Читать книгу The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 15

Chapter Seven

‘The villa probably housed military officers, although the larger Roman defences were built at Dover. The lack of a deep-water harbour made Folkestone an unlikely place of attack from the sea. Folkestone was used only as a look-out point.’

She was seeking refuge in her history again. Merrick didn’t think she’d stopped chattering since they’d left the blanket. She’d talked about the local fauna on the walk to the ruin and she’d been a veritable fountain of knowledge once they’d actually reached the ruin. It was undeniably interesting. She was well informed, but he was more interested in what had brought on the change, the reversion. She’d been a lively match for him on the blanket, one that he’d enjoyed far beyond his expectation.

‘This main room here was a banquet hall. We know this because shards of pottery have been found...’ Merrick moved away from her recitation, his eye caught by a short crumbling stair. He went up, thankful for the traction of his boots on the rubble of the remaining steps. But the short climb was worth it. The upper chamber afforded a spectacular view of the sea and of the current Folkestone harbour in the distance. Merrick let the breeze flow over him for a moment as he took in the panorama. He’d discovered that most things looked peaceful from a distance. Distance was useful that way.

‘St Magnus, you shouldn’t be up there,’ she called. But he ignored her. ‘Merrick, it’s dangerous. The steps aren’t stable and goodness knows how treacherous the ground up there is.’ She was looking up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare.

‘The view is spectacular and not to be missed,’ he called down. He moved towards the steps and offered her a hand. ‘Come up, Alixe. The ground is dry and firm. I don’t think we’re in any danger of sliding down the cliff side today.’

Alixe gave him a look as if to say ‘oh, very well’ and took her skirt in both hands for the climb. She tripped on the third step, giving him another look. This one saying ‘It’s dangerous, I told you so’.

‘Don’t be stubborn, Alixe. Take my hand.’ He came down a few steps to meet her, forcing her to acknowledge his offer. Her hand slid into his, warm and firm, and he tightened his grip, ready to haul her up if necessary. But there were no further mishaps.

At the top, Alixe was transformed. ‘Oh, look at this!’ she gasped. ‘This would have been a splendid look-out. They could see all the way down the coast. Perhaps they could even have sent signals from here. A tower in Dover or Hythe would be able to pick them up.’ She turned to him, her enjoyment evident on her face. ‘I’ve never been up here, you know. In all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve been to the ruins several times, but I’ve never come up the stair.’

She turned back to the view spread before them. ‘To think it’s been here all the time and I’ve missed it.’ The last was said more to herself than to him. The breeze took that moment to be slightly more forceful, toying with her hat. She reached up, hesitated for an instant, then took it off. ‘That’s better,’ she said to no one in particular. Then she closed her eyes and gave her face over to the wind and the sun.

Realisation hit him all at once.

Alixe Burke was a beautiful woman. It was objectively true. He could see it in the fine line of her jaw, the elegant column of her neck, visible only because her head was tilted upwards to the sun. She had a perfect nose, narrow and faintly sloped at the end to give it character. It fit the delicate boning of her face, the slightly raised cheekbones one could only fully appreciate in profile, the generous mouth. Cosmetics could not manufacture a bone structure like that. The grey habit she wore might distract from those finer points of beauty, but a discerning man would see the narrow waist and long legs beneath the bulky skirt. A man wouldn’t have to be that discerning at all to note the high thrust of her breasts beneath the jacket, tempting a man to wonder whether or not that was the doing of nature’s bounty or the assistance of a corset.

It would be simple work to see her gowned according to her attributes, her beauty fully displayed to the gentlemen of the ton. He doubted her earlier debutante wardrobes had done her beauty complete justice. No whites or pale pastels for this lovely creature. She belonged in rich earthy tones, deep russets and golds to show off the walnut sheen of her hair.

Merrick moved behind her, his hands finding a comfortable place at her shoulders. He was used to touching women. He hardly thought anything of the gesture. It was casual and easy. But she tensed at the contact. They would have to work on that. She would want to be comfortable with a casual touch now and then, perhaps even doling out a few touches herself, light gestures on a gentleman’s arm. Men liked to be touched as much as women. Touch had enormous effects to the positive; it made a person memorable, it created a sense of closeness and trust even when a relationship was new.

Well, now he might be going too far. She wasn’t going to seduce anyone. She didn’t need to know all of the tricks he could teach her, just enough to be pleasant, to draw London’s attention and thus the eye of the right kind of gentleman.

‘The view is intoxicating,’ Merrick murmured at her ear and was rewarded with a small sigh of wistfulness.

‘The sea goes on and on. It makes me realise how little of the world I know. I wonder if the Roman who sat here watching wondered the same thing—what’s out there? How much more of the world is there beyond what we’ve already discovered?’

With one of his experienced lovers he’d have drawn her back against him at this moment and wrapped his arms about her, but he knew better than to dare such a thing with Alixe. ‘I wasn’t talking about that view,’ he whispered. ‘I was talking about this one.’ He tucked an errant curl behind her ear. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Alixe Burke.’

She stiffened. ‘You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.’

‘Do you doubt me? Or do you doubt yourself? Don’t you think you’re beautiful? Surely you’re not naïve enough to overlook your natural charms.’

She turned to face him, forcing him to relinquish his hold. ‘I’m not naïve. I’m a realist.’

Merrick shrugged a shoulder as if to say he didn’t think much of realism. ‘What has realism taught you, Alixe?’ He folded his arms, waiting to see what she would say next.

‘It has taught me that I’m an end to male means. I’m a dowry, a stepping stone for some ambitious man. It’s not very flattering.’

He could not refute her arguments. There were men who saw women that way. But he could refute the hardness in her sherry eyes, eyes that should have been warm. For all her protestations of realism, she was too untried by the world for the measure of cynicism she showed. ‘What of romance and love? What has realism taught you about those things?’

‘If those things exist, they don’t exist for me.’ Alixe’s chin went up a fraction in defiance of his probe.

‘Is that a dare, Alixe? If it is, I’ll take it.’ Merrick took advantage of their privacy, closing the short distance between them with a touch; the back of his hand reaching out to stroke the curve of her cheek. ‘A world without romance is a bland world indeed, Alixe. One for which I think you are ill suited.’ He saw the pulse at the base of her neck leap at the words, the hardness in her eyes soften, curiosity replacing the doubt whether she willed it or not. He let his eyes catch hers, then drop to linger on the fullness of her mouth before he drew her to him, whispering, ‘Let me show you the possibilities’, a most seductive invitation to sin.

* * *

Alixe knew she was going to accept. He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. She could no more stop herself than she could hold back the tides on the beach below them. There was only a moment to acknowledge the act before she was in his arms, his mouth covering hers, warm and insistent that she join him in this. He would not tolerate false resistance and, frankly, she did not want to give it. His tongue brushed her lips. She opened, instinctively parting her lips, giving him access to her mouth, kissing him back with all the enthusiasm her limited skill in this area permitted.

She felt his hand at her nape, his fingers in her hair, guiding her ever so gently into the kiss, his other hand at her back, guiding her not into him precisely, but against him. The planes and ridges of him were evident beneath his clothes: the structured hardness of his chest, the muscled pressure of his thighs. She had seen all this at the pond, of course, but to feel it, ah, to feel a man was heady indeed.

It ended all too soon. Merrick drew back, murmuring, ‘My dear, I fear you tempt me to indiscretion.’ He stepped backwards, putting a subtle distance between them, his eyes soft with a look that warmed her to the toes of her half-boots and made her feel bold beyond her usual measure of cautious restraint.

‘Surely a little temptation is tolerable? It is just a kiss, after all,’ Alixe flirted, stepping forwards—perhaps this time she’d kiss him. Her intentions must have been obvious.

Merrick side-stepped her efforts. ‘Careful, minx. There are those who would take advantage of your enthusiasm for the art. With the gentlemen of London, you’d do best to let them do the pursuing and to be discriminate in bestowing your favours. The rarer a treasure is, the more sought after it becomes.’

Alixe turned sharply, presenting Merrick with her back. She flushed, furious and embarrassed. She’d let herself get carried away. She’d let herself believe they were two people caught up in the beauty of the moment, the kiss a celebration of having shared the stunning vista together. It was no use. No matter how she tried to rationalise it, it sounded like nonsense even in her head. The point was, she’d got carried away and pretended the kiss was something more than it was, which obviously it wasn’t. He was unperturbed by what had transpired while she was all too worked up.

She wasn’t ready to turn around and face him yet, but she could see him in her mind’s eye leaning with easy grace against the rock wall of the ruins, letting the breeze ruffle through his hair. At least he could be angry.

‘Alixe, look at me.’

‘Don’t you dare be nice and say something pithy.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

She could hear him pushing off the wall and crossing the villa floor, pebbles crunching beneath his boots. She blew out a breath. She wanted to vanish, wanted the cliff to swallow her up, embarrassment and all.

‘What I was going to say, Alixe, is that if you want to kiss a man, you need to know how.’

Oh. That made it better. ‘Just for the record, you’re not boosting my confidence.’ The best kiss she’d ever had and it was entirely juvenile to him, probably no better than the sloppy work of a three year old.

He was standing behind her. She could feel the heat of his body. She couldn’t put off facing him any longer. She turned, trying very hard to look irritated instead of mortified. Her eyes darted everywhere in an attempt to avoid looking at him directly. He would have none of it. After a few futile seconds of looking past his shoulder, he gently imprisoned her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

‘Look at me, Alixe. There’s nothing wrong with your kiss, just your approach. You need finesse. Your suitors will want to feel this was all their doing. You can initiate the kiss as long as they think it was their idea. Here, let me show you.’

That was a dangerous phrase. Alixe made to move backwards, but he captured her hand and continued smoothly with his instructions. ‘Touch your gentleman on the sleeve. Make it look like a natural act during conversation. Lean forwards and laugh a little at something he says when you do it. That way it looks spontaneous and sincere. Then, flirt with your eyes. Give him a little smile and look down as if you hadn’t meant to get caught staring. Later, when you’re walking in the garden, let your gaze linger on his lips a bit. Make sure he catches you at it. You can shyly bite your lip and look away quickly. If he’s any sort of man at all, he’ll stop within the next ten feet and steal a kiss. When he does stop, you can close the deal by parting your lips, a sure sign that his affections will be welcomed.

‘I should have brought paper for notes,’ Alixe mumbled. ‘I was not expecting a treatise.’

‘Now that’s a fine idea. Perhaps I should write a book on kissing as a noble art.’ Merrick laughed.

Unfazed by her reticence, he pushed on. ‘Now you try it. I already know it works. Sit there and I’ll pretend I’ve brought you some punch.’ Merrick gestured to a rounded boulder.

‘This is silly,’ Alixe protested, but she did it any way.

‘I’ve heard the very best bit of news while I was at the refreshment table,’ Merrick began their faux conversation.

‘Oh, you have?’ Alixe widened her eyes in simulated interest.

‘Yes. I heard that the Cow is about to run away with the Spoon,’ Merrick said in his best conspiratorial whisper.

‘Isn’t the Dish supposed to run away with the spoon?’ Alixe corrected.

Merrick didn’t so much as blink over his error. He leaned closer, a wicked grin taking his elegant mouth. ‘I do believe it is. That’s why my “news” is so astonishing. It’s entirely unexpected.’

Uncontainable laughter surged up inside her. Before she knew it, she was leaning forwards, her hand on his forearm in gentle camaraderie. ‘Oh, do tell,’ she managed in gasps between bouts of laughing.

‘Well, I heard it from the Cat who heard it from the Fiddle...’ Merrick was struggling against losing his composure entirely. It was a fascinating battle to watch on his expressive face—mock seriousness warring futilely with the hilarity of their conversation. In that moment it was all too easy to forget who he was, who she was, as they had in the library.

Alixe’s eyes dropped to his mouth with its aristocratically thin upper lip. Merrick’s eyes followed her down, his head tilting to capture her lips in a gentle buss. He sucked lightly at her lower lip, sending a pool of warm heat to her belly. This slow, lingering kiss carried an entirely different thrill. There was sweetness in its tender qualities. She wanted to fall into it, wanted to feel it turn into something more passionate. She’d never guessed kissing could be such a lovely pastime.

‘That’s how you know you did it right. The proof is in the pudding. Top marks,’ he whispered playfully. ‘You’re an apt pupil. Keep this up and we’ll have London at your feet in no time.’

The words were said in jest and perhaps reassurance, but Alixe could not take them that way. How had it become this easy to forget what this man was? He was a flirt. No, he was more than a flirt. He was a consummate seducer of women. She’d been warned by her own brother. She knew precisely what his role was in this farce to see her married. And yet that knowledge had not been able to prevent it; when he kissed her, it felt real. It didn’t feel like a lesson. It was positively mortifying to forget herself so entirely.

Alixe stood up and brushed at her skirts, summoning anger to be her shield. ‘Let me make one thing clear. I do not need love lessons. Most especially, I do not need them from you.’

Merrick laughed softly at her indignation, having the audacity to smile. ‘Yes, you do, Alixe Burke. And you most definitely need them from me.’

* * *

Love lessons, indeed! Alixe fumed. She could barely sit still long enough to let Meg dress her hair for dinner that night. The man was insufferable. He treated the whole shambles as if it were a lark. More than that, he treated her as if she were a lark.

He’d merely laughed at her riding habit. If he thought he could laugh away her ugly gowns or cajole her into better looks, he would soon learn she wouldn’t give up her strategy easily. Her excessively plain wardrobe had been an excellent defence against unwanted suitors up until now. He was very much the exception. She would remind him of that this evening.

Meg had laid out her second-best dinner gown, but Alixe had opted for an austere beige gown trimmed in unassuming lace of the same colour. Meg had clearly disagreed with her choice. Her maid tugged a braid up into the coronet she was fashioning.

‘I don’t know why you want to wear that old thing. Lord St Magnus seemed plenty interested in you this morning. He’s a handsome fellow. I would have thought you’d want to wear something pretty tonight.’

‘He was just being polite.’ Alixe sat up straighter and squared her shoulders. Polite enough to trade banter at the picnic, polite enough to show her how to kiss. Polite enough to make her forget he had a job to do and that job was her. But she couldn’t confess that to Meg.

Her father had truly humbled her this time, blackmailing St Magnus into this ludicrous proposition. No. She had to stop thinking that way. She had to stop thinking of St Magnus as a victim. She was the victim. St Magnus was on her father’s side. Perhaps not by consent, but he was on the side that wanted to see her married off and that meant her father’s side.

‘Would you like a little rouge for your cheeks?’ Meg suggested hopefully, holding a little pot.

‘No.’ Alixe shook her head.

‘But the beige, miss, it washes you out so.’

Alixe smiled at the pale image she presented in the mirror. ‘Yes, it does do that beautifully.’ She was ready to go down to supper. St Magnus would see that she meant business. No matter what kind of love lessons he offered, she did mean to scare him off by revealing to him the futility of his task.