Bronwyn Scott - How to Disgrace a Lady

‘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.

‘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.

BRONWYN SCOTTis a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages.

Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, www.bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog, www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com—she loves to hear from readers.

Previous novels from Bronwyn Scott:

PICKPOCKET COUNTESS

NOTORIOUS RAKE, INNOCENT LADY

THE VISCOUNT CLAIMS HIS BRIDE

THE EARL’S FORBIDDEN WARD

UNTAMED ROGUE, SCANDALOUS MISTRESS

A THOROUGHLY COMPROMISED LADY

SECRET LIFE OF A SCANDALOUS DEBUTANTE

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

and in Mills & Boon ®Historical Undone! eBooks:

LIBERTINE LORD, PICKPOCKET MISS

PLEASURED BY THE ENGLISH SPY

WICKED EARL, WANTON WIDOW

ARABIAN NIGHTS WITH A RAKE

AN ILLICIT INDISCRETION

(Part of A Sinful Regency Christmas collection)

and in Mills & Boon look out for PRINCE CHARMING IN DISGUISE (part of the Royal Weddings Through the Ages )

Introducing a brand-new deliciously sinful trilogy from

Bronwyn Scott

Rakes Beyond Redemption

Too wicked for polite society …

They’re the men society mamas warn their daughters about … and the men that innocent debutantes find scandalously irresistible!

The notorious Merrick St Magnus knows just

HOW TO DISGRACE A LADYSeptember 2012

The untameable Ashe Bevedere needs no lessons in

HOW TO RUIN A REPUTATIONOctober 2012

The shameless Riordan Barrett

is an unequalled master in

HOW TO SIN SUCCESSFULLYNovember 2012

Be sure not to miss any of these sexy men!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Merrick St Magnus did nothing by halves, including the notorious Greenfield Twins. Even now, the legendary courtesans were delectably arranged in varying degrees of dishabille on the drawing room’s long Venetian divan. His eyes on the first Greenfield twin, Merrick plucked an orange slice from a silver tray and gave it an indolent roll in powdered sugar, in no way oblivious to the charms of her lovely bosom pushed to the very limits of decency by the dual efforts of a tightly laced corset and a low décolletage.

‘One sweet temptation deserves another, ma chère ,’ he said in liquid tones, his eyes meaningfully raking her body, noticing how the pulse note at the base of her long neck leapt in appreciation of his open seduction. Merrick skimmed the orange slice across her slightly parted lips, the tip of her tongue making pretty work of licking the powdery sugar, all the while suggesting she’d be quite apt at licking more than her lips.

He was going to enjoy tonight. More than that, he was going to enjoy winning the bet that currently filled pages of White’s infamous book of wagers and collecting the winnings tomorrow. He stood to make a respectable sum that would see him through a recent bad run at the tables. Certainly men had ‘had’ the lovely Greenfield sisters, but no man had obtained carnal knowledge of them both at the same time.

At the other end of the divan, twin number two gave a coy pout. ‘What about me, Merrick? Am I not a temptation?’

‘You, ma belle , are a veritable Eve.’ Merrick let his hand hover over the fruit platter as if contemplating with great deliberation which fruit to select. ‘Ah, for you, my Eve, a fig, I think, for the pleasures of Eden that await a man in your garden.’

His literary references were for naught. She pouted again, perplexed. ‘My name isn’t Eve.’

Merrick stifled a sigh. Think about the money. He flashed a rakish smile, popping the fig into her mouth and giving her a compliment she would understand. ‘I never can tell which of you is the prettiest.’ But he definitely could tell which one was smarter. He dropped a hand to the expanse of twin number two’s exposed bosom and drew a light circle on her skin with his index finger, winning a coy smile. Twin one had her hands at his shoulders, massaging as she pulled the shirt-tails from his waistband. It was time to get down to business.

That was when it happened—his manservant began banging on the receiving room door.

‘Not right now,’ Merrick called, but the banging persisted.

‘Maybe he wants to join us,’ twin one suggested, unfazed by the interruption.

His man of all work would not be deterred. ‘We have an emergency, milord.’ He pressed from the other side of the door.

Damn it all, he was going to have to get up and see what Fillmore wanted. Between lost literary references and intrusive servants, this could be going better. Merrick pushed to his feet, shirt-tails loose. He placed a gallant kiss on the hand of each twin. ‘A moment, mes amours .’