How to Disgrace a Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  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. 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 helpe
d 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.