The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

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 belonged to the squire’s son. The other six belonged to two dark-haired devils and one angel—one very naughty angel, an angel she’d seen naked.

      Alixe froze, her mind racing with all nature of embarrassing scenarios. Perhaps he wouldn’t recognise her. In her expensive evening gown she hardly looked like the girl tramping in the woods.

      Jamie proudly pulled her forwards. There was nothing to do but brave it out. ‘Let me introduce all of you to my sister, Lady Alixe Burke. Alixe dear, these are the old friends from university I was telling you about. Riordan Barrett, Ashe Bedevere and Merrick St Magnus.’

      Great, now the angel had a name.

      * * *

      ‘Enchanté, mademoiselle.’ Merrick bowed over her hand, his eyes trained on her face the whole while. He’d learned early how to read a woman. Elegant gowns and complicated coiffures often hid a multitude of sins or truths, depending on how you looked at it. To really see a woman’s identity, one had to look at her face. In this case, he was not distracted by the fine gown and the sophisticated twist of hair.

      It was definitely her.

      He’d know those long-lashed sherry eyes anywhere. They’d been the most expressive part of her today. They’d been wide with an intriguing mixture of shock and curiosity. If her eyes weren’t enough, there was her mouth. Merrick considered himself a great connoisseur of mouths and this one begged to be kissed. Not that he’d be doing any kissing of Jamie Burke’s sister. She was the kind of girl who was off limits and he’d already danced fairly near the fire today, even if by accident.

      She gave a short incline of her head, greeted the others in a perfunctory manner and made polite excuses to go in search of a girlfriend. But Merrick watched her leave them only to stand with Lady Folkestone and a group of older matrons near the wide fireplace. He didn’t sport with those who didn’t welcome it. Ordinarily, he’d feel badly about causing a shy young lady discomfort. But in this case, he knew better. Alixe Burke was no retiring miss, no matter her airs to the contrary. She was due for a little provoking. After all, she’d ‘provoked’ him that afternoon. Turnabout was fair play.

      Jamie noticed his distraction. ‘Perhaps I could arrange for you to take Alixe in to supper.’

      * * *

      Jamie was one of those rare individuals who could make wishes come true. At Oxford, they’d had only to voice a want and Jamie would see it granted. In the years since then, that ability had not changed and now, even though there were two gentlemen present who technically outranked the second son of a marquis, Merrick found himself conveniently seated beside the somewhat-aloof person of Alixe Burke. That was about to change. He wanted to see her face alive with surprise, or with any emotion. This expression of bland passivity she wore in polite company did not do her features justice.

      ‘Miss Burke, I cannot shake the feeling that we’ve met before,’ he murmured as the first course was set in front of them.

      ‘That would be unlikely. I am not much in London,’ came the short ten-word response followed by a curt smile.

      He’d thought that would be her gambit. She was pretending she didn’t recognise him. Either that or hoping he didn’t recognise her. But it was all pretence. Her left hand lay fisted in her lap, a sure sign of tension.

      ‘Then perhaps we’ve met around here,’ Merrick offered amiably, pushing the subject. She’d been a delightful juxtaposition of emotions that afternoon—part of her trying to pretend naked men in ponds was de rigueur while the other part of her had been rampantly excited by the titillating disturbance. He wanted that woman back. That woman was intriguing. This woman sitting next to him was a mere shell for that other person.

      She set down her spoon with deliberate firmness and fairly rounded on him with all the chagrin allowed at a dinner table. ‘Lord St Magnus, I seldom go out even around here. I spend my time with local historians. So unless you are involved in the work of restoring medieval documents from Kent, we most certainly have never met.’ That was the shell talking. No woman with a mouth like hers was as proper as she was pretending.

      Merrick stifled a grin. He was getting to her. She was past ten words now. ‘But surely, Lady Alixe, you must, on occasion, walk through the woods and visit a pond or two. Perhaps we met there.’

      ‘What an outrageous place to meet.’ A blush started up her cheeks. She must realise the game was up or very nearly so.

      Merrick gave her a moment to regroup while the servants removed the first course. The second course arrived and Merrick fired his next salvo. ‘Of course, it is possible that you simply don’t recognise me. If it’s the occasion I am thinking of, you were wearing an old olive-green dress and I was wearing my birthday suit.’

      To her credit, Lady Alixe choked only mildly on her wine. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘My birthday suit, nature’s garb, my Altogether.’

      She set her wine glass aside and fixed him with a hard stare. ‘I knew precisely what you meant the first time. What I cannot fathom is why you want to recall the event at all. A gentleman would never confront a lady with a blatant reminder of such a difficult and accidental encounter.’

      ‘Perhaps you are making faulty assumptions when drawing that conclusion.’ Merrick sat back and waited for the next remove.

      * * *

      ‘You are familiar with syllogisms, Lady Alixe?’ he continued easily after the servants had done their work. ‘Man is mortal, Socrates is a man, therefore Socrates is mortal. In this case, gentlemen don’t discommode ladies, Merrick St Magnus is a gentleman, therefore, he won’t bring up the little escapade at the pond this afternoon. Is that how your reasoning went, Lady Alixe?’

      ‘I had no idea the three of you were taking a splash.’

      ‘Ah, so you do remember me?’

      Alixe pursed her lips and capitulated. ‘Yes, Lord St Magnus, I remember you.’

      ‘Good. I’d hate to be unmemorable. Most ladies find my “Altogether” quite memorable.’

      ‘I’m sure they do.’ She took a bite of her beef in a clear tactic to tersely end the conversation.

      ‘Do I hear another syllogism in the making, Lady Alixe? Most ladies like my “Altogether”. Lady Alixe is a lady, therefore...’

      ‘No, you do not hear another syllogism in the making. What you hear is an exception.’

      Merrick gave her a lingering smile. ‘Then I shall endeavour to change your mind.’ This was by far the most interesting conversation he’d had in ages, probably because how it would turn out was not a forgone conclusion.