‘Of course, one cannot really be friends with a rake.’
Molly uttered the words to the darkness. She had pushed the thought to the back of her mind during the day while she attended to her usual household tasks but now, lying alone in her bed, her mind had returned to her conversation with Russ earlier that day. It was not the same sort of friendship she shared with Fleur and Nancy, and even Agnes, although they had not known each other for very long. But now that she and Russ had cleared the air she believed they could be comfortable together. He would no longer try to flirt with her and cause her heart to beat so erratically. Nor would he fix his eyes upon her and smile in a way that made her stomach swoop with pleasurable anticipation and set her body aching with desire.
She stirred restlessly. She had not felt that for years. Since she had been seventeen, in fact, when she had fallen in love with the handsome Irish soldier who promised to love her to eternity and beyond. Sadly, eternity had lasted only a few months. Since that idyllic summer seven years ago Molly had never experienced that same rush of pleasure, until Beau Russington had arrived with his engaging smile, his flashing eyes and dark looks.
Turning on her side, she snuggled her hand against her cheek and smiled sleepily. It was not Russ’s physical presence that attracted her, it was his quick mind, the way they could talk together, laugh together. As long as he behaved himself, she could relax and enjoy his company.
And on this pleasing thought, she finally fell asleep.
* * *
Wednesday morning brought a brief note from Prospect House written in Fleur’s elegant, flowing hand. Molly put down her breakfast cup with a little cry of surprise that had Edwin looking up from his newspaper.
‘Fleur tells me she has engaged another manservant.’
‘She is perfectly entitled to do so,’ remarked Edwin, ‘as long as the costs can be covered by the farm’s income.’
‘Easily, so there is no need to apply to the committee. I am very pleased, for I was going to suggest it, but it seems she has taken the initiative.’
‘Who is the man? Does she say?’
Molly studied the note again. ‘No, but she says she discussed the matter thoroughly with Nancy and, since he comes with excellent references, she has taken him on immediately. He is to sleep in the gatehouse.’ She smiled across the table. ‘It seems an ideal solution. He was most likely recommended to Fleur by Lady Currick or one of the other local families, but I shall find out all the details when I see Fleur this morning.’
‘Oh, are you going to the market? I shall walk with you then, as far as the town square, for I have calls to make.’
Molly folded her napkin and set it down on the table. ‘Very well, Edwin. I shall go and put on my pelisse and meet you in the hall when you have finished your breakfast.’
* * *
It was a crisp autumn morning and the town square was very busy. Molly parted from Edwin and made her way to where Fleur was busy selling a pot of honey to a customer. She was dressed in a sober gown and modest bonnet that covered most of her golden curls, but Molly thought she still looked exceedingly pretty. A shadow of anxiety dimmed her spirits for a moment until she saw that Daisy and Billy were also in attendance.
Fleur waved to Molly and left Daisy serving more customers while she moved to one side.
‘You look busy,’ Molly remarked, coming up. Fleur nodded.
‘Business has been brisk. We have sold the last of the honey and most of the spare apples have gone, as well.’
‘That is capital news!’
‘Aye, ma’am,’ said Daisy, taking advantage of the lull in customers to rearrange what was left of their produce. ‘If this carries on, we shall be able to pack up and go home early today.’
Molly nodded. ‘Tell me about your new manservant, Fleur. Is he a local man? Do I know him?’
‘It is Jem Bailey, the brother of Mr Thomas’s mill manager.’
‘I thought he was working at Newlands.’ Molly caught a look passing between Fleur and Daisy. ‘Has he been turned off? Or...heavens, Fleur, have you offered him higher wages to entice him away?’
‘No, no, he is to get the same wage he is on now.’
The blush on Fleur’s cheek deepened and Daisy said brusquely, ‘You had best tell her, Miss Fleur.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘Sir Gerald brought him to us yesterday.’
Fleur stopped and, following her glance, Molly saw Sir Gerald striding towards them. It was clear his gaze was fixed upon Fleur, but as he drew closer he saw Molly. He missed a step, then came over to her.
‘Mrs Morgan.’ He touched his hat.
Molly acknowledged him warily. ‘I understand Prospect House is in your debt, sir.’
He glanced at Fleur. ‘Mrs Dellafield has told you? Perhaps I should have spoken to you or some other member of the committee first, but I wanted to get matters settled as soon as possible. Jem is a good worker and very reliable. You may be sure I made thorough enquiries into his character before recommending him. Mrs Dellafield was reluctant to take him at first, but after the other night—’ He shook his head, looking unusually solemn. ‘I cannot tell you how sorry I am for what happened, Mrs Morgan. I was most put out to think that any guests of mine could behave so outrageously. I acted as soon as I learned of it from Russ—’
‘Mr Russington told you what had happened?’
‘Yes. On Monday, after you had dropped him off. I could see it was more than the fall from his horse that was troubling him and when I pressed him he told me about Aikers and Flemington’s disgraceful behaviour.’ A faint twinkle returned to his eyes. ‘He also told me how the ladies dealt with the disturbance. It was well deserved, if you ask me. But you need not fear a recurrence of the incident, I sent them packing that very day and rode over to Prospect House to tell Mrs Dellafield. Not that I made any attempt to enter the house,’ he added quickly. ‘I am well aware that you have very strict rules about that.’
‘He gave me tuppence to hold his horse while he went to find Miss Fleur in the orchard,’ piped up Billy, ducking as his mother aimed a swipe at him and told him to hold his peace.
‘Sir Gerald made a very handsome apology,’ Fleur put in hastily.
Molly frowned at him. ‘Are we to believe you had no suspicion of what your friends meant to do?’
‘They are no longer friends of mine, Mrs Morgan. I explained to Fl—Mrs Dellafield that I have not known them that long, although I had seen them about in London. It is true that we kicked up a spree or two together in town, but only harmless fun. Nothing like the outrage they perpetrated the other night. And feeling somewhat responsible, I thought it my duty to do something about it.’
Molly was not wholly convinced, but, judging by the way Fleur was smiling warmly at Sir Gerald and telling him how obliged they were to him, it was clear that she was satisfied. The conversation went on, Sir Gerald declaring that he would not have had it happen for the world, Fleur responding with shy gratitude, until at last Molly interrupted them, bringing to Fleur’s attention that the stall was now bare of produce and they could go home.
Molly quite pointedly dismissed Sir Gerald, then waited only to ascertain that they did not require her help to pack up their baskets before making her way back to the vicarage. Whatever she thought of Sir Gerald, there was no doubting his generosity in sending a reliable man to Prospect House. She was also grateful to Russ for informing Sir Gerald of his guests’ nocturnal activities. She had not expected that. If he disapproved so much of their behaviour, perhaps he was not quite as rakish as his reputation painted him.
‘I am sure his reputation is well deserved,’ she argued with herself, ‘but he knows the value of not upsetting one’s neighbours in a small town like Compton Parva.’
* * *
For the rest of the day she found herself wavering between wanting to see Russ and thank him for his intervention, and the thought that if Sir Gerald had set his sights on Fleur, he might want to rid himself of potential rivals. She discussed it with Edwin after dinner, but although he told her Sir Gerald was a splendid fellow and had acted just as he should, Molly knew that Edwin’s views were coloured by his growing affection for Agnes Kilburn.
‘I see you are still troubled,’ he said, when it was time to retire. ‘My dear, all you can do is to warn Fleur to be careful. She is a grown woman and is well aware of the risks posed by men like Sir Gerald.’ He took her hands. ‘Fleur is not you, Molly. You have decided not to trust any man again—’
‘And with good reason!’
He squeezed her fingers. ‘True, but Fleur must make her own choice.’
He was right, of course, but as Molly prepared for bed that evening she determined that she must spend more time at Prospect House and keep an eye on things for herself.
* * *
Molly had no opportunity to visit Fleur for the next couple of days because she was busy helping Edwin with his parish work and making charitable visits in the town, including a call upon Cissy’s mother, who was still very weak from her recent illness. Knowing that her maid would like to spend a little more time with her ailing parent, Molly decided to give her the rest of the day off and walk back to the vicarage alone.
‘I have only to call at the post office on my way home and I shall not need you until after dinner this evening, Cissy,’ she said, gathering up her empty basket. ‘But do be home before dark.’
‘I will, ma’am, thank you.’
Molly set off from the little cottage, thinking that the day reflected her sunny spirits, which had been lifted still further by the pleasure she had seen in the old woman’s face when she realised her daughter would be able to spend a few more hours at home. Molly felt a bubble of laughter welling up in her. If Edwin asked her to help with a subject for his sermon, she would suggest that this week it should be about the rewards to be gained from such little gestures of kindness.
The idea occupied her until she reached the centre of the town, when she spotted Mr Russington on the far side of the square. He was talking with several local gentlemen, but he excused himself and came across to greet her. When he turned to accompany her, Molly felt obliged to tell him there was no need.
‘But I insist,’ he replied. ‘Unless you think it will do you harm to be seen walking with such a one as me.’
She laughed at that. ‘I think my character will survive a short walk in your company, Mr Russington. In fact, I am pleased we have met.’ She became serious. ‘I wanted to thank you. For telling Sir Gerald what went on at Prospect House the other night.’
There was a pause.
‘I mentioned it, yes. I did not expect Kilburn to be quite so angry about it. He is usually the most placid of men, but he ordered Aikers and Flemington to leave immediately.’
‘Perhaps he is removing potential rivals.’
‘That is a very cynical point of view, madam.’
‘Experience has taught me to be cautious where men are concerned.’
‘You are very world-weary, for one so young.’
‘I am four-and-twenty.’
‘You look younger.’
She disguised her blushes with another laugh. ‘Do not be offering me Spanish coin, Mr Russington. There is nothing to gain by it.’
They had reached the post office and she stopped. He was looking down at her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
‘Now, why should you think I am trying to flatter you?’
‘Because you are a rake, perhaps?’ She could not help smiling back at him, surprised she could talk to him so easily.
‘Even rakes should tell the truth to their friends, madam.’
He touched his hat and strolled away, leaving her to stare after him and remind herself yet again that one could never truly be friends with a rake.
* * *
The news that Marjorie had given birth to a lusty baby girl gave Molly the excuse she needed to visit Prospect House regularly over the next couple of weeks, and it soon became clear that Sir Gerald rode to the house almost every day, stopping to talk to Fleur if she should be out of doors. Little Billy spoke of him as a great gun and told Molly that Sir Gerald always let him look after his horse. When Molly teased Fleur about the number of tasks requiring her attention in the gardens, Fleur flushed, but Molly could not order her to remain indoors. When she mentioned it to Nancy, the cook was philosophical.
‘You are not running a prison, after all,’ she told Molly. ‘And you cannot prevent Fleur from talking to Sir Gerald if she so wishes.’
Molly agreed and in the end all she could do was to warn Fleur to take care and beg Nancy and the others to look out for her. She felt a little guilty, cautioning Fleur against Sir Gerald when she herself was seeing much more of Russ and growing more at ease in his company. It was inevitable they should meet, she supposed, given the good weather. She was out of doors every day, taking the gig to Prospect House or walking in the town visiting her brother’s sick or poverty-stricken parishioners. Once she met him when she was on her way to Raikes Farm with another basket of provisions and he dismounted and carried her basket for her.
‘Shall I wait to escort you back?’ he asked, when they reached her destination. ‘I know your propensity for injury.’
She was no longer embarrassed by his reference to her turning her ankle and merely laughed at him.
‘But it is not in the least muddy today. No, you must go on with your birdwatching, I do not need you.’ She hesitated, giving him a speculative look and his brows went up.
‘Well, Mrs Morgan?’
‘I wondered if you would be free on Friday morning.’
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘I plan to go to Hobbs Lane that day. I want to find greenery from the hedgerows to decorate the church in readiness for Marjorie’s baby to be baptised there. I was going to take Cissy, but she is even shorter than I am. Whereas you...’
He laughed. ‘You think I might be useful? Very well, madam, I shall be there to help you!’
They parted, Molly feeling only a trifle guilty for issuing the invitation.
* * *
Friday dawned bright and when Molly informed Cissy of her plans for the morning, the maid suggested Molly’s old primrose dimity would be most suitable.
‘You don’t want to risk spoiling one of your newer gowns if you are scrambling around the hedgerows, ma’am.’
It was a very sensible idea and Molly agreed, but she voiced a protest when Cissy brought out the russet spencer of fine wool that Edwin had given her last summer. There was a matching hat to go with the little jacket, a frivolous little cap that allowed her dusky curls to cluster around her face and Molly objected that it was far too fine to wear upon such an outing.
‘But you never wear it on any occasion,’ Cissy argued. ‘If it sits in the cupboard much longer, it will be quite out of fashion.’
Molly allowed herself to be persuaded and some twenty minutes later she sallied forth. Hobbs Lane was only a stone’s throw from the church and she found Russ waiting for her as she turned off the main road. The sight of him in his blue coat and buckskins made her mouth go dry and she wondered if she should have brought Cissy after all, but only for a moment. They were well within sight of the busy road and besides, at this time of year, there was much to do in the house and Cook had asked if Cissy could help her in the kitchen, preserving fruits for the winter.
Russ touched his hat to her as she came up to him. ‘Mrs Morgan.’ He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a stubby knife with a curving blade. ‘I borrowed this from the gardener at Newlands. Shall we begin?’
‘I commend your foresight,’ she said, the flutter of her nerves subsiding. ‘By all means, let us make a start.’
They worked companionably and Molly was grateful for his help, the beau’s height and long arms giving her more choice of greenery. He cut heavy bunches of scarlet rowan berries and long tendrils of ivy, before they moved on to a thick, late-flowering gorse, its vivid yellow flowers making a striking contrast to the dock, with its vibrant green leaves and red-brown seeds. They had almost finished when Molly became aware that the clouds were gathering and the threat of rain hung in the air. Russ filled her large basket until it was overflowing, then piled more ivy and dock leaves into her arms, saying he would carry the basket.
‘Come on,’ he said, glancing up at the lowering sky. ‘We must hurry if we are not to be caught in a shower.’
They were in sight of the church when the first drops of rain began to fall and they ran the last few yards to the lychgate and up the path into the church, laughing and giggling like children. Molly dropped her burden on the empty table just inside the door, leaving space for Russ to put down the basket.
‘Thank you,’ she turned to him, still smiling. ‘I could never have achieved so much without you.’ She pulled off her gloves, the better to brush her damp curls from her face.
‘You are missing most of them.’ He pushed her hands away and she stood passively while he gently tucked the stray curls beneath her cap.
‘There. That is better. Now, let me look at you.’
He turned her to face the great west window, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Until that moment she had felt comfortable, at ease, but suddenly it was impossible to move. He had his back to the light yet his dark eyes glowed, drawing her in. She wanted him. She recognised the feeling, but this was stronger, more overwhelming than anything she had ever known before. It would be so good to surrender, to give in, but she fought it, reminding herself of what she had to lose.
She tried to step away, only to find her retreat blocked by the solid planks of the box pew at her back.
‘Please.’ The word was little more than a croak. ‘Please, stop it.’
‘Stop what?’ His breathing was not quite steady, but he kept his hands on her shoulders, held her gaze a prisoner with those dark, glinting eyes.
‘S-stop flirting with me.’
‘I am not flirting.’
His voice was low, deep, lulling her senses while his eyes were boring into her, dragging out her soul. In one last desperate bid to escape her own desire, she forced herself to twist away and turn her back on him.
‘You are.’ She fixed her hands on the edge of the pew, gripping the wood until her knuckles gleamed white. ‘You must be. It is what rakes do. And you are undoubtedly a rake.’
‘And you are a widow, Mrs Morgan. You are no innocent virgin. This is no flirtation, but neither am I forcing my attentions on you.’
She felt the weight of his hands again on her shoulders. He was standing close behind her, the heat of him radiating through the thin spencer and her muslin skirts. It was as much as she could do not to lean back against him and beg him to make love to her. His breath was warm on her cheek, his voice was low, seductive, and it wrapped itself around her like velvet. It would so easy to give in.
‘You feel it, too, Molly. Admit it. You are trembling in your effort to resist.’
It was true. Her body was thrumming, taut as a bowstring. Desire tugged at her thighs and made her breasts ache. She remembered it well, that overwhelming sense of longing, but it faded as memories she had buried deep came back to haunt her. The agony of betrayal and the brutal, physical pain of being kicked and beaten until she could not even walk. She was seized by unreasoning fear.
‘No, no! Let me go!’
* * *
Hearing the panic in her voice Russ released her and stepped away, frowning. Moments earlier she had been within an ace of falling into his arms, but now she was genuinely alarmed. She was scrubbing at her cheek with the back of her hand and he drew his handkerchief from his pocket.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said quietly. ‘Will you not tell me how I have upset you?’
She dashed another rogue tear from her cheek.
‘I must go,’ she muttered. ‘I will finish this later.’
He turned to accompany her out of the church, half expecting her to wave him away, but she allowed him to walk with her to the lychgate, where they stopped and she held out the crumpled handkerchief.
‘No, you keep it,’ he said quietly. ‘I give you my word I had not planned this, Molly. Truly I did not mean to frighten you. I would not have this affect our friendship.’
‘Friends!’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘We are not friends. We could never be friends!’
Russ watched her hurry away, head bowed against the downpour. He was startled to discover just how much her response had shaken him. He enjoyed spending time with Molly Morgan, they had grown very comfortable together and he had come to believe they were friends. But he could not deny the attraction, the sudden blaze of desire that had crackled between them as they stood together in the cool, silent church. Molly had felt it, too, he would stake his life on it, but she had shied away like a frightened animal and he had seen again that terror in her eyes.
Molly had disappeared from sight now, but still Russ stood sheltering at the lychgate. Part of him wanted to run after her and discover the cause of her fear, but something held him back. He did not want the responsibility. Women were trouble. His stepmother had taught him that at an early age. It was best not to get involved with the creatures. He had spent his adult life avoiding romantic attachments and he was not about to change that for a diminutive widow who strongly disapproved of him and his way of life.
‘She is right,’ he muttered, ‘We cannot be friends and there’s an end to it.’
And with that he settled his hat more firmly on his head and stepped out into the rain.
* * *
‘Good heavens, we are invited to dine at Newlands this evening.’
‘Surely not.’
Molly stared across the breakfast table at her brother, aware that her cheeks were heating up. Since her meeting with Russ yesterday, he had been constantly in her thoughts. She was distressed that such an enjoyable interlude had ended with her running away. Yet she had had no option. That moment in the church, the shocking attraction that had flowed between them, had threatened to overwhelm her. She had spent the time since then, including most of the night, berating herself for thinking she could flout the rules of propriety. She should have made sure she never went out of doors without a maid in attendance.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Edwin, his eyes fixed upon the letter. ‘I confess it is most unexpected. When I saw Gerald a few days ago he made no mention of it. However, we have no other engagements tonight so I shall write back and accept. I am sure we will both enjoy a little company this evening, will we not? That is...’ He looked up at last. ‘Molly, did you speak? Have you made some other arrangement?’
Much as she wanted to, Molly could think of no reason why they should not go. And deep down inside she knew she wanted to see Russ. Surely there could be no harm in it, as long as they were not alone together. Indeed, unless she was to become a recluse, there was no way she could avoid meeting the beau while he remained at Newlands.
She summoned a smile. ‘No, Edwin, we are both perfectly free this evening, although I, too, am a little surprised that they should invite us again at such short notice.’
* * *
However, when Lady Currick called to deliver a receipt for a saddle of mutton for Molly’s cook, the mystery was soon solved.
‘The ladies are going away,’ Lady Currick informed Molly and Edwin, as she enjoyed a glass of wine with them. ‘The Claydons and Mr and Mrs Sykes are accompanying Miss Kilburn and her companion to visit friends in Scarborough, so there will be no more dinners at Newlands until she returns.’
‘Miss Kilburn is going away—for how long?’
Molly saw the dull flush on her brother’s cheeks as he blurted out his question and she made a mental note to observe him and Agnes closely that evening. Lady Currick made no mention of the departure of two of the gentlemen and Molly was not equal to the task of enquiring, but she did wonder if Sir Gerald would remain at the house with only Mr Russington for company.
* * *
The question was answered almost as soon as they arrived at Newlands that evening. Molly clung to her brother’s arm as they were shown into the drawing room, but the warmth of Miss Kilburn’s welcome and the fact that Russ made no attempt to approach her calmed her initial nerves. She must do this. She must meet the beau as an acquaintance, nothing more.
They were the only guests and it was soon clear that Sir Gerald had not divulged the reason for the sudden departure of Aikers and Flemington.
‘A prior engagement has called the gentlemen away and we, too, shall be departing soon,’ remarked Mrs Sykes, sighing. ‘I vow, Sir Gerald, I am surprised that you and Mr Russington will not come with us, rather than remain behind to rattle around in this house all on your own.’
‘I expect we will spend most of our days out of doors,’ returned Sir Gerald cheerfully. ‘The park has been woefully neglected and overgrown, but there is plenty of sport to be had. The woodcock, for example, have been breeding very freely. I am planning a number of improvements to the estate, too, that need to be put into action.’
‘I hope you aren’t expecting Russington to advise you,’ put in Lord Claydon, gently teasing.
‘No, indeed,’ replied Russ, smiling. ‘I have excellent stewards on each of my properties, which leaves me with nothing to do but enjoy myself.’
There was general laughter at this and Molly wondered if she was the only one who heard the note of self-mockery in the beau’s tone.
‘I am sure it is not true,’ remarked Edwin as the laughter died away.
‘But it is, I assure you. My life is wholly given over to pleasure.’
‘I pray you will not believe him, Edwin,’ cried Sir Gerald, coming up. ‘I rely upon his judgement in everything. Behind that languid and smiling exterior is a very sharp intellect.’
‘I do not deny it,’ drawled the beau. ‘But that does not mean I waste my energies upon humdrum domestic matters. I have a very good man of business for that.’
‘Aye, you do, and insist upon him giving you regular and detailed reports of all your lands and investments.’ Sir Gerald clapped his friend on the shoulder and grinned at the assembled company. ‘Russ would have everyone believe that he is a very frippery fellow, but you may take my word for it, it is all a hum.’
‘Good heavens, Gerald, are you trying to put me to the blush?’ Russ protested. He was smiling, but when he turned to look at Molly she saw that it did not reach his eyes. ‘You will not deceive Mrs Morgan. She has had accurate reports of my reputation from the very best authority, is that not so, madam?’
Her chin went up. ‘I believe one should judge a man on his actions rather than what is said of him.’
Edwin nodded his approval. ‘Well said, my dear.’
He went off to talk to Agnes and Molly found herself momentarily alone. She tensed as Russ moved a little closer.
‘Perhaps, ma’am, our host’s actions in giving Aikers and Flemington their orders to quit have given you a better opinion of him than you have of me.’
‘I do not think badly of you, Mr Russington.’ After a glance to ensure no one could overhear them, Molly continued. ‘We are agreed, sir, that you are a rake and I am a widow. You cannot help what you are and, as you pointed out yesterday, I am no innocent. I should have known better than to meet you without a chaperon.’
She gave a little nod and moved off. She was stronger now. Yesterday’s weakness was gone and she would not submit to any man.
* * *
Russ made no attempt to speak to her again that evening and Molly did not know whether to be glad or sorry for it. Part of her was relieved that she was not having to fight down the undoubted attraction she felt for the man, but another part, an irresponsible, rebellious part, wanted to converse with him, to enjoy the verbal sparring that made her feel so very much alive. Thus, when she accompanied Edwin back to the vicarage late that night, she was aware of a feeling of discontent, as though some promised treat had not materialised. And as she blew out her bedside candle, she realised that with the ladies gone from Newlands, there would be even less opportunity to see Russ during the next few weeks.
* * *
‘Oh, was ever life so trying!’
Molly was driving the gig and took advantage of the solitude to utter the words aloud. She was on her way home after her weekly visit to Prospect House and what she had learned there had left her seriously worried. One look at Fleur’s radiant face was enough to tell Molly that her friend was in the first throes of a love affair. It had not taken Molly long to learn that Sir Gerald was an almost daily visitor to the farm and although he never came into the house itself, he and Fleur were in the habit of walking out each day. When Molly questioned Fleur about it, she merely laughed.
‘You are making far too much of it.’ Fleur’s words were belied by the faint colour on her cheeks. ‘Sir Gerald comes here to discuss farm management. He is intent upon improving Newlands and comes to talk to Moses, and very often he asks me questions, too, about the kitchen gardens and the best way to set up the accounts.’ Her clear, innocent laugh rang out. ‘Who would have believed I should ever have been so knowledgeable about household and farm matters that a gentleman would want my advice?’
Molly could believe it, only too well. With his sister away, Sir Gerald was making the most of his time to flirt with Fleur, only she was far too innocent to see it, and to every attempt of Molly’s to warn her off, Fleur would only blush, and laugh, and say she had no intention of letting Sir Gerald compromise her.
‘But she does not know,’ declared Molly to the empty lane, making the pony trotting between the shafts twitch its ears nervously. ‘She does not realise how irresistible a man can be. How he can take you in with his soft words and allurements.’
Nancy might say that Fleur was old enough to look after herself, but Molly had seen the soft glow in her eyes when she spoke of Sir Gerald Kilburn. She was falling in love and that could spell disaster. Molly would do anything in her power to protect her friend.
* * *
Russ lowered the spyglass and exhaled a long, steady breath, well satisfied with his early-morning observations. The freshening breeze on his cheek reminded him that the seasons were changing and the summer birds would soon be leaving the moors. He would not have many more opportunities like this and he must make the most of it.
The distant thud of hooves made him turn. He saw a rider approaching... Molly Morgan! He shook his head, telling himself he was being fanciful, because with the morning sun behind the figure he could only make out an outline. He did not even know if she could ride. He lifted his hand to block out the sun and there she was, cantering towards him on a sturdy bay cob. As she drew nearer the horse slowed to a trot, and he lowered his hand, waiting for her to come up to him. Now she was closer he could see the way her mannish riding jacket was moulded to her petite figure, the tiny waist accentuated even more by the billowing lavender skirts. She wore a curly-brimmed beaver hat over her dark hair, but the veil was turned back, flowing behind her like a gossamer pennant. He was glad he could see her face, for the air had whipped a becoming colour into her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with the exercise.
‘Good day to you, Mrs Morgan.’
‘I was looking for you.’ His brows and his spirits rose at her words and she flushed, shaking her head. ‘Not for the pleasure of your company, Mr Russington.’
‘Well, that has put me in my place.’ He reached out and rubbed a hand over the pony’s velvet nose. ‘How may I help you?’
‘I remembered you had made a habit of these early-morning walks and thought it the best time to talk to you. Alone.’
He gave a little bow, saying politely, ‘I am at your disposal, madam.’
She hesitated for a heartbeat before kicking her foot free of the stirrup and jumping nimbly to the ground. He knew a moment’s regret that she had not asked him to lift her down.
She said, ‘Will you walk with me?’
Intrigued, he fell into step beside her. ‘What of your pony?’
‘Christopher will be happy to follow. He knows I have treats for him in my pocket.’
‘Christopher?’
‘Edwin called him that when he bought him for me. After the saint,’ she added, a hint of laughter in her voice. ‘because he is such a steady mount and will carry me anywhere.’
Russ glanced back at the cob, plodding along quietly behind them. ‘By the look of him he is built more for endurance than speed.’
‘He is,’ she said, sighing. ‘He cannot be persuaded to anything more than a gentle canter, but he has the most placid nature, nothing startles him.’
‘I doubt if even cannon fire would move him,’ he said frankly and was rewarded by hearing her low, full-throated laugh.
‘I am sure you are right. His watchword is slow but steady! But I do not hunt and have few opportunities to ride, so there is no point in exchanging him for a faster mount that would only spend his time eating his head off in the stables. But I did not come here to talk about my horse.’
She fell silent. Glancing down at her, he saw the tiny crease in her brow and a downward tilt to her mouth. Her mood had grown serious and he was sorry for it, he liked her smile, the way she laughed. She did not do it often enough, he thought.
They had walked several more yards before the words came out in a rush.
‘It is about Fleur. Mrs Dellafield. Sir Gerald has been showing her a great deal of attention.’
‘Mrs Dellafield? I cannot recall meeting her.’
‘She is housekeeper at Prospect House.’
‘Ah. She was at the market, was she not? I have not seen her since. Unlike Kilburn’s two departed guests, I have not been in the habit of visiting the house.’
‘Well, your friend has,’ she retorted. ‘I understand he has become a regular caller there.’
‘Has he?’ Russ considered the matter. ‘He has said nothing to me about it, but it is possible, I suppose. We do not spend the whole of every day in each other’s pockets. It certainly explains his indignation when I told him of Aikers and Flemington’s recent exploits.’
‘And you said I was being cynical when I suggested he had an ulterior motive for sending them away.’
‘I still think that. Kilburn is an honourable man. I have known him since we were at school together.’
‘That is no recommendation!’
He exhaled in a long, exasperated hiss.
‘Not all the tales you have heard of us are true, Mrs Morgan. Kilburn and I went to town together as young men. I admit we were rich, idle and ripe for a spree. We became part of a very fast set and we did kick up a dust in those early years. A couple of our number went beyond the bounds and were shockingly indiscreet about it, too. Kilburn and I condemned their actions and realised we had outgrown that particular group. We distanced ourselves, but it was too late, we were tainted by their scandals. Perhaps if we had withdrawn from town and lived as monks since those early years, or if we had married, we might have shaken off the reputation. But society has an insatiable appetite for gossip and eligible bachelors are always the subject of scandal and speculation.’
‘But Prospect House cannot afford to be the subject of any such speculation. Your friend’s attentions do Mrs Dellafield no good at all.’
‘Hmm. Is she pretty?’
‘Extremely pretty.’
‘Then I cannot blame him for flirting with her.’
He heard her gasp of indignation, but she did not rip up at him. Instead she clasped her hands tightly together, as if suppressing her anger.
‘He is inveigling himself into her affections,’ she told him. ‘He goes there supposedly because he wants to learn more about the farming methods.’
‘It may well be true. He has certainly expressed that desire to me and it is common knowledge that Prospect Farm is one of the most productive in the area. Perhaps you are being too harsh upon Sir Gerald.’
‘No.’ She stopped and turned to look up at him. ‘He could learn all he needs to know from Moses, who runs the farm, if that was his true intention.’
‘And Mrs Dellafield could advise him to do so, if that was her wish.’
He spoke gently, but even so her eyes darkened with distress and a silent acknowledgement that he was right. She shook her head and began to walk again.
‘She is besotted and cannot be made to see that he is trifling with her.’
Russ considered the matter. Gerald had certainly been rather preoccupied recently and the fact that he had said nothing about this liaison made him think it might be more serious than a mere flirtation.
He said abruptly. ‘What do you know of Mrs Dellafield? What is her birth?’
‘She is a gentleman’s daughter and perfectly respectable, but like so many unfortunate women, she was obliged by circumstance to leave her home and seek refuge.’
‘I take it she is not married?’
‘No, but it is not unusual for housekeepers to use the appellation. She is an innocent, Mr Russington, and I will not allow her to be hurt.’
‘I take it you have spoken to the lady about your concerns?’
She nodded, her hands twisting themselves even tighter. ‘She does not see the danger.’
‘Perhaps there isn’t any danger.’ He caught her swift, incredulous glance and smiled. ‘Despite what you think, madam, Sir Gerald is a gentleman. He would never force himself upon any woman.’
‘Perhaps that is so, but he is a very engaging, extremely attractive man and he could break her heart without realising what he has done. Can you not talk to him, dissuade him from his pursuit of Fleur?’
‘My dear Molly, why should he listen to me? If the lady is willing—perhaps he is merely passing the time of day with a pretty woman. What does your brother say of the matter?’
‘Edwin says I should not interfere.’ She bit her lip. ‘But you could speak to Sir Gerald. He respects your judgement. I have heard him say so.’
‘And in this instance my judgement is that your brother is right. Let the affair—if it is an affair—run its course.’ He looked up. ‘We have almost reached the track that will take me back to Newlands. Unless you wish to come with me, and talk to Kilburn yourself, then we must part here.’
She was silent and he could almost feel her anxiety. The colour had quite gone from her cheeks, and as they stepped on to the track, she spoke again.
‘What will it take for you to keep your friend away from mine?’ Her voice was low, but the meaning was quite clear. His eyes narrowed.
‘Is that an offer, Mrs Morgan? Knowing my reputation, you should be wary of asking such a question.’
‘Fleur is a virgin, an innocent. She has a great deal to lose if your friend seduces her.’
‘And you have not?’
She shrugged. ‘One night with you would not harm me quite so much. I would survive.’
One night. She was offering herself to him for one night. For a heartbeat he allowed himself to imagine having her in his bed. Undressing her. Making love to her. The sudden jolt of desire scorched him, but it was quickly cooled and washed away by a wave of fury. How dare she think he could be bought in such a way? Even more galling was the fact that he cared about her opinion!
Blinded by rage, he grabbed her horse’s bridle and brought the creature round on to the path.
He said, his words biting, ‘Your less-than-flattering proposal does you no credit, Mrs Morgan. You had best leave before I show you just how badly a rake can behave.’
‘I—I beg your pardon.’ Her face was crimson. ‘I did not mean to offend you. I thought—’
‘I know exactly what you thought. That Gerald and I would take any woman for sport. I do not know what sort of life you have had, madam, what sort of men you have known, but I can tell you now that we are not all savages.’
Without waiting for her approval he put his hands around her waist and threw her up on to the pony’s back. It was roughly done and for a moment he thought she might topple off again, so he kept his hands on her, holding her firmly in the saddle until she had found her stirrup.
‘Thank you,’ she said icily. ‘I have control now.’
‘Good.’ He stepped away. ‘Then I suggest you go home, Mrs Morgan, and we will forget we ever had this conversation.’
He turned away and strode back towards Newlands. How dare she? How dare she think he would take her as payment of some debt? He had not yet met a woman who did not think she could use her body to get what she wanted. In his stepmother’s case it was his family money and, not content with marrying his father, she had sought to gratify her lusts by seducing Russ, too. That had shown him just how grasping and avaricious women were. He had thought Molly Morgan was different, but no. She was the same as the rest.
But was she? The black rage abated slightly. She was by no means eager to throw herself into his arms. He thought back to that time in the church. She had panicked then at the mere idea that he might kiss her. And today, the thought of spending the night with him had been—he could not avoid the word—repugnant to her. His furious pace slowed. With the exception of her brother she did not appear to trust any of his sex. She was a widow—perhaps she had not enjoyed the marriage bed, but his instinct told him it was more than that. Someone, some man, had made her think they were all villains. Whoever it was had hurt her very badly.
He remembered holding Molly in the saddle, his hands almost spanning her tiny waist, and the thought of anyone hurting her made the bile rise in his gorge. Not that it was his problem. Molly Morgan was more than capable of looking after herself. And, it seemed, she had taken on the task of looking after the women of Prospect House, too.
‘Well, I wish her well with that,’ he muttered, lengthening his stride again. ‘Let that occupy her time and keep her out of my way!’