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After strolling back to Winslow Park, Theo had tea brought for Molly. When she'd had her fill, he took her off to the billiards room, declaring there could be no better way to spend the remainder of the day.
Stripping off his coat, he settled to the game with dedicated concentration, and while Molly had regarded him with caution at first there was nothing lover-like about his attentions that afternoon. She stiffened as he reached around her to show her how to hold her billiard cue. But while his hands on her arms lifted her pulse, he seemed not to notice anything but the balls on the table and the aim of getting one of them into the net pockets.
Billiards, it seemed, required complete absorption, and Molly soon found herself as caught up in the art of calculating angles and her aim. It was only as the light began to fade that she realized they had played well past the usual early country hours for dinner.
After racking the cues again, Theo dragged on his coat, saying, "We might as well go on shocking Simpson by not changing for dinner."
She found herself unable to resist the glimmer of mischief in his eyes and so she agreed, but Simpson, it seemed, had determined either to ignore any further lapses in decorum or at least to offer no reaction to them. He bowed them into the dining room without comment as to their attire or to the delayed hour of the meal.
Two footmen immediately brought dishes. Glancing at them, Molly saw the signs that the cook had had to struggle to keep them warm. The haddock had been covered with a sauce that did not quite hide its overcooked dryness. Burnt edges scarred a pie. And no sauce could disguise that a dish of French beans had become limp strands.
Distressed that their carelessness with time had been the cause of this disaster, Molly glanced at Simpson. "Gracious, the poor cook! Please do send apologies for having to wait on us."
That drew a shocked stare from him. Glancing around, Molly realized that Theo, too, as well as the footmen were all looking at her with similar dumbfounded expressions.
She realized she had spoken quite out of character for a hard-hearted jade and so she added, her accent laid on thick, "Now, what say we tuck in to a good feed!"
She seated herself and held up her soup bowl for serving. Simpson's expression returned to pained disapproval, one of the footmen shook his head and Theo's shoulders relaxed.
So much for my thinking I am any sort of actress, Molly told herself. She was not doing very good at keeping up her pretense. And her feelings tangled between the wish that Theo's father might return at once to get this done, and the dragging desire to put off the confrontation that must come from such a meeting even just a little bit longer.
I really must keep thinking only of the money I am here to earn, she thought. But somehow her fifty pounds keep getting pushed behind everything else.
They played backgammon again that evening, and Theo was in a mood to flirt. He wanted to wager on the outcome of the games, but Molly only shook her head and insisted, "It wouldn't be right for me to fleece you."
That put him on his mettle and he actually won one of the games, which put in a good enough mood that he promised to show her the ruins of an old Norman tower which lay near the village of Halsage.
The next day, however, started with clouds thick across the sky and looking ready for a summer storm. Not wanting to get caught in the rain, Molly declined the offer of a tour of the local ruins.
"A little wetting won't hurt," Theo insisted.
"It wouldn't help, either, for I'm not like to grow from it," she shot back.
He gave a laugh. "Oh, very well. Then what shall we do? Billiards or backgammon? Or shall we take up cards?"
She opted for billiards, thinking that would provide him enough activity for he seemed bursting with energy. But he paced the room and fussed with his own cue and hers so much that finally she said, "Why do you not at least go riding? I've a bit of stitching to do, anyway."
He lifted one dark eyebrow. "First cooking, now sewing—how domestic you sound."
She blushed, but met the glinting humor in his eyes with an unflustered stare. "And why shouldn't I be? I'm a working girl, I am—and I'm not used to this lounging about all day."
With a grin, he came around the billiards table to stand close enough beside her that she could see the darker flecks of cobalt in his blue eyes.
"You won't go outside with me, but you're willing for me to get a wetting. What about my devoted appearance to you? I can't very well go off and leave your side, now can I?"
Leaning his cue against the side of the green baize-covered table, he took up her hand, his fingers playing idly with hers. "Course, I could think of other ways we could amuse ourselves—ways that would nicely show the staff just how utterly enslaved I am by your charms."
He lifted her hand to brush his lips across the back of it.
Her stomach tightened, but she fixed her smile. She didn't dare reveal how his words and his touch acted on her. It might only serve to encourage him to do more—and she was starting to see that having high morals was a good deal easier without any temptation to challenge them.
"Enslaved are you?" she said.
"Utterly! Bewitched...intoxicated...I am yours to command. Or at least I am for as long as we must keep up a good show for everyone." He grinned at her.
"Well, then, perhaps you ought to go out." Tugging her hand away, she held it up before him. "After all, I've no ring yet, now have I? And if you went out and came back with a proper bauble for me that would set everyone to talking some."
The black eyebrows flattened and a hard look came into his eyes. "Something for you to keep, d'you mean?"
Bracing a hand on her hip, she stared back at him. "I've done nothing but keep to our agreement, ducks, and here you're ready to think me digging for more!"
He stared back at her a moment and gave a shrug. A reluctant smile twisted up the corner of his mouth. "I suppose it would look more as if you was out to bleed me dry if I had some vulgar and expensive trinkets for you."
With a grin, he leaned forward to drop a kiss on her cheek. She stepped back at once, but not before his lips had brushed her skin.
Eyes alight, and with a smile that set her heart soaring, he winked at her. "Blazes, but it was the luckiest day I've ever had when I laid eyes on you. After I stop in Halsage to show off my gift for you we'll have the entire district talking of this."
He strode from the room, whistling a tune, his hands tucked into his breeches pockets.
She stared after him, her pulse skittering in a very unprofessional manner. She put a hand up to her cheek. Gracious, but that man could tempt a soul to folly. For a giddy moment, she thought of calling him back—and of letting him kiss her before she sent him out. Just a proper kiss. Right on the mouth.
Only that wouldn't be all he wants from you, now would it?
She let out a sigh.
She had seen the misery Sallie's girls went through when they allowed their hearts to tangle with what ought to be just business.
"I'm a woman for hire," she told herself, muttering the words so that she might remember them. And that touch of his lips across her skin had meant as little to him as his comment about being lucky to have met her.
But, oh, how she wanted to see more in it.
#
Theo had to ride to Taunton for a ring. He thought of going to Bath—a bit of a ride, that, but there would be a better selection. However, he had no knowledge of the shops there, and he and his family were well enough known in Taunton that he would be able to acquire a ring from Smyth and Garson Jewelers without having to do more than pledge the payment.
The selection was simple enough—he asked for the largest diamond they had. But a square cut emerald caught his eye and nothing would do but to have it for Molly. It actually seemed too elegant a ring for his purposes, set in old, deep-yellow gold with no more than a small diamond at each side and the emerald glinting blue flickers in its center. But he could see the stone on her hand, matching the green of her eyes, so
he took it, and offset such a tasteful choice with a bracelet of diamonds large enough to choke a horse.
The final cost nearly had him choking, but he swallowed back his shock, told himself to remember that he planned to return the gems after they'd done their work and he left the shop with velvet pouches heavy in the tail pockets of his coat.
Blazes, but his father would have a fit at the expense of such stones. He started to whistle the tune for Upon a Summer's Day, but his stride slowed and the tune died on his lips. Perhaps, instead of the bracelet and ring, he ought to have adorned Molly with something of his mothers? Only he could not think where his father might have put her jewels—could not even recall seeing them. But an image of his mother flashed before him—dark hair and warm brown eyes, a sweet smile and a round, soft face, and pearls about her neck and dangling from her ears.
She had always worn pearls.
What an odd thing to recollect.
For some reason, it cast a darker shadow over the day than did the clouds overhead. He tried to shake off the sudden downhearted turn in his mood, but it persisted as he rode back along the road from Taunton. Blazes, why should some stray memory bring on this sense of...of what? It wasn't as if he had ever missed his mother really. He had hardly known her. But perhaps that was what made him shift in the saddle now, uneasy in his skin.
It was just this not being certain of anything, he told himself. He had never been a patient sort and having to cool his heels, waiting for his father, did not set well with him. True enough, Molly was proving a good enough companion, but it would be far better to be at home, sporting with her in bed than all this riding about. After all, he might not have much more time with her.
His frown deepened at that. But there would still be plenty of time to seek her out and perhaps engage her time for other pleasures after this other matter was settled. Of course, other men might also be ahead of him in that line.
That thought stayed with him until the village of Halsage and the arrival of fat rain drops that splattered into the dust of the road. Pulling his hat lower, Theo turned his gelding for the sign of The Four Feathers so he could share a pint and the sight of the jewels he had for his 'intended.'
And if that doesn't start gossip that'll reach my father and bring him home, nothing will, he decided, his jaw set. Only still he kept thinking that perhaps it would not be such a bad thing if his father took just a few more days to return so he might have a few more days of Molly all to himself.
#
Molly tried to settle to sewing. She had two more dresses to hem—an orange one for evening and the bright peacock blue. Neither of them colors a lady really ought to wear, she supposed, but Molly liked how they caught the eye. She would keep them all when she returned to London, though most seemed far too fine for venturing to the fish market at Billingsgate, or the fruit and vegetable stalls of Covant Garden. Perhaps having them would tempt her beyond her usual round of shops. She could always take Sundays off if she wanted, for they usually ate what was left from Saturday.
She found, however, that today she had no patience to set an even line of stitches. After no more than getting one hem basted, she set it aside and went to the window.
The clouds had thickened and darkened, but despite her reluctance for a wetting, she knew she might also not have such an opportunity again. Theo's father might return this very afternoon. Or when Theo came back, he would want her attention—he was, after all, paying for her time. So she made up her mind.
It was not as if she had not been invited, after all.
And she simply had to know completely, utterly, and for a certainty that there was no chance for that lost hope that kept nagging at her.
After exchanging slippers for sturdy half-boots, tucking her curls into a brown and white "drum" hat trimmed with blue, she went downstairs. She paused only to ask a footman for the use of an umbrella and the direction for Lanton Hall.
That earned her a look brimming with curiosity, but the fellow seemed far too well-trained to ask any questions, and so she set out with a black umbrella tucked under her arm.
The footman had offered simple enough directions—through the woods to the east along the footpath, and a left just after a footbridge across the stream. But, somehow, she did not find the stream. She did, however, find her way back to the lane where she and Theo had met Lady Thorpe the other day, and there she stood, unable to decide which way to go.
London streets, she decided, were far easier to navigate.
She hesitated, impatient and wondering if she ought to go back to Winslow Park. And a fox trotted out from the apple trees on the opposite side of the lane. Or rather, it bobbed out, and she thought that it must be injured. It stopped and she realized it had only one foreleg, but it stood quite steady on its three legs. Wide, dark eyes regarded her without wariness from a pointed-face that was not unlike a dog's face.
"Gracious, this must be where odd things happen," Molly said, muttering to herself.
She stared back at the fox, a little wary. Tales about the tigers of India had been enough to give her a healthy respect for wild beasts. However, she knew very little about foxes. She had only seen colored prints of them in childhood story books, with their distinctive red bodies and black-masked faces. She did know, however, that they were supposed to be timid creatures.
Only this one seemed not to have read that particular childhood book, for it stared back as bold as if it owned this land. One black ear—tall and pointed—swiveled, and the black, pointed face swung around as the fox glanced back from where it had come. A moment later a girl popped out from the woods and into the lane and stopped still.
And Molly decided this spot indeed had to the one place in Somerset where all odd things happened.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Not a girl, Molly decided after a second glance. A young lady. A rather plain one who seemed more fey than human.
Short, reddish-gold hair curled about a pointed face—one that reminded Molly strongly of the fox's face. Only instead of brown eyes, wide, blue-green eyes stared at Molly from under arched, sandy-hued eyebrows. The girl had a straight, wide mouth and an even straighter nose. Mud stained the hem of her faded blue gown, giving her the look of a street urchin. A twig stuck out of her hair. She wore neither gloves nor bonnet nor even a shawl, and the summer sun had browned the bare arms that showed from the short sleeves of her high-waisted gown.
No wonder she had seemed a girl at first glance, for she was as slim as one and as untidy. But now Molly noticed that though she might be slender, small, high breasts filled out her gown, and though her face was unlined, a rather serious maturity lay in her eyes.
However, she had to be the least intimidating person Molly had ever met.
Hoping to put the girl at ease, Molly smiled and said, "Hello. You don't happen to know the direction to Lanton Hall, do you?"
The girl's chin dropped and she gave Molly back a measuring stare. When she did not answer, Molly began to wonder if she would not because she had guessed Molly's identity and had been told not to associate with a woman of her reputation, or perhaps she could not.
Finally, the girl said, her voice pitched so soft that Molly found herself leaning forward in order to hear, "You must be Theo's mistress."
Molly blinked at such a blunt statement, but the young lady tipped her head to the side and added, "Oh, don't worry. It doesn't put me out if you are. My sister never would have been happy with him."
Mouth falling open, Molly stared at this odd young lady. So Theo had had an interest in this girl's sister? Only somehow it had not gone anywhere. Had he made promises and broken them? Frowning now, she asked, "Do you mean to say he was to wed your sister?"
The girl shook her head. "Not exactly. But if Theo didn't tell you about it, I suppose I should not, either. Good day."
She turned to start back into the woods, giving a low whistle to the fox, but Molly stepped forward, "Wait! I mean, please—that is, lord, ducks, but you can't go poppin' i
n and out like this, leaving me half lost."
In more ways than one, Molly thought, her mind still turning with questions about the hints this young lady had dropped. She ought to have realized that a gentleman as attractive as Theo would be bound to have more than a few ladies interested. But what had happened between Theo and this girl's sister? Was the parting due to Theo's faults? Or to the lady? Theo hadn't seemed particularly heart-broken, but he also seemed very likely to put a smile over any pain—just out of stubbornness, if nothing else.
The girl paused, the fox now pressed close to the muddy hem of her gown. "I beg your pardon. My sisters are threatening a London season if I don't learn a few manners, so...."
Turning, she spread her skirts, dropped a pretty curtsy, and said with precise formality, "I am Miss Sylvain Harwood, how do you do?"
Molly stared back, uncertain whether to reply in keeping with her pretense or to obey the urge to follow the good manners trained into her during her youngest years. Sylvain seemed to mistake her hesitation for ignorance, for she leaned forward and confided, "You're supposed to curtsy back and say your name and that it's a pleasure. You don't actually have to tell me how you do. It's stupid to ask questions you don't want answered, but so is most of being polite."
Fighting down a smile, Molly agreed with this, dropped a quick curtsy and said, "I'm Molly Sweet."
Sylvain nodded. "I know. Mrs. Brown's cousin is the upstairs maid at Harwood."
"Mrs. Brown?" Molly asked.
"The cook at Winslow Park. Oh, and I should introduce Trace. His name is actually a play on the French for three. Terrance named him. But he can't offer you his paw because he lost one in a trap—Trace, that is, not Terrance. If he likes you, you may pet him."
With a dubious glance at the fox, Molly decided she would probably offend if she declined such an offer. Bending down, she stretched out a hand. The fox hesitated, but Sylvain gave him a nudge with her leg. After a brief glance at his mistress, the fox bobbed toward Molly on his three legs.
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