The Regency Season: Wicked Rakes: How to Disgrace a Lady / How to Ruin a Reputation. Bronwyn Scott

       Chapter Ten

      Four days into their agreement, Alixe was regretting it. Merrick had kept his word. He’d not kissed her, not tempted her to wanton passions, at least not in any way she could take issue with. He’d kept his part of the agreement, holding to the letter of the proverbial law, if not the spirit of it.

      Even the slightest of his touches at her elbow managed to send frissons of anticipation through her, reminding her of other, less-decent touches, and of possibilities that existed if she would only ask for them. Mostly those touches reminded her that this was all her fault. The frustration that plagued her late at night alone in bed was of her own doing.

      He was doing it on purpose, but she couldn’t prove it, just as she couldn’t substantiate the niggling feeling that the other shoe still hadn’t dropped.

      * * *

      And then it did with a resounding clatter bright and early one morning when she’d least expected it. Of course, that was how it always happened. She should have known.

      Alixe awoke to a sun-soaked room, well aware that today held both excitement and danger. Today was the day she was to take her completed translation to Vicar Daniels and help set up the historical society’s display for tomorrow’s fair in the village. That was the exciting part. The danger was what the fair stood for—a day closer to the departure to London and the fate that awaited her there.

      She was keenly aware the house party had reached its zenith and was careening towards its conclusion: the fair in the village followed two days later by her mother’s much-anticipated midsummer ball. And she had failed to stop it—not the ball, but her imminent departure.

      It wasn’t all she’d failed at. She’d failed to shake Merrick from her side and where she’d failed, he’d succeeded magnificently. She might not be the Toast of London yet, but she’d become the Toast of the house party. Merrick’s presence at her side ensured a heightened interest in her that not even her plain, unobtrusive garb could counteract. Being in his company made her visible to others.

      She had not noticed until it was too late that he’d orchestrated their days into an easy pattern—mornings spent in the quiet seclusion of the library working on the manuscript where they were joined at times by Jamie or Ashe pursuing their own projects. During the afternoons, she and Merrick were taken up with various groups until no one even considered inviting Merrick without her. They played lawn bowls with Riordan and the young bucks he’d gathered whom he felt met his standard of debauchery. There was croquet and a badminton match against Ashe and Mrs Whitely. Merrick cheered from the sidelines for her at an impromptu archery contest among the young ladies and he saw to it that she stood beside him while he and Ashe engaged a pair of bragging riflemen in a friendly competition of marksmanship.

      She had never lived like this before. She’d never allowed herself to as part of her self-imposed exile from society. She was discovering it was fun to be the centre of a group, to play and to laugh. Most of all it was fun to be with Merrick and it was easy to forget why he was with her.

      Such forgetfulness was her biggest failure. He was luring her to London and then he’d disappear when his job was done. It had to stop. Today would be a day to start afresh in her campaign of resistance. The first thing to do was get dressed. She had a dress in mind, a sallow-yellow muslin that did nothing for her complexion.