The Ton's Most Notorious Rake
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He gave a slight bow. ‘I am Russington.’
‘You!’ Molly’s first impulse was to apologise profusely, but she held back. It was not her intention to pander to any man. Instead she gave a little gurgle of laughter. ‘I thought you were a book salesman.’ His brows shot up and she explained kindly, ‘I saw you talking with Mr Fetherpen, you see. And our assemblies are open to everyone, as long as they have a decent set of clothes.’
Had she gone too far? She saw the very slight twitch of his lips and was emboldened to look up at him. There was a dangerous glint in his dark brown eyes, but that thought was nothing to the danger she perceived as she studied him properly for the first time. He was tall, certainly, but well proportioned with broad shoulders and a powerful frame. His black hair was too long to be neat and curled thickly about his head and over his collar. In repose, she thought his lean face might look saturnine, but with that smile tugging at the corners of a mobile mouth and his dark eyes laughing at her beneath their black brows, a bolt of attraction shot through Molly and knocked the air from her body.
Quickly she turned away. Lady Currick had in no way exaggerated this notorious rake’s charms and Molly felt a stab of alarm. If she felt this way, what effect might he have on her girls?
‘A book salesman?’ he murmured, dashing hopes that he might have walked off. ‘I suppose I should be thankful I was not talking to the butcher.’
Another laugh bubbled up inside Molly, but she resolutely stifled it and with an incoherent murmur she hurried away.
* * *
Oh, heavens, was there ever anything so unfortunate? Molly moved quickly around the room, smiling but not stopping when Lady Currick beckoned to her. That lady would have seen Molly talking to Mr Russington, but Molly was not ready to discuss it. She would dearly like to go home, but that would only cause more speculation. Instead she made her way to Edwin’s side, bracing herself for the introductions she knew he would be eager to make.
Her nerves were still raw, but she achieved a creditable appearance of calm as her brother presented Sir Gerald and his friends to her. They were all genial enough, clearly willing to be pleased by the provincial company in which they found themselves. Even Sir Joseph, the painted fop, bowed over her hand and paid her a few fulsome compliments.
Molly made her responses like an automaton, her thoughts still distracted by her recent encounter with Mr Russington. However, she forced her chaotic mind to concentrate when Sir Gerald presented his sister. Agnes Kilburn was handsome rather than pretty, and during their short conversation, Molly gained the impression that she was an intelligent, thoughtful young woman. In any other circumstances, Molly would have been delighted to make her acquaintance, but she had no wish to give Sir Gerald and his friends any reason to spend more time than necessary in Compton Parva.
Suddenly Molly was aware of a tingling down her spine and she heard a deep, amused voice behind her.
‘Ah, Mr Frayne, will you not introduce us?’
‘I’d be delighted to do so! Molly, my dear, may I present Mr Russington to you? M’sister, sir. Mrs Morgan.’
Steeling herself, Molly turned, her smile pinned in place. She could not recall putting out her hand, but within moments he was bowing over her fingers. It was ridiculous to think she could feel the touch of his lips through her glove. That must surely be her fancy, but she did not imagine the little squeeze he gave her hand before releasing it.
‘Mrs Morgan and I, ah, encountered one another a little earlier.’
She thought angrily that he might expect her to apologise for her mistake, but when he lifted his head and looked at her there was nothing but amusement in his dark eyes. A faint smile curved his lips and she felt the full force of his charm wrap around her.
She could hear music, but it took her a moment to realise the sweet strains were the sounds of the musicians striking up for the first dance. She was vaguely aware of Edwin leading Agnes Kilburn on to the dance floor, but for the world she could not tear her gaze away from Beau Russington’s laughing eyes.
‘Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Mrs Morgan, or does that privilege fall to your husband?’
She felt dangerously off balance and his amusement ruffled her. It was as if he was aware of her agitation.
She said coldly, ‘I am a widow, sir. And I do not dance tonight.’ She moved towards the empty chairs at the side of the room. When he followed her, she said crossly, ‘Surely, Mr Russington, you should dance with some other lady. There are plenty without partners.’
‘Ah, but none to whom I have been introduced. Besides, the dance is now started. I shall have to wait for the next.’
When she sat down, he took a seat next to her. Could the man not take a hint?
‘Pray do not feel you need to remain with me,’ she told him. ‘I am sure there are many here who would prefer your company.’
‘I am sure there are,’ he agreed, not at all offended.
Her agitation disappeared, ousted by a desire to shake him from that maddening calm.
She said, ‘When I was a child, Mama had a house cat, a very superior being that had the unfortunate trait of always making for the visitor who liked him least. You are displaying a similar trait, Mr Russington.’
‘You liken me to a cat?’
Molly hid a smile. She murmured provocatively, ‘A tomcat, perhaps.’
* * *
A tomcat?
Russ glanced at the lady beside him. She was fanning herself as she watched the dancing and looking quite unconcerned. Did she realise what she had said, at the insult she had just uttered? Of course, she did. From their first exchanges he had had the impression that she was trying to annoy him. Well, perhaps not at first. Not until she had known his identity. He wished now he had not spoken, but when he had heard her speak his name and had seen her looking with such contempt at Aikers, he had not been able to help himself.
He remembered how she had turned to him, a smiling apology upon her lips and in her frank grey eyes. Then, when she realised who he was, the look had changed to one of unholy amusement and soon after that, sheer dislike. He was used to ladies fawning over him, or teasing him in an attempt to gain his attention. Never before had one been so openly hostile. A tomcat! He felt a momentary shock, until his sense of humour kicked in and he laughed.
‘I fear a longer acquaintance with you will do my self-esteem no good, madam!’
‘No good at all,’ she agreed affably.
She rose and, with a nod of dismissal, she left him. Russ watched her walk away, noting the proud tilt of her head, her straight back and the soft, seductive sway and shimmer of her skirts as she glided across the floor. Perhaps it was a ruse to pique his interest. Perhaps he might indulge the widow in a flirtation. After all she was pretty enough, although nothing like the ripe, luscious beauties that he favoured.
He decided against it. Compton Parva was a small town and she was the reverend’s sister. In his experience it was better to dally with dashing matrons who could be relied upon to enjoy a brief liaison without expecting anything more lasting, and then, when the time came to part, they would do so amicably and with never a second thought. No. Much better to leave well alone.
* * *
Edwin and Molly strolled home from the King’s Head once the dancing had ended. They had decided against using the carriage for such a short journey and the full moon and balmy summer night made it a pleasant walk, but for Molly the enjoyment was dimmed as she waited for the inevitable question from her brother.
‘Well, sister, what thought you of Miss Kilburn?’
Molly was cautious. ‘She appeared to be a very pleasant girl, although we did not have an opportunity to speak a great deal.’
‘You would have had more if you had not insisted upon spending all your time with the old ladies such as Lady Currick.’
‘Edwin!’
‘Well, you must admit, Molly, you are young enough to be her daughter.’
‘But I could hardly sit with the young ladies who were waiting for partners. It was embarrassing to watch them all making sheep’s eyes at the gentlemen.’
‘You might have stayed with the ladies from Newlands,’ he suggested mildly. ‘Then you might have had more opportunity to become acquainted with Miss Kilburn.’
‘Perhaps, but these things are never easy at a ball.’
Edwin patted her hand, where it rested on his sleeve. ‘Never mind. All is not lost, my dear, we have been invited to Newlands for dinner next Tuesday. I am going fishing with Sir Gerald during the day, but I will come home to fetch you for the evening.’
Molly’s heart sank, but before she could utter a word he continued, ‘I know you usually visit Prospect House on Tuesdays, but if you take the gig, you will be back in plenty of time to change. And you will have saved yourself a tiring walk.’
‘Well, that is the clincher!’ She laughed. ‘Especially since I tell you that I am never tired.’
‘There you are, then. It is settled, you will come!’
She heard the satisfaction in his voice and said nothing more. It was clear that Edwin wanted her there and, after all the help he had given her, how could she refuse?
Chapter Two
Molly had never visited Newlands and as Edwin’s carriage rattled along the drive she leaned forward to catch a first glimpse of the house. What she saw, glowing golden in the sunlight, was a rambling stone house in a mix of styles. Its previous, ageing owner had not used it for years, so she could understand the excitement that had erupted in the town when Sir Gerald bought the hunting lodge. The gossip had started several months earlier, when workmen had descended upon the property. Word soon spread that Sir Gerald was a bachelor of substantial means who was planning to bring a large party to the house at the end of the summer. Molly’s sister, Louisa, soon provided even more information, writing to inform her that Sir Gerald was a familiar figure in London and numbered amongst his acquaintances many of the fashionable rakes and Corinthians who flocked to the capital each Season.
Now those fashionable acquaintances were here, staying only a couple of miles from the town and far too close to Prospect House for Molly’s comfort. Beside her, she heard Edwin chuckle.
‘You look disappointed, Molly. Were you hoping Newlands would be so ugly and uncomfortable Sir Gerald and his friends would quit it within the month?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Do not fret, my dear,’ He patted her hands. ‘Sir Gerald has made it very clear he and his party are here for the sport. Why else would he have bought a hunting lodge?’
‘But if the area’s hunting, shooting and fishing do not live up to the party’s expectations, might not Sir Gerald and his louche friends look elsewhere for a little entertainment? And a house full of what they would consider to be “fallen women” is certain to attract their attention.’
‘Now you are being unreasonable,’ exclaimed Edwin. ‘You cannot deny that at last week’s assembly the gentlemen from Newlands behaved impeccably. You have no reason to think ill of them.’
‘I have Louisa’s letters,’ replied Molly darkly.
‘Louisa has nothing better to do with her time than pass on salacious gossip, for the most part untrue or exaggerated. Come, Molly, you are being unfair to Sir Gerald and his friends. When people are disparaging about the inhabitants of Prospect House, you tell them that one should not make hasty judgements, yet here you are doing just that.’ Edwin squeezed her fingers, pressing home his point. ‘I am sure our new neighbours will have no interest at all in Prospect House, and if they do...’ He spread his hands. ‘You cannot keep your charges locked away for the duration of Sir Gerald’s visit, my dear.’
‘I know that,’ she admitted, as the carriage pulled up before the house. ‘But even if the gentlemen have no designs upon them, I very much fear one or two of the girls might find the presence of such handsome and fashionable gentlemen in Compton Parva...distracting.’
‘My dear, if they are ever to make their way in the world again then they will have to learn to withstand the attractions of personable gentlemen.’
‘Of course.’ Molly clasped her hands together. ‘But you saw how the ladies at the assembly reacted. Such fashionable young bucks, with all the glamour of the town clinging to them, are particularly attractive to susceptible young women.’
Edwin laughed. ‘Do you really believe that, Molly?’
She thought of Beau Russington with his dark looks and careless charm and felt her stomach swoop.
‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘I really do.’
* * *
Sir Gerald and his friends were waiting for them in the drawing room. With the exception of Mrs Molyneux, Miss Kilburn’s aged companion, they had all been present at the assembly where introductions had been made. As greetings were exchanged, Molly took the opportunity to study the company. She had been reassured at the assembly to see that Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon were homely matrons, while Agnes Kilburn and the Misses Claydon had soon been at ease and mixing with the young ladies of the town. They were all very lively, but not at all the dashing sirens she had feared. This second meeting appeared to confirm her view, which was a relief, and she turned her attention to the gentlemen. Their host, Sir Gerald, was the most genial looking of them all, while Sir Joseph and Mr Flemington were the most flamboyant in their dress. But there could be no doubt they were all very fashionable—the cut of their clothes, the number of fobs and seals and the intricacies of their cravats had made them stand out at the recent assembly.
All except Beau Russington. She had been too agitated at their first encounter to appreciate why he was considered a leader of fashion, but here, in the elegant drawing room of Newlands, she had the opportunity to make a calm appraisal of the man. It did not take her long to realise that although he was not as showily dressed as his friends, his style was far superior. At least to her inexperienced eye. There was a simplicity to his dress, but nothing shabby in the superb cut of his clothes. Not a wrinkle marred the perfection of the dark evening coat stretched across his broad shoulders. It fitted him so well she wondered how many servants it had taken to ease him into it.
A plain white waistcoat was buttoned across his chest and she refused to allow her gaze to linger on the close-fitting breeches that sheathed narrow hips and powerful thighs. She quickly raised her eyes to take in the snowy neckcloth, intricately tied and with a single diamond winking from amongst the exquisite folds. The study of his cravat took her eyes to the countenance above it. A lean face, darkly handsome with a sensuous curve to the mouth. At that moment, as if aware of her scrutiny, the beau turned to look at her and her cool assessment came to an abrupt end.
Even from the other side of the room she felt the power of his gaze. Those dark, almost-black eyes skewered her to the spot and caused her pulse to race. Not only that, excitement flickered deep inside, like flames licking hungrily at dry tinder. She looked away quickly, shocked to realise that he had awoken sensations she had never wanted to feel again.
Sir Gerald was addressing her and she forced her mind to concentrate on his words. She exchanged pleasantries with his sister and then joined in a conversation with Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon while the gentlemen discussed the day’s shooting until dinner was announced.
Molly found herself seated at Sir Gerald’s right hand, with Sir Joseph Aikers beside her. Mr Russington, she was relieved to see, was sitting opposite her brother at the far end of the table. She did not think she would have enjoyed her meal half as much if the beau had been sitting beside her. Sir Joseph might be a fribble and a painted fop—as some people so cruelly described him—but Molly soon discovered he was exceedingly good-natured and assiduous of her comfort, ensuring her glass was filled and that she had her pick of the succulent dishes on offer.
The food was excellent and the conversation interesting. No awkward subjects were broached and Molly began to relax. These were cultured, educated people who knew how to set a guest at ease. Perhaps she had been magnifying the dangers they posed. Just as that thought occurred to her, Edwin laughed and she glanced down the table towards him. After his day of sport, her brother was clearly upon easy terms with the gentlemen. Mr Russington was looking her way and he caught and held her gaze. Molly’s heart began to race again. She felt trapped, like a wild animal, in thrall to a predator. With an effort, she dragged her eyes away, realising the danger was all too real. At least where one man was concerned.
Her appetite was quite gone and she was relieved when Miss Kilburn invited the ladies to withdraw. Molly intended to sit with Lady Claydon and Mrs Sykes, but when they reached the drawing room Miss Kilburn and the Misses Claydon were determined that she should perform for them.
‘Your brother was eager that we should hear you play upon the pianoforte, Mrs Morgan,’ explained Miss Claydon, opening the instrument and beckoning to Molly to sit down. ‘He told us you are most proficient and that you sing, too.’
‘Such praise,’ murmured Molly, vowing to give Edwin a trimming as soon as they were alone. ‘I am very much afraid I shall disappoint you.’
Harriet Claydon gave a trill of laughter. ‘I doubt that, ma’am. Judith and I are both hopeless, despite Mama insisting that we have the best of teachers.’
‘Sadly that is very true,’ agreed Lady Claydon, shaking her head. ‘We spent a fortune upon their education and they can neither of them do more than play a few simple pieces. Miss Kilburn, however, is very accomplished.’
Molly drew back in favour of her hostess, but Miss Kilburn was quick to decline.
She said shyly, ‘We should very much like to hear you play, Mrs Morgan.’
Molly took her place at the piano. Perhaps it would be as well to play now, before the gentlemen came in. She played a couple of short pieces and, when urged to sing, she rattled off a lively folk song, before concluding her performance with an Italian love song. Her audience were generous in their praise, but when she could not be persuaded to play more, Agnes Kilburn took her place and Molly retired to sit with the older ladies, relieved that she was no longer the focus of attention.
She hoped that might be the case for the rest of the evening, but it was not to be. When the gentlemen came in, the conversation turned towards Newlands.
‘Many of our friends were against my purchasing such an out-of-the-way place,’ said Sir Gerald cheerfully. ‘Including the beau here. Ain’t that right, Russ?’
‘I was.’ Mr Russington moved a little closer to the group. ‘After all, there are good places to hunt that are much closer to London.
‘Aye,’ declared Mr Flemington, coming up. ‘These provincial towns can be the very devil for entertainment. Not Compton Parva, you understand,’ he added hastily, with a bow towards Edwin and Molly. ‘The assembly at the King’s Head last week was as good as any I have attended outside London.’
‘Well, I do not regret my choice,’ declared their host. ‘It may be a long way north, but what is a few days’ travel, compared to the sport that is to be had here? No, I am delighted with my new hunting lodge and glad now that I did not allow myself to be dissuaded.’
Edwin laughed heartily. ‘Did you expect to find only savages in Knaresborough, Kilburn? I admit I had the same reaction from my friends and acquaintances when I accepted the living here. But I am very much at home, you know. And I vow it provides some of the best riding in the country.’
‘Yes, I grant you, if your taste is for rugged grandeur,’ put in Sir Joseph Aikers, waving one hand. ‘You cannot deny the weather here is less clement than the south. And the mud.’ He gave a comical grimace that made his companions laugh.
‘In the main we are very favourably impressed,’ declared Mrs Sykes. ‘It is true the journey was a trifle wearisome. But Kilburn has made the house very comfortable and the townspeople of Compton Parva are most welcoming.’
‘We are relieved to have Newlands occupied at last and not only for the enlargement of good society,’ Edwin told her with a smile. ‘It provides occupation for local people and business for our tradesmen. That must always be welcome.’
‘There is one thing that surprised me,’ remarked Lady Claydon. She hesitated and glanced towards the pianoforte, where her daughters and Miss Kilburn were engaged in singing together. ‘I had not expected to find a house here for females of a certain order.’
‘My wife means the magdalens,’ declared Lord Claydon. ‘I admit I was surprised when I heard of it—one usually associates Magdalene hospitals with the larger cities. But I suppose small towns have the same problems, what? It’s a way of keeping that sort of female off the streets.’
Molly stiffened, but Edwin caught her eye and gave a slight shake of his head.
‘You refer to Prospect House’ he said calmly. ‘It is a refuge for unfortunate women who have suffered at the hands of men. It is not a house of correction.’
‘However, it is a little disturbing to think there is a need for one in Compton Parva,’ remarked Mrs Sykes.
‘The sad fact is we need more of these places,’ said Edwin. ‘Since Prospect House opened its doors, it has always been full, taking in residents from far and wide.’
‘Ah,’ cried Mr Flemington, rolling his eyes, ‘So it is not that this area has more than its fair share of Lotharios.’ He cast a laughing glance around at the gentlemen standing beside him. ‘At least, not until now!’
There was much good-natured protest from his auditors and Mrs Sykes rapped his knuckles with her fan, telling him to behave himself.
‘This is no laughing matter,’ she said. ‘I would assure Mr Frayne that we are great supporters of the Magdalene houses. After all, someone has to help these poor women and show them the error of their ways.’
‘Error of their ways?’ Molly was unable to keep silent any longer. ‘None of the women in Prospect House are prostitutes, ma’am, although that might have been their only way to survive had they not been taken in. However, I admit it was set up on the precepts of the original Magdalene hospital,’ Molly added, ‘to provide a safe and happy retreat for women of all classes.’
Molly knew her words would bring the attention of the group upon her, but it could not be helped. She sat up very straight, holding her head high. A couple of the gentlemen had raised their eyeglasses to regard her and Beau Russington, too, was watching her, but Molly ignored them all.
‘Do you mean there is no attempt to reform them?’ asked Lady Claydon, her brows rising in surprise. ‘Is this not merely pandering to vice?’
‘The women at Prospect House are the victims of vice, ma’am, not perpetrators,’ Molly told her. ‘Some have been seduced, others come here to escape seduction or because their reputations have been ruined by men who sought to use them for their own ends. As for reform, they are taught suitable skills in order that they may support themselves.’
‘You appear to be very well informed about the business, Mrs Morgan,’ remarked Mr Russington.
‘I am,’ said Molly, tilting her chin a little higher. ‘I set up Prospect House.’
Her words brought a flutter of gasps and exclamations.
‘Oh, good heavens,’ murmured Mrs Sykes, fanning herself rapidly.
Molly kept her head up, prepared to meet any challenge, but she could see no condemnation or disapproval in the faces of those around her. Some of the gentlemen looked amused, the ladies merely surprised and then, to her relief, she heard Edwin’s cheerful voice.
‘Yes, and I am very proud of my sister. She purchased the property, provided a small annuity to fund it and then set up a committee of local people, knowing it was important to have the goodwill of the town if the house was to survive.’