How to Disgrace a Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘You go with this blackguard, Alixe, and you won’t see a penny of your dowry,’ Folkestone hissed. Alixe could see the fans near the dais flutter faster. This was rich drama indeed. Drury Lane could do no better. ‘Do you want her, St Magnus, now that she hasn’t a penny to her name?’

  Merrick’s eyes held hers, his hand beckoning. ‘I’ll always want her.’

  Tension eased from her shoulders. Alixe stepped forwards. She wanted only to get to Merrick and scandal be damned. She didn’t care a whit for what anyone was thinking. Merrick had come for her. Merrick had publicly declared his affections in front of all these people. Nothing else mattered.

  But Redfield didn’t release her. Instead, he yanked her hard to him, an arm imprisoning her against his chest. The cold press of steel swept across her throat and Alixe gasped. Dear God, he had a knife. Those in the front row screamed in alarm. She vaguely heard her father attempt to reason with him. ‘Redfield, what are you thinking?’

  It was Merrick who answered. ‘He’s thinking his chances are gone. Once Alixe is lost to him, he won’t be able to pay his bills.’ Merrick waved a sheet of paper. ‘Archibald Redfield is one of his many names. Under the name of Henry Arthur, he’s wanted for defrauding three widows in Herefordshire and two older ladies in York.’

  Redfield tightened his grip and Alixe shuddered. ‘Don’t do anything foolish, St Magnus, or I’ll cut her and we’ll both be the poorer for it.’

  He marched them down the steps, using her as a constant shield, heading towards the garden door where there’d be no one to impede their progress once they gained the street. Alixe tried to struggle, but her efforts were short lived. He hauled her against him with a vicious tug. ‘As for you, if you’d like to end up dead, keep it up.’

  Alixe could feel the alarming trickle of blood work its slow way down her neck. Her struggles had done that, causing the blade to nick her. He meant business. Something inside Redfield had snapped. He’d become more than a fortune hunter. He’d become lethal.

  What was supposed to have been an escape had now become a rescue and an inept one at that. Pandemonium reigned in the ballroom once Redfield slipped out the door. People raced every which way to depart, impeding Merrick’s ability to follow Redfield into the night. ‘Jamie!’ he shouted above the din. ‘We cannot let him leave the premises.’ With a mixture of fear and hope, he thought of his carriage parked in the street. Ashe’s coachman could be a surprise ally. But the last thing he wanted was Redfield to find the carriage and take Alixe into the night.

  Jamie nodded and they pushed through the crush together, gathering a phalanx of supporters as they went. Merrick’s concern for Alixe fuelled him. The man had shown his true colours tonight. Whatever hopes Redfield had of living the life of the country gentleman and rubbing elbows with the peerage had vanished the moment he’d drawn the knife. Merrick understood what the others present might not. There was still a chance Redfield could earn a ransom if he could get away.

  They gained the verandah steps and Merrick caught a glimpse of Alixe’s light-coloured gown. ‘Over there!’ he called to Jamie, dipping down in a fluid motion to retrieve his own weapons. Some men carried a knife in their boot. Merrick carried two, one for each boot. He carried them out of habit. One could never be too careful in the gaming hells or with jealous husbands. Tonight he was glad for it. There might be twenty men behind him, but it wouldn’t matter if there were sixty. This confrontation was about who would die first, not about how many. Merrick wondered if anyone else understood that.

  Redfield had reached the railings, but was slowed down by the cumbersome task of unlatching the gate while still holding Alixe captive. Merrick threw his first knife with unerring accuracy, sending the whistling blade over Redfield’s shoulder and effectively pinning the gate shut.

  ‘You’re trapped, Redfield.’ Merrick halted with twenty feet between them, the mass behind him stopping as well. He could see the madness in Redfield’s eyes and the fear in Alixe’s. He would kill the man for that alone. Then he caught sight of the trickle of blood seeping down Alixe’s neck. Killing the bastard wouldn’t be enough. He palmed his second knife and let cool clarity flow over his red-hot rage.

  ‘You’re the one who’s trapped,’ Redfield sneered. ‘My freedom for her life. That’s the only deal we have now. I’ve already cut her once.’ The blade pressed again and Alixe gave a gasping scream.

  ‘You’re wrong, Redfield.’ Merrick considered his options with lightning speed of mind. There was a square section of Redfield’s shoulder not protected by Alixe’s body. It was his best chance of a good throw. ‘There are too many of us. You won’t get out of the garden alive.’ Perhaps Redfield hadn’t realised the game wasn’t about numbers yet.

  ‘She’ll be dead first,’ Redfield countered. ‘Or maybe it will be you. Care to bet on that?’ Something shifted ever so slightly in Redfield’s eyes, Merrick barely had time to react. In an enviously fluid move, Redfield shoved Alixe away from him and threw the knife. Merrick’s own response was hasty, but no less accurate. His blade found purchase in Redfield’s body just as Redfield’s blade embedded itself in his right side. He heard Alixe scream his name as he fell, the force of the blow bringing him to his knees, and then he knew nothing, only that Alixe was safe.

  In the week that followed, the Folkestone town house thrummed with stealthy activity. Doctor’s orders were for peace and rest, but even those strict commands couldn’t keep the halls empty while London waited with a communally held breath to see if its latest hero would survive.

  Redfield’s knife had struck dangerously close to a lung and Merrick had lost copious amounts of blood along with consciousness. Alixe had taken charge from the start, scrambling to Merrick’s side in the garden and ordering he be taken into the house. She’d seen he was given the best bedroom, although her mother had feared the sheets would never recover. She’d seen him tended and had not left his side for any extended period of time since, except for an occasional rest and to update the visitors who seemed to throng the reception rooms.

  Ashe Bedevere was there constantly, although he remained in the drawing room playing endless games of chess with Jamie while he worried over his friend. Her father was still in a state of disbelief: how could they not have known about Redfield? The other regular company haunting the drawing room was Martin St Magnus. He sat by himself for hours, usually reading, but he would look up expectantly whenever she entered the room, hungry for news. He was tired and drawn, as they all were. Alixe had not forgotten the disdain he’d shown Merrick at the Couthwalds’, but his concern was sincere. She regretted she had no better news to give him day after day. Merrick remained the same: unconscious except for the briefest, most unpredictable moments of lucidity, which lasted only seconds.

  Nursing was tiring work. There were those who would help her and at times Alixe accepted their assistance, but for the most part, she insisted on being his caregiver. He had nearly died for her. He might die for her yet and there was no deeper proof Alixe could ask of his fidelity. He’d faced Redfield in the garden, knowing full well what the risks were, and he’d taken them fearlessly, never questioning what might be required of him. All for her.

  Alixe knew as she toiled over his broken body that she had not guessed at the depth of affection he held for her or the tenacity to which he clung to it. She’d been too caught up in her own feelings to see that he was struggling with the same emotions. Merrick St Magnus loved her. Truly loved her. Every time she thought of it, the incredible and undeniable truth of it washed over her anew. It was a staggering realisation to make at a staggering time. You can’t die now, not now that I know, ran like a litany through her mind day and night.

  But she had to prepare herself for the worst. The doctor had told them that morning if Merrick didn’t rouse to more complete consciousness soon, it wouldn’t be his wound that killed him, it would be the lack of nourishment. He would grow too weak. It had been five days since he’d last eaten. They’d made efforts
to feed him, necessarily. But there was only so much broth that could be delivered via a hollowed-out reed, only so much water they could force past his unresponsive lips.

  The doctor came that evening and she watched him check the bandage. He shook his head as he rose. ‘It won’t be long now. His pulse is not as strong as it was this morning and even this morning it was less than what it had been.’ He put a kindly hand on her shoulder. ‘If he wakes, those who need to say goodbye should be ready.’

  No. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t die now. Not when he loved her and she loved him. Not when they had a lifetime ahead of them. Not when they had a child on the way. She was very sure of it now.

  Alixe locked the bedroom door with slow determination. She had wanted to do this all week, but decency didn’t permit it. She crawled in bed beside him and lay next to his good arm. There was solace in being with him like this, physically close. She carefully laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She imagined they were back at St Eanswythe, lying beneath the trees and he was very much alive, his body thrumming with vitality and passion.

  She let the tears come, let them fall on his bare chest in her grief. He had changed her and for the best. They’d talked of his redemption, but they’d never once talked of how he’d redeemed her. He’d reclaimed her from a life of isolation, she saw that now. He’d taught her about the transforming power of love, whether he’d intended to or not. There would be those who might say St Magnus was the one transformed, but in her heart she knew it was the other way around. If only she could tell him.

  Damn him. How dare he leave her, she thought not for the first time, but this time the thought was tempered with anger. How dare he, she thought again, her temper rising. Then Alixe Burke did the unthinkable. She kicked him.

  ‘Ow! Always … kicking … me,’ came the hoarsest of murmurs.

  Alixe screamed and shot bolt upright. She had not expected an answer and yet there it was after days of silence. It was a raspy answer to be sure, but it would do. ‘You’re awake!’ she crowed exultantly before panic set in. ‘You mustn’t go back to sleep,’ she babbled. ‘If you do, the doctor says you won’t wake up again.’ Alixe pressed a hand to the side of his throat like she’d seen the doctor do. The pulse that met her touch was solid and stronger. She breathed a little easier.

  ‘How do you feel?’ She studied his face. His blue eyes seemed more alert than they had on prior occasions. She touched his forehead, feeling for the dreaded fever, but there was none.

  ‘Hungry.’ One-word answers were all his voice could stand at the moment after his initial outburst.

  Alixe grabbed for the bell pull and yanked with ferocity. She didn’t dare take her eyes from him for fear he’d slip away if she blinked. She felt the touch of his hand on hers and looked down. His touch said what his voice could not. ‘I’m here, Alixe. It will be all right now.’

  Her tears fell afresh. She was still sobbing when she unlocked the door to let the food in. But the worst was over. Merrick was going to live.

  Over the next few days, Merrick improved steadily, defying the doctor’s earlier prognosis. He was able to receive visitors for brief periods of time. Ashe came. Jamie came. Martin came; although the words they exchanged were few, both were affected by the reunion of sorts. Alixe had hopes that whatever differences lay between the brothers, this might mark a new chance for them. Last of all, her father came.

  ‘It seems I owe you an apology,’ Folkestone began, settling himself wearily into a chair. Alixe had never seen her father look so very worn out. The ordeal had taxed him not so much physically, but mentally. Merrick’s actions had challenged her father’s assumptions and required him to draw new conclusions, a task Alixe knew was not easy for him.

  ‘I may have misjudged you. You did my daughter a most honourable service. You saved her life nearly at the expense of your own. That is not something I can overlook. If you still intend to marry her, you have my permission.’

  Merrick nodded and shifted on his pillows to sit up straighter. He shot her a warm look. ‘I do intend to marry her as soon as I am able. I find now that I have a future to look forward to, I am anxious for it to begin as soon as possible.’

  ‘Well …’ Her father coughed, uncomfortable with the level of emotion suddenly present in the room. ‘I’ll leave you two to work out the details.’

  Merrick smiled at her and beckoned, patting a space on the bed beside him. ‘Come, let me hold you. That’s at least something I can do with one good arm.’

  Alixe sat quickly beside him, revelling in the feel of him. After almost losing him, she knew she’d not take the presence of his body for granted again. They had not talked of the evening in the garden since his recovery, but she ventured it now. She traced a circle around his nipple, watching it tighten in response, and smiled softly to herself. ‘You’re London’s latest hero, you know,’ she began. ‘Everyone’s talking about how brave you were, how bold. I think there’s even a bit of verse circulating. I was so frightened and there you were, taking charge. You knew exactly what you were doing.’ She paused.

  ‘He would have killed me, Merrick, if it hadn’t been for you. He was different that night. Something had snapped in him, I could sense it. I couldn’t tell you what it was, but it was something. I think now, he’d never been right in the head from the start. He was always watching people.’

  Merrick’s arm tightened about her. ‘I was scared, too. I didn’t think about being brave. I only thought about you.’ His hand reached up to trace the tiny white scar left by Redfield’s knife. ‘When I saw that you were hurt already, my only thoughts were to set you free, it was all that mattered and then I realised nothing had mattered for a long time. There’d been nothing to fight for. Now there was—there was you.’ He played with her hair, a twinkle in his eye. ‘I do believe, Alixe Burke, the London gossips have it all wrong. It was not me who saved you. It was you who saved me.’

  Alixe shook her head. ‘I disagree. You have saved me in ways far beyond what happened in the garden.’

  ‘Well …’ Merrick sighed happily ‘… then it looks like we’re even.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The ruins of the church of St Eanswythe was hosting its first wedding in centuries. The early autumn sun shone pleasantly through the leaves of the trees and the small gathering of guests hummed with excitement as they sat amid the crumbled stones of the cathedral.

  The handsome groom, Merrick St Magnus, stood impatiently at the impromptu altar with Vicar Daniels. Jamie Burke stood beside him along with Ashe Bedevere, who was looking far more decent than he actually was, a fact not lost on several ladies in attendance.

  Local flowers and ribbon looped down the aisle on poles mounted into the dirt between the old flagstones, making a pretty setting. But Merrick had eyes only for the woman who waited at the far end of the aisle, gowned in a dress the colour of gold leaves, a wreath of autumn flowers crowning her dark head. In Alixe, he had his very own saint. Not bad for a sinner of such glorious proportions.

  The vicar gave a slight nod and she began a slow procession towards him. He offered her his hand and held it throughout the service, barely hearing the words of the ceremony. His hands trembled a bit when he slipped the gold band on her finger. She was his. The enormous wonder of it was not lost on him. He bent to kiss her, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her full on the mouth until even Ashe felt the urge to intervene. If anyone thought it unseemly, Merrick didn’t care. He wanted the world to know he loved his wife, a fact he demonstrated quite publicly throughout the wedding breakfast that followed and more privately later that night.

  ‘I have something for you.’ Merrick rolled over to snatch a scroll tied with a small ribbon from the bedside table. They’d chosen to spend the night at an elegant inn on the road to Hever.

  ‘What is this?’ Alixe asked, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of a gift. She slid the ribbon off and unrolled the paper. Merrick waited for her reaction. He’d thought a lon
g time about what would be most meaningful to her. The usual gift of jewels didn’t suit her and, even if they had, Merrick was determined not to spend her dowry so frivolously.

  ‘Oh!’ A gasp escaped her. ‘How did you ever manage this, Merrick?’ Her eyes moved to his face.

  ‘It looks like your farmer lived happily ever after with his “sow”.’ He reached over to gently push the hair back from her face where it had fallen forwards.

  Alixe put the paper aside. ‘It’s the perfect gift. How did you know?’

  ‘Because I know you,’ Merrick said, pleased the gift had touched her. He wanted to spend his life pleasing her. She was beautiful in the candlelight of their room.

  ‘How did you ever find out?’ she began again.

  ‘I managed a few visits to the village and helped Vicar Daniels go through some old records.’ Merrick shrugged, making little of his efforts. He didn’t want to talk about a Norman farmer in detail at the moment. His mind was already on wanting to take her again.

  Alixe snuggled next to him. ‘It’s the ideal wedding gift. Thank you.’ She traced circles on his chest, her favourite pastime while she waited for better things to come. ‘I have a gift for you, too.’ She stretched up and whispered one word in his ear.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Merrick felt his heart thud.

  ‘Yes. I met with a doctor in London before we left.’

  The pronouncement might have undone a lesser man. But Merrick St Magnus threw back his head and laughed.

  Twins.

  Of course.

  He didn’t doubt it for a moment. He was Merrick St Magnus and he did nothing by halves.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.