Governesses taught a person how to walk, how to sit and how to make polite conversation; all of which were apparently useless skills in spite of society’s argument to the contrary. What a girl really needed in her arsenal was the ability to coax a kiss. A man, too, for that matter.
Merrick hadn’t said as much, but Alixe suspected the converse was indeed true. Merrick had demonstrated that quite aptly this afternoon at the villa. His allure most definitely did not stem from his ability to make polite conversation or from his talent for sitting ramrod straight. In fact, he was proving it right now across the drawing room while they waited for the games to begin. It was the first time all evening that he’d left her side.
Merrick lounged where other men stiffly posed against the mantelpiece. Merrick said what he thought while others searched for careful phrasing.
And it was working. The pretty Widow Whitely tilted her blonde head to one side, giving Merrick a considering look, a coy half-smile on her lips, her eyes dropping to his mouth and then to an unmentionable spot just below his waist.
Oh. Alixe felt a blush start to rise on Mrs Whitely’s behalf. Had Mrs Whitely really done that? It had happened so quickly, Alixe couldn’t be entirely sure of what she’d seen. Merrick was leaning forwards and smiling, a behaviour that sent an unlooked-for surge of jealously through Alixe. He had smiled at her in a similar manner up at the villa today. Jamie had warned her Merrick liked women. But a warning wasn’t quite as effective as seeing the evidence first-hand.
Watching him with Widow Whitely was a gentle reminder that these were the tools of his trade. It was also a reminder that he wasn’t hers to command. He was merely her unconventional and secret tutor at the moment. If he wanted to flirt with Mrs Whitely, she had no right to countermand him.
As if drawn by her thoughts, Merrick looked up from his tête-à-tête with the engaging widow, his eyes discreetly finding hers.
Five minutes later, he materialised at her side. ‘Did you learn anything, ma chère?’
Other than that Mrs Whitely might have a fascination with certain parts of yours? That could absolutely not be said out loud. Alixe elected to say nothing. She shook her head.
‘I did,’ Merrick continued, his voice low at her ear. ‘We were noticed at the picnic today and again in the drawing room. I’ve been approached by no less than three ladies who have commented on it.’
‘In a good way, I hope.’ Alixe could imagine the ways they might have been noticed. She was not used to deliberately drawing attention to herself. ‘The last thing I need before going to London is too much attention.’ She would prefer no one had spied them up at the villa or actually heard what they were laughing over at the picnic.
Merrick gave one of his easy smiles. ‘There is no such thing as too much attention. Don’t be confusing attention with scandal. They are two different animals entirely. One is good and the other is to be avoided at all costs.’
Alixe raised an eyebrow in quizzing disbelief. ‘And you’re a prime example of avoiding scandal?’
‘Scandal is to be avoided at all costs, if you’re a woman,’ Merrick amended.
‘Quite the double standard since it’s pretty hard to fall into scandal without us,’ Alixe said drily.
‘Still, there are ways.’ Merrick laughed, then sobered. Alixe followed his narrowing gaze to the arrival of a newcomer to the drawing room. Archibald Redfield entered with Lady Folkestone on his arm, his golden head bent with a smile to catch a comment.
‘Your mother seems quite taken with our Mr Redfield.’
‘My father, too. They dote on him.’
‘Whatever for? He’s a sly sort. Surely they can see that.’
‘They only see his manners, his standard-bred good looks. He’s solid, not the sort to stir up trouble. He’s exactly what this sleepy part of England is looking for in a landowner. He took over the old Tailsby Manse last year. It was the most exciting thing to happen in Folkestone for ages. Everyone with a daughter under thirty was thrilled.’
‘Do you include your mother in that grouping?’ Merrick’s eyes followed Redfield about the room in a manner reminiscent of a wolf stalking prey.
‘Of course.’ Alixe shrugged, hoping to fob off any further inquisition.
‘But to no avail?’ Merrick probed. This was uncomfortable ground.
‘To no avail on my end. I was not interested in Mr Redfield’s attentions.’
‘But he was?’
‘Yes. Yes, he was interested,’ Alixe replied tersely. She’d retreated from London to avoid men like Archibald Redfield. Merrick looked ready to ask another question. ‘This is not a seemly topic of conversation for a drawing room,’ Alixe said quickly. She had no desire to delve further into just how interested Mr Redfield had been or how naively she’d been taken in for a short time.
‘Then perhaps you’ll do me the honour of continuing the conversation later in the garden after the games. I believe I am to join old Mrs Pottinger and her cronies at whist shortly.’ Merrick was all obliging affability at the thought of an evening spent at cards with old ladies.
‘I hadn’t planned on staying for the games,’ Alixe admitted. ‘I am behind on my manuscript. I’d hoped to sneak off and get some work done tonight.’ She’d lost so much time since the house party had begun and the manuscript was still giving her fits.
‘Oh, no, that will not do,’ Merrick scolded. ‘You can’t be noticed if you’re not here. You need to stay and you need to enjoy yourself. Go over and join Miss Georgia Downing and the young ladies by the sofa. I promise they’ll be delighted to make your acquaintance. With luck, you can all make plans to call on one another in London.’
It would be fun to spend an evening in the company of people her age—well, roughly her age. She knew she was a bit older. Still, Jane Atwood 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.’
