How to Disgrace a Lady Read online

  ‘Because wanting is not marriage. Marriage is for ever, Merrick, and wanting is …’ She moved her bare shoulders in a delicate shrug. ‘Wanting is not for ever, Merrick, and you know it better than any of us.’

  Merrick gave her a final turn and the music ended. They stood facing each other, Merrick unwilling to release her. ‘What if you say yes and we find out if you’re right or wrong?’

  ‘No more wagers, Merrick. Why don’t you return me to my court of gentlemen?’

  ‘And then what? Shall we make conversation about things we don’t want to talk about? All the while I’ll be making love to you in my mind and you’ll know what I’ll really be thinking.’

  He returned her, but he didn’t get a chance to flirt any further. Jamie quickly removed him from the circle of admirers moments after their return under the pretence he wanted to catch up with his old friend. Merrick wasn’t fooled.

  Outside, Jamie did not spare words for niceties. ‘I think it would be best to leave her alone now. You’ve made your appearance to satisfy society’s curiosity. There’s no more reason to patronise her court.’

  ‘Is this a warning?’ He’d expected no less. Jamie had a sister to protect and Jamie knew what he was. But his tone was sharp with Jamie. His own emotions were on edge. In the last fifteen minutes he’d discovered he was in love, proposed marriage and been refused. It was quite a full evening even for him.

  ‘Merrick, we’re friends. This is an awkward spot for me to be in. She’s got a decent proposal from Redfield and all these fellows to choose from now if she doesn’t want him.’

  ‘Don’t forget my proposal,’ Merrick added.

  ‘You haven’t proposed to her,’ Jamie countered.

  ‘I have, too—just now on the dance floor.’

  ‘The dance floor?’ Jamie breathed in disbelief. ‘Merrick, really.’ Then he paused, groping for the right phrasing. Merrick felt a stab of sympathy for his friend. Jamie was struggling to find proper words for a most improper betrayal.

  ‘As friends, Merrick, tell me—is Redfield speaking the truth? Did you think to claim Alixe for yourself?’

  Merrick leaned against the balustrade. ‘No. I would never play such a game with your sister.’

  Or with any woman. That was his father’s style, not his.

  ‘Then why?’

  Why propose to Alixe Burke when he could have any woman of the ton for any myriad pleasures without the office of marriage?

  ‘Because, Jamie, when I look at her, I can’t imagine her as anyone’s but mine.’ It was the single reason that had overcome years of reservation and belief that he’d never be suitable in that capacity for any worthy woman.

  Jamie’s hand was strong on his shoulder in commiseration. ‘Then I am sorry.’

  Sorry that he wasn’t a better sort of man, a man who hadn’t lived his life earning a reputation for questionable behaviour. Sorry for not having the funds to afford a wife like Alixe Burke. Sorry for falling in love with the one woman he could not attain.

  Alixe couldn’t concentrate on anything Fulworth was saying. Whatever wit he’d possessed before the waltz had vanished upon her return. Merrick and Jamie had gone out to the verandah. Only Jamie had come back in. She hoped they hadn’t quarrelled. She hoped Merrick hadn’t gone to seek comfort somewhere else. She hoped so much, the list was getting rather long and distinguished by the time she dragged her attention back to the conversation. Fulworth was going on about lobster patties on buffet tables.

  Was that what he was truly thinking? Surely the very proper Fulworth wasn’t thinking improper thoughts. If Merrick had been there, she was certain he would have flashed her a private look, one of his half-smiles that sent a hundred messages at once, all of them sinful. She couldn’t help the small smile that crept across her mouth at the thought of Merrick. He’d been outrageous on the dance floor, but it was hard to stay angry with him for long. Even when she should.

  He had proposed! She had refused and rightly so. The idea was preposterous. It took more than wanting to make a marriage, just as it took more than connections and money. Redfield would say the proposal proved Merrick was after her money and had been all along.

  ‘By my calculations, at two lobster patties a piece at an attendance rate of two balls an evening, the average gentleman consumes two hundred and fifty lobster patties a Season,’ Fulworth said with a flourish.

  ‘Oh, that’s quite a lot,’ Alixe exclaimed with enough verve to hopefully sound impressed with his mathematic prowess.

  The other gentlemen were arguing now—was two really a fair approximation? Wouldn’t three be better? What was he considering as the start of the Season, the week after Easter or the Academy art showing?

  Did they care that much? They were certainly putting up a grand impression of caring greatly about the consumption of lobster patties among English peers. Alixe mumbled an excuse about visiting the retiring rooms to Fulworth, who hardly gave her a glance, and slid into the oblivion of the ballroom, glad to have made her escape.

  Alixe found a quiet retreat in the dark haven of the Couthwald library. She sank on to the sofa and kicked off her slippers, flexing her toes in relief. She was tired of dancing, tired of smiling, tired of pretending any of London’s finest held an iota of appeal. They were nothing but a way out of a bad situation and into a mediocre one. She would resist marriage to the fortune-hunting Redfield however she could, even if meant taking one of those lobster-patty experts out there.

  You could marry Merrick. To his credit, he had seemed in earnest tonight. But that didn’t change facts, and she knew all too well every reason Merrick should be refused, from social considerations to her own personal happiness. It would kill her to watch him stray once the ‘wanting’ had waned.

  But until then, it could be wonderful, came the dangerous counter. Perhaps a little bit of pleasure was better than none at all.

  Alixe took a deep breath to relax. It was the first clue she wasn’t alone. She caught a faint whiff of fougère.

  ‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ came the familiar seductive tones of the devil himself. Merrick emerged from an alcove hidden from view of the sofa. His very stance was one of insouciance. His cravat was off, his waistcoat unbuttoned, a snifter of brandy dangling casually in one hand.

  Fleeting panic struck. Alixe stood up in a rush, slippers forgotten. ‘Please tell me you’re alone.’ Alixe’s gaze travelled past him to the alcove, praying no one else emerged. She didn’t want to see him with another woman tonight.

  Merrick gave a wicked grin and stepped closer. He gave the brandy an indolent swirl. ‘I could, but it would be a lie since I’m here with you.’ Blue hunger raged in his eyes. This was not the tamer, flirtatious version of Merrick St Magnus who talked a harmless scandal on a picnic blanket. This version was wild, a barely leashed original of the other paler imitation. His hunger was for her and it roused her most outrageously. A wanton heat pooled between her legs, tingling and sharp.

  When he spoke, his voice was nothing more than a growl, hoarse with desire. ‘You’ve refused my decent proposal. Can I offer you an indecent one?’

  Chapter Seventeen

  One three-letter word and he would be her lover. It would be rough and beautiful and there would be no going back. Once could be excused as spontaneous, but twice was deliberate. Alixe lifted her hands to her coiffure and pulled the pins from her hair until it shook free. ‘Yes.’

  Her voice was the slightest of whispers but it was all the confirmation Merrick needed, all she needed. She was in his arms, her hands working the fabric of his shirt loose from the waistband of his trousers as his hands worked the folds of her gown up her thighs. It would be folly to disrobe. This decadence would have to be enough. Alixe strained against him, hands slipping beneath his shirt, palms running up the planes of his chest, revelling in the feel of him beneath her fingers.

  His mouth was buried against her neck, his kisses sending a frisson of heat through her. She offered up a moan of bo
th desperation and completion. Nothing had been right since she’d left his arms. Everything was right now. In this moment nothing mattered but the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell of him.

  ‘I missed you so much,’ came the simple words, the inadequate words. Would he understand all they entailed? Were there words enough to convey what he’d meant to her?

  ‘God, Alixe.’ Merrick breathed against her, hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head up to meet his hot gaze. ‘Wanting you is killing me.’ He lifted her against him, whispering hoarse instructions. ‘Wrap your legs about me.’

  She did so, tightly, as if she could hold him for ever. The library wall was at her back, a bulwark against the rough onslaught of passion that followed. He took her in a single stroke, hard and forceful, and she welcomed it. Welcomed him. She could do nothing but moan her pleasure as he claimed her again and again, branding her with each thrust, his own need for her every bit as great as her need for him.

  Alixe thought dimly, as their desire crested, how would once, twice, three times, ever be enough, how would she ever get over the wanting of him? She knew only one thing: she was lost. Lost to pleasure, lost to want, lost to him and she could do nothing about it except give in for however long it lasted.

  With a final thrust, Merrick surrendered to the madness of want, letting the sensations of ultimate release thunder through him as he poured himself into Alixe. This was what he’d sought during those interim days while he roamed aimlessly between Kent and London. He’d been waiting for something and this was it. This was definitely it: loving Alixe.

  Alixe’s face was dreamy as she lifted her head from his shoulder where she’d buried her cries, but her eyes were questioning. ‘What shall we call this, Merrick?’

  ‘Madness, utter madness.’ It was the only answer he had for her. He couldn’t fully explain any of these feelings to himself, let alone another, and certainly not while he was still deep in the throes of satiated climax. ‘We could end the madness with marriage, Alixe,’ Merrick ventured.

  ‘A most proper option under the circumstances. I am surprised, Merrick, but only a little,’ came a cynical voice from the door. The door shut with a quiet snick behind the intruder. ‘Tsk, tsk. I would have thought after the incident with Lucy the upstairs maid you would have learned to lock the door.’ The figure stepped forwards into the dim light of the room.

  ‘Perfect timing, as always.’ Merrick made no move to restore his dishabille, his voice barely veiling the sneer of contempt beneath it.

  ‘And this must be the ravishing Alixe Burke. Or would it be more accurate to say the “ravished” Alixe Burke?’

  Merrick balled his fists. He was going to hit someone. Soon.

  To her credit, Alixe didn’t flinch. ‘Unfortunately your reputation doesn’t precede you. You would be?’

  Merrick stepped in. ‘This is Martin St Magnus, my brother.’

  ‘I’ve had the devil’s own time tracking you down—’ Martin began.

  ‘There’s a reason for that,’ Merrick cut in swiftly. He wanted Martin out of the room as quickly as possible. He and Alixe had things to work out. Now was not the time for a family reunion.

  ‘If you ran from scandal the way you run from Father, your lot in life might be considerably improved.’

  ‘I do not run. I have made it clear to him that he does not have the ordering of me. I go where I please, when I please.’ This was not proving to be an expedient exit.

  ‘From your tone, I must deduce that you think I do not enjoy such luxuries.’ Martin flicked his dark gaze towards Alixe. ‘You’ve outdone yourself this time, Merrick. Debauching an earl’s daughter? You may have overreached yourself at last. You have to marry this sort of girl.’

  He felt Alixe tense beside him and his protective instincts surged. She did not need to be dragged into the mire of his distorted family. Merrick crossed his arms and widened his stance. ‘You may insult me all you like, but you will not slander Lady Alixe.’

  ‘Or you’ll pummel me the way you pummelled that Redfield fellow at the house party? If you keep it up, Merrick, you won’t be invited to any decent places.’ Martin feigned a sigh and took up residence in a chair with a wave of his hand. ‘Then again, that list is probably fairly short as it is. I hear you aren’t even keeping your own rooms these days. You’re sharing rooms with that degenerate Bedevere. That’s got to be a pit of depravity if ever there was one.’

  ‘Don’t get too comfortable in that chair, Martin. You need to leave.’ Merrick took a menacing step forwards. ‘Lady Alixe and I were having a conversation before you interrupted.’

  Martin’s eyes roved over Alixe. ‘Perhaps, Lady Alixe, I could escort you back to the ball before any more damage is done. Surely you know you shouldn’t be without a chaperon under such circumstances.’ He stood and held out a hand to her. ‘Come with me. Walk away from this folly while you still can.’

  Merrick’s gut clenched. Would she take that hand? Would she take a look at him and realise how reckless they’d been? Would she regret it? Don’t go with him, Alixe, Merrick willed her in his mind.

  Alixe did not hesitate. ‘I believe you’ve been asked to leave.’

  Martin nodded knowingly. ‘I see. You’re in love with him. I pity you, Lady Alixe.’ He strode to the door, calling his message over his shoulder. ‘I came looking for you because Father has asked you to call on him tomorrow at three. Show up. I believe there’s money and property to discuss. You shouldn’t miss it.’

  At the door he paused and turned back. ‘Lady Alixe, make sure you know what you’re getting into. There’s nothing but heartache down any road he leads you. He’s not capable of anything more. You know it’s the truth.’ Then he was gone, leaving a malevolent silence in his wake.

  ‘His interruption doesn’t change what I’m asking you, Alixe.’ Merrick pressed what was left of his advantage. Martin may have been right in one respect. He had overreached himself this time. A woman of Alixe’s calibre would think twice about taking on a man with his history. That history was staring her in the face. It was easier to disregard rumours in the country when London was far away. Somehow, they seemed less real than messages delivered in person by heirs to marquisates.

  Alixe offered a wry smile and shook her head. ‘Am I supposed to say it doesn’t matter? What about all the things you said in Kent about not being able to love? What has suddenly changed you to a marrying man capable of faithfulness? Which one is the real you, Merrick? The faithless rogue or the solid family man?’

  Of course. Alixe Burke would demand complete faithfulness from a husband. She would not tolerate dysfunction in any guise. Merrick did not like the coldness of her tone. She was slipping away from him; the heat of their passion had chilled.

  She moved to push past him. He could not let her leave just yet. She would not seek him out after tonight. She would try to avoid him as she’d tried to do at the house party.

  Merrick took her arm in a gentle grip. ‘Alixe, I will always be at your disposal should you need me.’

  ‘I won’t. Don’t you see, it’s not enough for me. I would avoid being the wife you’ve tired of as you pursue the latest woman who’s caught your very fleeting attentions.’ She drew a deep breath and gathered herself. ‘I could not live with myself, knowing I sold myself so cheaply. I don’t know how you do it.’

  At promptly three o’clock, Merrick presented himself at his father’s town house, a magnificent Greek Palladian structure four storeys high on Portland square. He had not set foot inside the family residence in seven years. It had not changed from the images in his memory. The huge urns in the entry were still filled with enormous amounts of fresh flowers. The marble tile of the floor was enviously devoid of any scuff marks left by errant boots.

  In short, the place still felt like a museum. It made him want to stomp his foot on the floor just to leave a clod of dirt behind. But there would only be short-lived victory in that. A servant would immediately sweep it up and pristine order re
stored. Messes of any sort were not tolerated in the St Magnus household. Which was why he’d bothered to come at all. There was one mess that had lingered overlong and Merrick meant to see himself extricated from it.

  The butler ushered him to the study where his father liked to conduct business. Merrick did not miss the message. He’d been relegated to ‘business’; perhaps he even rated a ‘family business’ label.

  The walnut doors pushed open into the earl’s domain. Gareth St Magnus, the fifth Marquis of Crewe, sat behind his massive carved desk, imposing and austere. Merrick had forgotten how big everything in the house was. The desk, the chairs, the vases in the front foyer.

  ‘Merrick, it’s so good of you to come.’ Gareth rose halfway from his chair and gestured for him to take the chair set opposite—the business side of the desk. The rules for the interaction were clearly established. There was no ‘son’, no welcome home embrace. His father might have been talking to an investment partner or a casual acquaintance.

  Gareth pushed a packet of papers towards him. ‘A great-aunt on your mother’s side has left you a small bequest. Apparently, she found you to be quite charming. The papers are all in order, although you can have a solicitor of your own choosing look through them. The property is near Hever. There is one stipulation.’ There was a challenging glint in Gareth’s eye. ‘You cannot sell it to cover gambling debts and you must be wed to inherit it.’

  There was a moment’s elation. He was a landowner, something he’d never thought he’d be, something he’d never aspired to be. Alixe would be pleased. Then there was a moment’s deflation. There was no more Alixe. Alixe had left him last night, hurried towards the inevitable by his brother’s cold reminder of reality.

  ‘Perhaps now you can properly offer for the Burke chit.’ A curious flame sparked in the marquis’s blue eyes, far too like his own. He and his father were genetic imprints of the other. Even at fifty, with gold hair fading to the dull sheen of harvested wheat, his father bore a remarkable resemblance to him. He’d always resented that resemblance. He had spent most of his life fighting against it. He did not want to be his father—a man who’d made marriage miserable with his faithlessness for a decent woman like his mother.