‘Do take care. Mrs Pottinger is sharper than she looks.’

      Merrick gave her a short bow. ‘I appreciate your concern. But I assure you, I can hold my own against county champions of Mrs Pottinger’s skill.’

      Alixe laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be so certain of that. She counts cards like an inveterate gambler.’

      * * *

      Damn, but if Alixe wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have played his heart. He’d suspected Mrs Pottinger was out of them and would trump his jack, but he’d lost count. Apparently there were only two hearts left against his jack and not three. From under her lace cap, the elderly dame gave him a smug look of triumph and led her ace of spades.

      Merrick gathered his wandering attentions and focused on the game. If he wasn’t careful, he and his partner would lose this rubber. There’d be no living it down in London if word got back he’d lost at cards to a group of old country biddies.

      Mrs Pottinger let out a sigh and tossed her last card. ‘You’re a wily fox, after all, St Magnus. For all my finessing I can’t wheedle the eight of spades out of you and it will be my undoing. My poor seven will fall to it and the game is yours.’

      ‘But your skill is not in doubt, Mrs Pottinger,’ Merrick said gallantly, tossing his eight of spades on to the trick. ‘You are a most impressive player. I was rightfully warned about you.’ Merrick rose from the table and helped each of the ladies rise after their long sit. ‘Thank you for the game, ladies. It’s been a delightful evening.’

      He’d done his duty for Lady Folkestone. Now it was time to give his full attention to the interesting situation with Archibald Redfield. He’d meant to confront Redfield about the questionable nature of the wager. ‘Rigging’ a wager was not honourable conduct among those who gambled and Merrick, as one who wagered rather often, knew it. He was not going to let Redfield slip by on this one. Redfield’s attempt at rigging the wager had nearly jeopardised a lady’s reputation. It had most definitely jeopardised the lady’s future.

      Not all of his attentions had been diverted to the ‘Redfield situation’. The lady in question had done her share of distracting, too. Many of his thoughts had, in fact, been diverted to the ‘Alixe conundrum’. On more than one occasion, his eye had been drawn to her across the room where she’d taken his advice and joined a group of young ladies. Why had she refused Redfield’s attentions? Her past association with Redfield put an entirely different cast upon the wager, one that suggested the wager hadn’t been about himself, but about Alixe and quite possibly retaliation.

      Revenge seemed a long way to go merely because a lady rejected the man’s attentions. But perhaps there was more to it. Alixe had seemed loathe to discuss the situation in detail. Originally, he’d attributed her reticence to their circumstances. A drawing room full of people was hardly conducive to divulging secrets. Now, he was starting to wonder if the reticence didn’t come from something more.

      Merrick strolled towards the wide bay of French doors leading out to the spectacular Folkestone gardens. Games were breaking up and people were starting to mill as they waited for the end-of-evening tea cart. Once he caught Alixe’s eye, it would be easy to slip outside unnoticed and wait for her.

      * * *

      Waiting was the harder part. He’d been about ready to go inside and detach her from the group when she finally came out. ‘This is dangerous.’ She scolded. ‘What if someone sees us?’

      ‘I hope they do. There’s nothing to hide. I’d have to be completely foolish to try to steal a kiss with the entire house party looking on.’ Merrick scowled, tossing a hand to indicate the long bank of French doors. ‘I thought you were never coming out.’

      ‘I didn’t think we had anything urgent to discuss.’

      ‘I disagree. We aren’t done talking about Redfield.’

      He recognised defiance. Her chin went up a slight fraction, just as it had at the villa.

      ‘I’m starting to think he made the wager on purpose, that perhaps he wanted revenge. The wager was meant to land you in the suds. I was merely a tool.’ Merrick laid out his hypothesis, noticing that she didn’t rush to deny the claim. ‘Is there merit to that? What might have transpired between you that would cause him to take such drastic measures?’

      Alixe smoothed her skirts, another gesture he was coming to associate with her when she was not certain what to say. ‘I don’t think it has any bearing on our current circumstances,’ she replied coolly.

      ‘I do.’ Merrick crossed his arms over his chest, studying her in the light thrown from the drawing room. He wished he could see her eyes more clearly. They would tell him if she was as cool as she sounded. ‘Redfield tried to fix the bet and not for his benefit. He knew you’d be there; if I succeeded, he would lose money, not to mention the money his friends would lose. Have you thought about why a man would set himself up for a likely failure?’

      ‘Perhaps he thought I’d resist your attempts.’ She squirmed a little at that. ‘For that matter, how do you know he knew I’d be there?’

      ‘He brought your father, hardly someone who’d be interested in who I was kissing unless it was his own daughter. Your father wouldn’t care two figs if I was in there kissing Widow Whitely. Besides, Ashe told me Redfield