The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

to get to you.’ Merrick tried to laugh good naturedly with them. Normally, he would have laughed the loudest. Riordan was a great storyteller—he’d turned the escapade into the stuff of legends. But knowing the girl in question was Jamie’s sister gave the tale a dangerous edge.

      Women did fall over themselves for him and what he offered, but they were women who could afford the luxury. The Greenfield Twins were courtesans, for heaven’s sake. That was the kind of woman he dabbled with. They were like him. He never trifled with women who couldn’t afford to play his games, never made them the butt of his wagers. No one suffered for his entertainments. The Greenfield Twins had wanted him to take them both. But Alixe Burke had wanted no part of what had happened at the pond. His code of ethics demanded he protect her. That was where he differed from his father. The innocent deserved protection when their paths crossed with those more worldly.

      ‘It’s easy to seduce the willing,’ came the words from a handsome but sly-eyed fellow lounging on the group’s periphery. Redfield was his name. Merrick didn’t care for him. He was always watching people. ‘Why don’t we have you prove your reputation? We’ll design a wager for you.’

      Merrick raised his eyebrows at that. What in the world could these young rascals design that would actually stump him?

      ‘We should all get to wager on it. I’ll bet on St Magnus to do just about anything. I’m in.’ Ashe withdrew a money clip from a waistcoat pocket and laid its contents on the table. ‘Shall we split the winnings, old chap?’ Ashe winked at him.

      Merrick appreciated the show of support, but not the mounting pressure. Ashe’s finances were no more stable than his own. If Ashe was in, there’d be no backing out. He couldn’t let his friend down. To be fair, Merrick didn’t want to back out. The money accumulating on the table was no small sum. He couldn’t win that sum at the genteel wagers made at cards in the next two weeks. Yet, a very small piece of his conscience niggled him to be cautious.

      Merrick drew a deep breath and fixed the young cockerel with a confident stare. ‘What shall you dare me to do?’

      ‘Well, since the party is so “virtuous” in your own words, I think you should steal a kiss before sunrise.’

      ‘You can kiss me right now, St Magnus, and we’ll claim victory before midnight,’ Ashe quipped drily from his corner.

      ‘Rule number one, you must steal a kiss from a lady,’ Redfield qualified. ‘That means no going belowstairs to wake the maids, that’s too easy.’ Redfield looked like the sort who would know; probably spent too much time chasing the maids since he couldn’t catch anyone else. Everyone knew the maids were somewhat obliged to endure such advances if they valued their positions. Merrick didn’t respect a man like that.

      ‘Other rules?’ Merrick enquired coolly. He was already thinking of who’d be most likely to put up with such a dare. The attractive Widow Whitely, perhaps.

      ‘Proof, we must have proof,’ one of Redfield’s chums put in. The wagering had created a clear division between the young bucks and the ‘old regime’.

      That was potentially dangerous. ‘No, I draw the line there,’ Merrick spoke up. ‘A token might be recognised, thus incriminating the lady. I won’t be a party to that. You’ll just have to take my word as a gentleman.’ That brought a round of laughter as he expected and Redfield had to relent on that account.

      Redfield’s eyes gleamed wickedly. ‘Since we must keep the game decent, I say St Magnus must confine his efforts to the library. There will be no roaming of the house or sneaking into bedrooms.’

      There went the idea of enticing Widow Whitely. Merrick had the distinct impression she didn’t read much. But neither did he. ‘It’s a little past midnight, I doubt there’s much feminine traffic in the library at this hour.’ Merrick shrugged. ‘What happens if I sit there all night and no one suitable for kissing shows up?’

      ‘Then no one wins or loses,’ Redfield replied too easily for Merrick’s liking. Redfield thought someone would be there. Merrick could see it in the confident tilt of his head. The man was an ass and a pompous one at that. He was a silly man, too, if this wager was the best he could do for excitement. But Redfield clearly had something planned. Did Redfield think whoever would be in the library would be immune to his charms? Merrick was equally as confident. He had stolen far more than kisses for far less than the money lying there on the billiards table and no one had had any complaints. Whatever Redfield had in mind, Merrick wouldn’t know what it was if he didn’t go and find out. With an exaggerated salute to the crowd, Merrick set out for the library.

      * * *

      The library was dark when Merrick arrived. No surprise there. It was late for reading unless someone was having difficulty sleeping. Merrick took his time, lighting a few of the lamps and giving the room some life. It was a well-appointed room with a long reading table that ran down the centre, a green-veined marble fireplace with a cluster of chairs and sofa about it, a few small tables and chairs scattered near the wide windows for reading and walls lined with carefully selected books.

      Merrick scanned the titles with modest interest. He could see Jamie’s hand in the selection. Jamie had excelled at history while they were at Oxford and his love for the subject was readily evident in the titles on display. For himself, Merrick hadn’t the aptitude for history like Jamie, or Italian music like Ashe or Riordan’s love of Renaissance art. He’d discovered his own niche in languages, a field where he could excel in conversation.

      Merrick plucked a book from the shelf at random and settled into a chair near the fireplace to wait. He’d managed to get through the first five pages when the door opened. The newcomer was definitely female, dressed in a plain-blue robe with the hem of a white nightrail peeping beneath it. Her back was to him, showing off a long thick braid of nut-brown hair as she made great effort to quietly shut the door behind her. Whoever she was, she wasn’t supposed to be here or at the very least didn’t want to be discovered here. He couldn’t help her with that. Any moment now she’d turn around and be surprised to see him.

      But then she did turn and the surprise was all his. Damn and double damn, the one person who’d come to the library was the one person he hadn’t seen for days: Alixe Burke. Suspicion flicked across his mind for an instant. He’d hardly got settled, hardly begun to read his admittedly boring tome on the history of French kings, and she’d shown up. If he’d stopped along the way, he might have missed his chance altogether. Had Redfield known she’d be here? A simple wager was becoming suddenly more complex.

      Merrick grinned. ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding.’

      * * *

      Alixe clutched the neck of her robe closed at the throat out of instinct. ‘What are you doing here?’

      ‘You sound surprised to see me.’ Merrick waved the book he held in one hand. ‘I am reading up on the French kings.’

      ‘I’m surprised to see anyone in the library after midnight,’ Alixe retorted.

      ‘And yet you’re here,’ he replied glibly, those blue eyes of his studying her with a disquieting intensity that stirred up a warm flurry of butterflies in her stomach. That look made a woman believe he was waiting just for her. Yet, that was improbable. He hadn’t known she’d be here.

      ‘Why aren’t you playing billiards with the other men?’ She was surprised, disturbed, dismayed. The list of adjectives was quite long. Three days of avoiding him and he’d still managed to turn her thoughts to incoherent mush in a matter of minutes. She needed him to go away.

      She’d hoped to make some progress on her latest translation. She’d promised Vicar Daniels she’d have the translation ready for display at the village fair less than two weeks away.

      ‘I haven’t seen much of you since the party began. I hope you haven’t been avoiding me?’ Merrick said casually. He kicked his booted legs, very long booted legs, up on the fireplace fender, dispelling any hopes that he might vacate the premises soon. Apparently the French kings were more scintillating than she’d