The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes: How to Disgrace a Lady / How to Ruin a Reputation. Bronwyn ScottЧитать онлайн книгу.
was in that group and she was twenty-two. ‘But the manuscript...’ Alixe protested weakly.
‘I’ll help you with it in the morning,’ Merrick promised.
That coaxed a smile. Alixe could feel it creeping across her mouth. ‘So you really do understand Old French?’
‘Did you think I didn’t?’ Merrick feigned hurt. He touched a hand to her wrist. ‘You doubted me?’
‘Well, I did suppose rumours of your abilities might have been greatly exaggerated in that regard.’ Alixe found herself flirting in response to the light pressure of his hand at her gloved wrist. It was impossible to hate him; his charm proved irresistible even when she knew precisely what he was.
‘Bravo, that was nicely done, quite the perfect rejoinder—definitely witty and perhaps even a bit of naughty innuendo thrown in. Why, Lady Alixe, I do think you might have the makings of a master yet.’
Alixe let herself be drawn into the fun of conversing with Merrick. She dropped a little curtsy. ‘Thank you, that’s quite a compliment.’
‘Then I shall depart on a good note and take up my chair at the whist table.’
‘Do take care. Mrs Pottinger is sharper than she looks.’
Merrick gave her a short bow. ‘I appreciate your concern. But I assure you, I can hold my own against county champions of Mrs Pottinger’s skill.’
Alixe laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be so certain of that. She counts cards like an inveterate gambler.’
* * *
Damn, but if Alixe wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have played his heart. He’d suspected Mrs Pottinger was out of them and would trump his jack, but he’d lost count. Apparently there were only two hearts left against his jack and not three. From under her lace cap, the elderly dame gave him a smug look of triumph and led her ace of spades.
Merrick gathered his wandering attentions and focused on the game. If he wasn’t careful, he and his partner would lose this rubber. There’d be no living it down in London if word got back he’d lost at cards to a group of old country biddies.
Mrs Pottinger let out a sigh and tossed her last card. ‘You’re a wily fox, after all, St Magnus. For all my finessing I can’t wheedle the eight of spades out of you and it will be my undoing. My poor seven will fall to it and the game is yours.’
‘But your skill is not in doubt, Mrs Pottinger,’ Merrick said gallantly, tossing his eight of spades on to the trick. ‘You are a most impressive player. I was rightfully warned about you.’ Merrick rose from the table and helped each of the ladies rise after their long sit. ‘Thank you for the game, ladies. It’s been a delightful evening.’
He’d done his duty for Lady Folkestone. Now it was time to give his full attention to the interesting situation with Archibald Redfield. He’d meant to confront Redfield about the questionable nature of the wager. ‘Rigging’ a wager was not honourable conduct among those who gambled and Merrick, as one who wagered rather often, knew it. He was not going to let Redfield slip by on this one. Redfield’s attempt at rigging the wager had nearly jeopardised a lady’s reputation. It had most definitely jeopardised the lady’s future.
Not all of his attentions had been diverted to the ‘Redfield situation’. The lady in question had done her share of distracting, too. Many of his thoughts had, in fact, been diverted to the ‘Alixe conundrum’. On more than one occasion, his eye had been drawn to her across the room where she’d taken his advice and joined a group of young ladies. Why had she refused Redfield’s attentions? Her past association with Redfield put an entirely different cast upon the wager, one that suggested the wager hadn’t been about himself, but about Alixe and quite possibly retaliation.
Revenge seemed a long way to go merely because a lady rejected the man’s attentions. But perhaps there was more to it. Alixe had seemed loathe to discuss the situation in detail. Originally, he’d attributed her reticence to their circumstances. A drawing room full of people was hardly conducive to divulging secrets. Now, he was starting to wonder if the reticence didn’t come from something more.
Merrick strolled towards the wide bay of French doors leading out to the spectacular Folkestone gardens. Games were breaking up and people were starting to mill as they waited for the end-of-evening tea cart. Once he caught Alixe’s eye, it would be easy to slip outside unnoticed and wait for her.
* * *
Waiting was the harder part. He’d been about ready to go inside and detach her from the group when she finally came out. ‘This is dangerous.’ She scolded. ‘What if someone sees us?’
‘I hope they do. There’s nothing to hide. I’d have to be completely foolish to try to steal a kiss with the entire house party looking on.’ Merrick scowled, tossing a hand to indicate the long bank of French doors. ‘I thought you were never coming out.’
‘I didn’t think we had anything urgent to discuss.’
‘I disagree. We aren’t done talking about Redfield.’
He recognised defiance. Her chin went up a slight fraction, just as it had at the villa.
‘I’m starting to think he made the wager on purpose, that perhaps he wanted revenge. The wager was meant to land you in the suds. I was merely a tool.’ Merrick laid out his hypothesis, noticing that she didn’t rush to deny the claim. ‘Is there merit to that? What might have transpired between you that would cause him to take such drastic measures?’
Alixe smoothed her skirts, another gesture he was coming to associate with her when she was not certain what to say. ‘I don’t think it has any bearing on our current circumstances,’ she replied coolly.
‘I do.’ Merrick crossed his arms over his chest, studying her in the light thrown from the drawing room. He wished he could see her eyes more clearly. They would tell him if she was as cool as she sounded. ‘Redfield tried to fix the bet and not for his benefit. He knew you’d be there; if I succeeded, he would lose money, not to mention the money his friends would lose. Have you thought about why a man would set himself up for a likely failure?’
‘Perhaps he thought I’d resist your attempts.’ She squirmed a little at that. ‘For that matter, how do you know he knew I’d be there?’
‘He brought your father, hardly someone who’d be interested in who I was kissing unless it was his own daughter. Your father wouldn’t care two figs if I was in there kissing Widow Whitely. Besides, Ashe told me Redfield was boasting he knew someone would be there.’
‘Oh.’ It came out as a small sigh and her shoulders sagged just the tiniest bit, the only acknowledgement she’d make that he was quite possibly right. ‘I refused him when he put the question to me. Needless to say, he was stunned. He should not have been. The daughter of an earl is quite a reach for a man of his modest antecedents. We did not discuss it, but I had reason to believe his intentions were not as true as he represented them to be.’
Merrick believed that. It was how polite society conducted its business. Redfield would never know the reasons she’d refused him. He would have hidden his disappointment just as she’d hidden her true reasons. It did not take great imagination to envision them sitting properly in the Folkestone receiving rooms, voicing polite platitudes of having been honoured by the other’s attentions and regretful the outcome could not be otherwise. Then they’d gone about the business of being courteous neighbours because there was no other choice. Neighbours must first and foremost always maintain a veneer of politeness, which often precluded being able to speak the truth.
The situation with Archibald Redfield was untidy beneath the placid surface. It made her anxious to speak of it. Even now, her gaze was drawn towards the doors, looking for distraction. She found it in the tea cart’s arrival. ‘We should return inside.’
‘You go in first and I’ll follow after a decent interval.’
He’d wait five minutes before returning and then