The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

him was probably not the best choice, but, all in all, she had survived mostly intact. Somehow she’d managed to sit through dinner beside him and not become entirely witless under the barrage of his clever conversation. While it hadn’t gone well, it certainly could have gone worse. If things had gone well, he wouldn’t have shown up at all. If things had gone worse...worse hardly bore thinking about. After all, he hadn’t shouted their encounter from the rooftops and he’d sworn himself to secrecy.

      Her secret was safe with him and depressingly so. If the secret got out, he’d have to marry her and that could hardly be what a man like Merrick St Magnus wanted. He’d want a beautiful, stylish woman who said sophisticated things.

      Alixe gave her reflection in the mirror a sultry smile, a smile she’d never dare to use in public. She pulled the bodice of her gown down a bit lower and shrugged a coy shoulder. ‘Why, St Magnus, it is you. I hardly recognised you with your clothes on.’ She gave a toss of her head and lowered her voice to a purr. ‘So you do have clothes. I was beginning to wonder after all this time.’ A sophisticated woman would trail a well-manicured nail down his chest, look up at him with smoky eyes and he would know exactly what she wanted. And then he’d give it to her. One had only to look at him to know his body didn’t promise pleasure idly. Whereas, she would only be that sophisticated woman in the solitude of her room.

      Alixe pulled up the bodice of her gown and rang for her maid. It was time to put the fantasy to bed, among other things. That was precisely what St Magnus was. What he promised was a temporary escape. It wasn’t real.

      She knew what society said a real marriage was. It was what her handful of lacklustre suitors had seen when they looked at her: a responsible alliance that came with an impeccable lineage, a respectable dowry and a nice bosom. Admittedly, it was a lot to look beyond. No one had made the effort yet. That suited her. She’d seen the reality and decided it was better to hole up in the country with her work than to become trapped in a miserable relationship.

      Her maid entered the room and helped her out of the dress and into her nightgown, brushed out her hair and turned down her bedcovers. It was the same routine every night and it would be for the rest of her life. Alixe crawled beneath the covers and shut her eyes, trying to shut out the day. But Merrick St Magnus’s face was not easily dismissed. His deep blue eyes danced in her head as her mind chased around the question, ‘Shouldn’t there be more than this?’

      * * *

      After a restless half-hour, Alixe threw back the covers and snatched up a robe. Sleep was hours away. She could use the time productively, making up for what she’d lost this afternoon at the lake. She’d go to the library and work on her manuscript. Then, she’d try to sleep and when she woke up she would spend the day avoiding St Magnus. A man like him was anathema to a girl like her. Women didn’t want to resist St Magnus and she was not arrogant enough to think it would be any different for her. He’d never be more than trouble to any girl. Heaven help the fools who actually fell in love with him.

      * * *

      The routine was somewhat successful in its goal. Over the next few days, she did her best to keep out of St Magnus’s way. She was careful to come down only after the men had left for whatever manly excursion had been planned for their mornings while the ladies took care of their correspondence and needlework. At dinner, she managed to avoid being seated next to him. After dinner, she retired as early as courtesy allowed, to her brother’s dismay, and spent her evenings in the library.

      That was not to say she’d been entirely successful in erasing the presence of Merrick St Magnus. She did sneak a few glances at dinner. It was hard not to. When he was in the room he became its centre, a golden sun around which the rest of the company revolved. She’d hear his voice in the halls, always laughing, always ready with a quip. If she was on the verandah quietly reading, he’d be on the lawns playing bowls with Jamie. If she was taking her turn at the pianoforte in the evenings, he was playing cards near by, charming the old ladies. It quickly became apparent her only real retreat was the library, the one room he had no inclination or purpose to visit. That was all right with her—a girl needed time to herself.

       Chapter Four

      As house parties went, this one was proving to be exceptionally virtuous. There were guests aplenty of just the right ages and gender to make an excellent population for all the different entertainments Lady Folkestone had meticulously planned. But while the girls were pretty and the widows or other unattached ladies of a certain age happy to flirt lightly with their conversation, they were all respectable. In fact, after three days of taking the party’s measure, Merrick concluded the girls in attendance were as notorious for their goodness as the Greenfield Twins were for their badness, a comparison he voiced out loud to the late-night group of gentlemen who’d gathered restlessly in the billiards room after the rest of the company had gone up to bed.

      The eight gentlemen laughed heartily at his complaint. It wasn’t that Merrick did not appreciate the house party. The affair was brilliant on all accounts. The entertainments were actually entertaining; there had been fishing for the gentlemen just today in the East Stour River at Postling. There’d been cards and billiards with light wagering on the side that had allowed Merrick to add to his stash of pound notes. Certainly not the sums available in London’s gaming hells, but something all the same. The food was excellent, Folkestone’s easy largesse abundantly displayed on the dining-room sideboards with three meals a day and two teas.

      Above all, Merrick was thankful. Whatever was lacking in his usual vices, simply being here offset the loss. Here, he could take double pleasure in having thwarted his father’s attempt to rein him in and in having minimised his expenses. For the next two weeks he was free.

      All he had to do was please the ladies in attendance. If that pleasing occurred outside the bedroom door, that was a small price to pay. To date, Merrick had done an admirable job of fulfilling his obligations. He’d made himself available to all the ladies present, from elderly Mrs Pottinger to shy young Viola Fleetham. The only lady he’d been unable to charm was the elusive Alixe Burke, whom he had only caught glimpses of since the first evening. It was too bad, really; he enjoyed needling her just to hear what she’d say.

      ‘St Magnus, tell us about some of your scandals in London,’ one of the younger fellows present piped up. ‘I hear you had quite the curricle race recently.’

      ‘I hear you nearly had carnal knowledge of both Greenfield Twins at the same time,’ another rash young pup put in. ‘Tell us about that.’

      ‘That’s nothing, laddies, compared to his escapade on the way here,’ Riordan drawled, swigging heavily from the ever-present flask. Riordan had drunk far too much for Merrick’s tastes since they’d arrived, but saying anything about it made him sound like a prude so he’d refrained. ‘Tell ’em about the pond.’

      Merrick shot Riordan a quelling look. The man was worse than an old biddy. The last thing Merrick wanted to do was talk about the pond. ‘That’s hardly anything, nothing happened,’ Merrick tried to pass it off.

      ‘It’s hilarious,’ Riordan protested. ‘Never mind, if you won’t tell it, I will.’ He recognised he had the audience hanging on his every word. Riordan leaned forwards hands on thighs. ‘We stopped by a pond for a bit of a bathe before we arrived.’

      ‘Which pond?’ one asked before another punched him in the shoulder for being a dolt.

      ‘The one on the edge of the property, near Richland’s farm.’ Riordan said, idly picking up the story again. ‘Anyway, where the pond is isn’t the real tale. It’s what happened. There we were, stripped down to nothing and splashing away when all of the sudden this girl comes crashing through the woods.’ Riordan paused and clapped Merrick on the back in male camaraderie. ‘Our man gets out of the pond and startles the poor chit senseless. She’s so overwhelmed by the sight of his pizzle she falls over a log and can’t get up, so this good chap here offers to help her up. Mind you, he’s naked as a newborn babe the whole time and there’s more dangling over her than just his hand.’