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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. He wasn’t use to that. With his usual sort of woman, conversation was always a prelude to a rather predictable outcome. That wasn’t to say the outcome wasn’t pleasurable, just predictable.
Too bad it was nearly time to turn the table and engage the partner on his other side. Even if he didn’t recognise the signs that the table was about to shift, Lady Alixe’s deep sigh of relief would have cued him. He wouldn’t let her go that easily.
With a last sortie of mischief, Merrick leaned close to Lady Alixe, close enough to smell the lemon-lavender scent of her toilette water, and said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘Don’t worry, we can talk later this evening over the tea cart.’
‘I wasn’t worried.’ She managed to smile through clenched teeth.
‘Yes, you were.’
Lady Alixe turned to the man on her other side but not before her slipper-clad foot managed a parting kick to his ankle beneath the table. He would have laughed, but it hurt too much.
Chapter Three
Dinner lost some of its lustre after that. The squire’s wife on his left was quite willing to engage in light flirtatious banter, but it was far less exciting than sparring with the stoic Lady Alixe. It had been a hard-won battle to wring the slightest smile from Lady Alixe, who’d been trying so desperately to ignore him. The squire’s wife smiled rather easily and laughed at everything, a conquest of moments.
After-dinner brandy dragged on with tedium. Merrick spent most of his time attempting to align the pretty but remote Lady Alixe from dinner with the openly curious girl at the pond. There’d been signs of that girl. Lady Alixe’s wit was finely honed and quite humorous in a dry sense when she gave it free rein. But she clearly hadn’t wanted to be recognised and not surprisingly so. If anyone got wind of their encounter the consequence could be dire for them both.
For the record, he’d have to be clear on that point with Ashe and Riordan. He didn’t truly worry they’d match the girl up with Lady Alixe. They’d been too far out in the pond to get a good look at her today and Lady Alixe wasn’t the type of girl either of them would look twice at. Most of that was Lady Alixe’s own doing, Merrick suspected. She had many excellent features. She simply chose not to maximise them and her sharp tongue would deter anyone from looking more closely at what was on offer. Ordinarily, he’d not have looked more closely either if it hadn’t been for the incident at the pond.
But now that he had, he wanted an even closer look at Lady Alixe Burke, who lived in something of a self-imposed social limbo. She had the potential to be pretty, had the propensity for clever conversation and had her father’s money. There was no reason she wasn’t up in London dazzling the ton’s bachelors or at the very least kicking them in the shins. Merrick smiled to himself. Hmmm. A mystery. If there was no reason, then by logical extension there was a very good reason she wasn’t in London. He was eager to get back to the drawing room.
In the drawing room, Merrick spotted Lady Alixe quickly. She was precisely where he thought she’d be, sitting on a sofa with an elderly neighbour, patiently listening to whatever the lady was saying. He filed the information away. Lady Alixe fancied herself a retiring sort, a bookish sort. What was it she’d said at dinner? She worked with local historians? Intriguing.
He approached the sofa and made the appropriate flattering remarks to the older lady, who probably only heard half of them. ‘Lady Alixe, might I steal you away for a moment or two?’
‘What could you possibly have left to say to me?’ she asked as Merrick manoeuvred them over to ostensibly take in a painting on the far wall.
‘I think we need to agree that our encounter is to remain a private event between the two of us,’ Merrick said in low tones.
‘I do not wish to have you blather about it to anyone any more than you would want me to publicly discover that the girl in question was you. We both know what society’s answer to such a scandal would be.’
‘I do not “blather”.’
‘Of course not, Lady Alixe. My apologies. I confused blathering with kicking me under the table.’
She ignored the reference. ‘And your friends, they do not blather either, I assume.’
‘No, they will not say anything,’ Merrick promised.
‘Then we have reached an accord and you need not seek my company out again.’
‘Why so unfriendly, Lady Alixe?’
‘I know men like you.’
He smiled at that. ‘What, precisely, is a “man like me”?’
‘Trouble, with a capital “T”.’
‘That might be because you’re beginning the sentence with it.’
‘Or it might be because you charm women into compromising themselves with you. You, sir, are a rake if ever I’ve seen one.’
‘Have you seen one? A rake? How would you know? Oh, I forgot, you’ve seen the David. Well, for your information, I know women like you, too. You think you don’t have much use for men, but that’s because you haven’t met the right one.’
That sobered her up. ‘You are too bold and you are no gentleman.’
Merrick laughed. ‘No, I’m not. You should have known better, Lady Alixe. Don’t young misses learn in the schoolroom that you can always tell a gentleman by his clothes?’
Her jaw tightened. ‘I must admit, my lord, on that point you have me at a distinct disadvantage.’ Lady Alixe turned on her heel and made a smart retreat to the newly arrived tea cart.
In a quiet corner of the room, Archibald Redfield watched the animated exchange between St Magnus and Alixe Burke. It was the second such interaction they’d had that evening. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but St Magnus was laughing and Alixe Burke was in a high-coloured huff as she set off for the tea cart. That was nothing new. Alixe Burke was a shrew in his opinion. He didn’t have much use for sharp-tongued women unless they were rich or knew how to use their tongues in other ways.
Fortunately Alixe Burke was quite rich and so he tolerated what he classified as her less-attractive qualities. Redfield tapped his fingers idly on the arm of the chair, considering. Things were not getting off to a brilliant start. He’d come to the house party with the specific intention of putting himself into Alixe Burke’s good graces. She’d shunned his advances earlier this spring and he was hoping to recoup his losses there. He’d arrived early that afternoon, only to discover she was out somewhere. She hadn’t put in an appearance until dinner and then she had been seated too far away from him for conversation. Now, that libertine from London was stealing a march on him.
It was not to be tolerated. He had chosen Alixe Burke as a most specific target. She was the reason he was in this sleepy part of Kent to begin with. He’d done his research in London, looking for ‘forgotten’ heiresses, or wealthy spinsters on the shelf. In other words, women who might be susceptible to a man’s charms, or families desperate to marry them off. That’s when he’d heard of Alixe Burke, from a viscount she’d rejected. She hadn’t been back in town since. So he’d come to her, pretending to be a gentleman. He’d even gone so far as to buy an old manse in the area to complete the charade. After having done so much, he would not lose his advantage to a golden-haired second son who deserved the title of ‘lord’ no more than he did himself.
St Magnus—where had he heard that name? Oh, yes, the son of the Marquis of Crewe. Always in the midst of a scandal—most lately it had been something with the Greenfield Twins. Redfield was thoughtful for a moment. Maybe he could use St Magnus and his wild tendencies, after all. He would wait and watch for his opportunity.
Alixe had taken the first opportunity to retire for the night, something she should have done hours ago. In the privacy of her room, Alixe pulled the pins from her hair and shook the dark mass free, breathing a sigh of relief.
The evening had gone moderately well if she counted the fact that this time she’d managed to stay upright in his presence. Kicking 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.’
There was a general uproar of laughter around him, a few of them slapping him on the back with comments like, ‘St Magnus, you’re the luckiest devil ever, women literally fall over themselves 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 thought.
‘Of course not. Why would you think that?’ Alixe said, hoping her lie wouldn’t show.
Merrick shrugged. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I thought perhaps our encounter at the pond had disconcerted you in spite of my assurances.’ He opened his book and returned to his reading.
Dratted man. Why did he have to pick tonight to read? Alixe began to debate the options in her head: stay or go? This was absurd. Conventional wisdom suggested she leave the room immediately. Unmarried women didn’t entertain men in their nightclothes. Unmarried women didn’t entertain naked men at ponds either and she’d already done that. By comparison, this was by far the lesser of those two evils. She should leave.
But her stubborn nature could not tolerate defeat. The thought of departing the field while her work beckoned galled. No man had ever dictated her choices over decisions far bigger than this. She wouldn’t give up ground over something so minor. St Magnus had already cost her an afternoon. She would not let him steal a night, too. There was always a chance she could outlast him.
‘Are you going to come away from the door? You needn’t worry, I’ve seen ball gowns far more revealing than your nightwear.’ He spoke without looking up from his book, but the challenge was clear. He was daring her to stay.
Alixe made a face at the back of his head. She must look like a silly ninny to him, clutching her old robe and hovering at the door. Is that what he saw when he looked at her? A spinster afraid of being in the presence of a dazzlingly handsome man?
Anger flared. That settled it.
She wasn’t a spinster.
She wasn’t afraid.
She also wasn’t leaving.
