The Ton's Most Notorious Rake

by Sarah Mallory

  The memory was still painful, but at that moment she would not have resisted if Russ had put his arms about her. She would have taken comfort from his sympathy, his strength. Instead, with a sigh that might have been compassion, he released her and the thought that he pitied her was like salt in an open wound. She dragged together her few final shreds of pride to keep her head up and her voice level. ‘I was ruined. As many another foolish girl has been before. Now you know the truth.’

  ‘A broken heart? Abandoned by your lover?’ He shook his head. ‘There is more you aren’t telling me.’

  ‘Is that not enough?’

  ‘No!’ He raked one hand through his hair. ‘A failed love affair is not enough to give you this...this aversion to men.’

  ‘I do not have an aversion,’ she protested. ‘I am perfectly friendly with many of my neighbours in Compton Parva, and I love Edwin, very much.’

  ‘These are men who pose no threat to you!’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Was your marriage unhappy?’

  ‘That is none of your business. I shall not listen to you!’

  When she turned to walk away he stepped in front of her, so close she found herself staring at the solid wall of his chest.

  ‘Do not try to fob me off, Molly.’

  She gave a little cry of frustration and beat her fists against him.

  ‘You have no right to pester me like this.’

  ‘I am determined to know,’ he said, covering her hands and holding them still. ‘If you will not tell me, I shall ask your brother.’

  ‘He knows nothing about it!’

  Her words had shocked him. His head went back, as if she had struck him.

  ‘No one knows,’ she whispered. ‘It is in the past. Finished.’

  ‘It is not finished,’ he said slowly. ‘It is eating away at you and it will ruin your life if you do not stop it. You are a young woman, Molly Morgan. Young enough to marry again, to fall in love again.’

  ‘Never! I am done with all men.’

  ‘I do not believe that.’ His fingers tightened. ‘Can you deny you feel something when I touch you? You are trembling now.’

  ‘That is because I am angry.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ he said gently, ‘You have a passionate nature, Molly. You can love again, if only you will let yourself. I know it.’

  ‘Of course, you do.’ Her rising panic manifested itself in scorn. ‘You think yourself irresistible to any female!’

  ‘No, no, I do not mean me. I mean a good man. A man of the cloth, perhaps. Someone who thinks as you do. But you will need to stop running.’

  He put his fingers under her chin and eased her head up, holding her eyes with his own. They were full of gentleness and understanding. Molly’s tongue flickered nervously over her lips. It would be so easy to throw herself against him, to take comfort and strength from him, just for a while. She knew it was wrong, it could not be, but even as she told herself she must not give in, the look in his dark eyes changed. She could not move, could not breathe. Her body was no longer her own. The hood slipped back as she tilted her face up, eyes half-closed, inviting a kiss that did not come. His mouth was tantalisingly close and she pushed up on to her toes to reach him.

  At first touch, his lips were soft and cool against hers. There was a heartbeat’s hesitation before he began to kiss her and then she was lost. She forgot about the rain on her face, the soft whisper of it in the hedgerow. She was aware only of Russ’s mouth on hers, his arms around her, binding her to him. She whimpered, a soft sound in her throat, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue flickering, teasing, exploring and, tentatively, she responded. She had never been kissed like this before, so tenderly, so thoroughly. Desire blossomed in every inch of her body and her heart, silent for so many years, began to sing.

  Molly gave a little sigh of regret when at last the kiss ended. Russ kept his arms about her and she rested her head against his shoulder, gazing up in wonder at his face. He was looking down at her, a tiny crease in his brow, as if he was seeing her for the first time. Then he seemed to recollect himself and he gently released her.

  ‘You see, I was right. There is passion in you, Molly Morgan.’

  Molly stared at him. The light was fading and although she knew he was smiling she could not make out his features in the gloom. It was as if she was waking slowly from a dream. The feeling of well-being was slipping away and a chill was seeping through her damp clothes. She put a hand to her lips. They felt bruised, swollen and she had a sudden urge to weep, although she was not sure why.

  Russ swallowed a sigh as he regarded the silent, dejected little figure in front of him. He hated seeing her thus, he wanted to drag her back into his arms and kiss away her unhappiness. His body was aroused and aching to do that and more. He wanted to set her up in luxury, shower her with gifts and spend the long nights in her arms, awaking the passion he had just glimpsed within her. But that was impossible. He reached out to pull her hood back over her head. ‘I am the very last man who can give you lasting happiness. But, do you know? I envy him, whoever he may be.’

  Still she said nothing and just gazed at him with stormy, troubled eyes. Then, without a word, she picked up her skirts, turned and fled.

  * * *

  Neither Russ nor Sir Gerald were present in church the following Sunday, for which Molly was very thankful. She had no idea how she was to face Russ after that kiss. Her insides twisted into knots every time she thought of it, which was almost constantly. The thick shell she had painstakingly built around herself was shattered, the desire she felt for Russ was as strong as anything she had ever felt for her first love. Stronger. She wanted him with an aching intensity that left her feeling weak, while the desolation that accompanied it tore at her. He could never be hers, he had told her so himself. He would not even beguile her with soft words and empty promises. The sight of Fleur, radiant and clearly very much in love, no longer filled Molly with the desire to save her friend—instead, she envied her. Molly sat through the service with her head bowed, not hearing the sermon but praying intently that this madness would soon pass.

  * * *

  Although Molly did not see Russ or Sir Gerald for the next few days, it was impossible not to hear about them. Lady Currick invited Molly and a number of other ladies to take tea with her, ostensibly to discuss charitable works in the parish, but once these matters had been dealt with the conversation turned to the latest gossip from Newlands.

  ‘I have heard the two gentlemen are living there like savages now the ladies have departed,’ said one of the matrons, her eyes wide and twinkling in her round face. ‘The servants have all been turned off. Heaven knows what they are up to!’

  ‘Nothing to excite your imagination,’ replied Lady Currick dampeningly. ‘Sir Gerald discovered the housekeeper is suffering very badly from rheumatism and he has sent her off to Harrogate for two weeks to take the waters. She is accompanied by her niece, who happens to be first housemaid.’

  ‘Well, I have never heard the like!’ declared the matron. ‘Two weeks, for a servant.’

  ‘Quite.’ Lady Currick paused while the tea cups were refreshed. ‘Sir Gerald knew it would be highly improper for the other female servants to be above stairs with no one to manage them, so he gave them all leave to go home until the housekeeper returns. Paid them, too! Well, of course, that set up a protest from the rest of the house staff, and the result was that Sir Gerald said they might all have a holiday, if they so wished. Of course, some of them had nowhere to go and preferred to remain, but the result is that there are barely half a dozen servants at Newlands now, all male, and they are doing everything that is required for their masters.’

  There was a general cry of disbelief and Lady Currick could not suppress a little smile of superiority.

  She said, ‘I know it is true, because Currick went shooting with the gentlemen yesterday and stayed to din
e at Newlands. That was when Sir Gerald was obliged to explain everything, because his valet was serving dinner for them. However, Currick had no fault to find with the dinner, nor the house, so it is to be supposed the gentlemen will go on quite comfortably until their servants return.’

  Mrs Thomas, wife of the prosperous local mill owner, gave a loud tut of disapproval. ‘Paying for the housekeeper to go to Harrogate for treatment is one thing. She is, after all, a very necessary member of the household, but to be giving the servants their wages and sending them off to do what they will—I am shocked, Lady Currick. Shocked. Such behaviour could lead to a general discontent amongst our servants. It sets a very bad example to the town.’

  ‘It shows a generosity I had not expected of Sir Gerald,’ put in Molly, feeling obliged to defend the gentleman.

  ‘Well, I only hope he does not live to regret it,’ muttered Mrs Thomas in ominous tones. ‘And heaven knows what state the house will be in by the time the servants return!’

  * * *

  It was clear to Molly that the ladies of Compton Parva considered any past scandals attaching to Sir Gerald paled into insignificance against this latest outrage and she lost no time in relating the news to Edwin at dinner that evening. She was a little disappointed, but not surprised, to discover that he already knew of it.

  ‘So Kilburn has done it, has he?’ Edwin grinned. ‘He asked me what I thought of the scheme when I rode over there on Monday last. I believe he and Russ were quite looking forward to living informally for a while, although I am sure they will be very glad to have their comforts restored after a fortnight.’

  ‘I feel sorry for the staff who are left,’ said Molly. ‘They will all be working twice as hard.’

  ‘I did mention that to Sir Gerald, but he said he would give them extra wages, so he did not think they would object overmuch. Trouble is,’ mused Edwin, helping himself to more rice and mutton from the dishes on the table, ‘this sort of thing can have unforeseen consequences. Servants with too much time to spare can get up to mischief. They may not even return at all. But it is something for Compton Parva to talk about, what?’

  ‘With the harvest to be gathered in they should have more than enough to occupy them. They should not be gossiping at all.’

  ‘People must have some entertainment and talking about others provides endless amusement. You are too severe upon our neighbours, Molly.’

  ‘Am I?’ She fixed an anxious gaze upon her brother. ‘Do you think they consider me too serious and disapproving? Do you think it?’

  Edwin put down his fork. ‘I think you have grown old before your time,’ he said gently. ‘You are only four-and-twenty, my dear. I worry sometimes that I have allowed you to take on too much here.’

  ‘But I enjoy helping you, Edwin.’

  ‘I know and I very much appreciate it.’ He hesitated, as if choosing his next words with care. ‘But what if I should marry?’

  Molly laughed. ‘My dear Edwin, if that should happen, then naturally I should move out. We agreed as much when I first came to live with you and it is even more necessary now. I would not expect your wife to share a house with such a managing female as I have become!’

  Edwin laughed, too, plainly relieved, but his words only deepened Molly’s unease. Her brother often talked of Agnes Kilburn and it was clear his attachment to her was serious. If they should marry, the links with Newlands would be strengthened. Unless Molly moved away from the area altogether, there would be no avoiding Sir Gerald and his friends.

  There would be no avoiding Russ.

  * * *

  Compton Parva was taking advantage of a spell of hot, dry weather to bring in the harvest. Molly drove over to Prospect House on Tuesday to help pack up the surplus produce from the farm, ready for market day. She was glad of the activity, for it helped to keep her mind from dwelling on Russ. She desperately wanted to see him again, but she must keep her distance from a man who had the power to make her lose all sense of judgement. A man who, by a touch, could reduce her to a quivering mass of need and longing.

  The house was unusually quiet when she arrived. She was met by Marjorie, who took her into the morning room where her baby was sleeping peacefully in a crib.

  ‘Everyone else is out of doors,’ she told Molly. ‘I have been sorting out things we might sell at market tomorrow.’

  She indicated the table, which was covered with embroidered goods, including fine handkerchiefs and exquisite children’s nightgowns. Molly spent an hour with her, admiring the baby and helping her to choose and price the various items to be sold, before making her way to the dairy, where Nancy was hard at work with the butter churn.

  ‘In good time,’ Nancy greeted her. ‘All the others have gone to help in the fields, so I am left alone to deal with everything here.’

  ‘I thought that might be the case,’ said Molly, stripping off her gloves. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘If you could cut and wrap the butter I have already prepared, that would help, my love. Thank you.’

  ‘I thought Fleur might be helping you,’ remarked Molly, slipping into the clean linen apron Nancy handed to her.

  ‘She is with Moses and the others at the farm. I said with her fair complexion she would be better staying out of the sun, but she insisted.’

  There was something in Nancy’s tone that made Molly look at her.

  ‘And do you think Sir Gerald will pass this way?’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’ Nancy gave the handle a couple more turns before opening the barrel and giving a satisfied nod. ‘They manage to see one another nearly every day. I wish you would speak to her, Molly. I have tried, but she is in such a daze of happiness she will not listen to me. She has thrown her hat over the windmill and will return by Weeping Cross.’

  Molly nodded, saying nothing. She was beginning to think the old saying applied to more than just Fleur.

  * * *

  ‘Molly—have you been here all day?’ Fleur embraced her warmly, then broke away, smiling. ‘Now I feel guilty for not coming back earlier, but there was so much to do at the farm.’

  ‘There always is, at harvest time.’ Molly took her arm. ‘Come along into the morning room. I am about to prepare tea and I am sure you are ready for a little refreshment.’

  ‘I am indeed,’ agreed Fleur, laughing. ‘Only give me a moment to take off my bonnet and wash my face and hands and I shall be with you.’

  Fleur ran upstairs and Molly busied herself with making tea until she returned. She was still trying to decide how to introduce the topic of Sir Gerald without sounding as if she was lecturing when Fleur came into the morning room and asked if Nancy was joining them.

  ‘No,’ replied Molly, distracted. ‘She is too busy in the kitchen today.’

  ‘Just as well, since she is at outs with me over Sir Gerald. Has she told you?’

  Molly said cautiously, ‘She says you see him regularly.’

  ‘I do.’ There was no doubting the happiness shining from Fleur’s eyes. ‘You will not believe how much we have to discuss.’ She laughed. ‘We talk about farming and husbandry and crop yields. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Yes, I can, if he wishes to ingratiate himself with you.’

  Fleur blushed and shook her head. ‘It is not like that, Molly. He will not come to the house because he says he is fearful for my reputation. We meet out of doors. Moses or one of the girls is always nearby. You look sceptical, my love, but he is most truly a gentleman. H-he has done nothing more scandalous than to kiss my hand! He says the farms at Newlands are in a pitiable state and he is determined to improve them. He has even sent his steward across to discuss our farming methods with Moses.’

  ‘That I can understand, since we have been at pains to make Prospect Farm a success. But, Fleur, do you honestly believe he is only interested in the farm?’

  ‘No, of course not. He has said he
would like to bring his sister across to meet me, when she returns to Newlands. But you need not lecture me, Molly. I know full well I must not read too much into that.’ Fleur sighed. ‘I believe we are friends, you see. I know it cannot be anything more, but when Gerald eventually leaves Newlands, I shall have such happy memories.’

  ‘And will that be enough?’ asked Molly, aware of the ache she felt inside whenever she thought of Russ and that was after so very few encounters.

  Fleur’s smile slipped a little. ‘It will have to be.’

  Chapter Eight

  Molly returned from Prospect House just as the sun was setting and was surprised to find Edwin waiting for her in the hall.

  ‘Molly, love, you are later than I expected. Is all well at Prospect House? Marjorie, and her baby?’

  ‘Yes, yes, everything is well, but there was so much to do—butter and cheese to be packed, eggs to be collected. Oh, a hundred little things. And with Marjorie looking after her new baby, they were glad of another pair of hands. However, Marjorie has been able to return to her sewing and is once more overseeing the other girls. They have produced some delightful work, including several pairs of gloves and embroidered slippers to sell tomorrow.’ Weary as she was, she summoned up a laugh. ‘I might even buy a pair for you, Edwin.’

  His responding smile was distracted.

  ‘Molly, my dear, do you remember I was talking of the unforeseen consequences of Sir Gerald’s sending his staff away to enjoy themselves?’

  ‘Of course. Edwin, what is it?’

  Her immediate concern was dispelled when she saw how his eyes were dancing. ‘I think you had best come into the drawing room, my dear.’