The Ton's Most Notorious Rake

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘No. I am taking you to Newlands.’ He glanced at her. ‘Do you have any ice at the vicarage?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘We need to reduce the swelling, and thus the pain, as quickly as possible. Newlands has an ice house. Not only that, but it is considerably closer.’

  Molly was silenced. She knew she was not thinking clearly and all she wanted was for the pain in her ankle to be over. She gave a sigh of relief as they reached the door of Newlands and made no demur when her escort lifted her into his arms to carry her indoors. Miss Kilburn was crossing the hall as they entered and as soon as she realised the situation, she sent a footman running to fetch some ice before instructing Mr Russington to follow her upstairs to one of the guest rooms. However, when she directed that Mrs Morgan should be laid upon the daybed by the window, Molly was roused to protest.

  ‘No, no, my clothes are far too dirty.’

  She was dismayed to find her voice broke upon the words, but no one remarked upon it. Agnes pulled a cashmere shawl from the back of a chair and spread it over the couch.

  ‘No one will worry about a little dirt, ma’am, but you shall lie on this, if it makes you feel better. Oh, goodness, you are looking very pale.’

  ‘Shock,’ said the beau, removing Molly’s gloves and beginning to chafe her hands. ‘Perhaps we might find a little brandy.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  Agnes hurried away and Molly thought she should protest at being left alone with a gentleman who was no relation, but she did not have the energy to complain and the way he was rubbing warmth into her hands was so comforting she did not want him to stop, so she lay back against the end of the daybed, watching him from half-closed eyes, thinking idly that it was quite understandable if ladies threw themselves at such a man. He was very attractive, in a dark and rather disturbing sort of way...

  Molly knew she must have drifted off to sleep, because the next moment, she felt a glass pressed gently against her lips and heard a deep, soothing voice urging her to drink. She became conscious of being cradled against a man’s chest. The smooth softness of a waistcoat was against her cheek and when she breathed in her senses were filled with a heady mix of citrus and spices and something very male. There was something familiar about that scent, but at the moment she could not place it.

  Obediently she took a sip from the glass and coughed as the sharp and fiery liquid burned her throat. She struggled to sit up and immediately the strong arm around her shoulders released her. For the first time she saw Agnes Kilburn standing on the other side of the daybed, looking down at her with concern. Molly was relieved at her presence and even more so when she looked back to Mr Russington, kneeling beside the daybed, and realised he was in his shirtsleeves.

  His eyes were full of amusement, but also understanding.

  ‘I beg your pardon for removing my coat, ma’am, but it had picked up rather a lot of mud from your clothes, and I did not want to rub that into you.’

  Molly murmured a faint thank you and looked past him as a footman hurried in.

  ‘Ah, the ice at last,’ exclaimed Agnes. She removed the bucket of ice and towels from the servant and brought them over. ‘Mr Russington, will you see to it, if you please? You have much more experience in these matters than I. That is, if you do not object, ma’am?’

  ‘I think Mrs Morgan might prefer you to remove her stocking,’ the beau remarked. He smiled at Molly and held out the glass to her. ‘You might like to finish drinking your brandy, for it may hurt a little.’

  Molly was relieved that he turned away while Agnes began to untie the garter and roll the stocking down over her damaged ankle. Cautiously she sipped at the brandy. He was right, it did hurt, but she was also mightily embarrassed. She had never liked to be the centre of attention and now she sought for something to distract the gentleman from what was going on behind his back.

  ‘It was fortunate for me that you were walking on the moor, Mr Russington,’ she said at last. ‘Although I am curious as to why you had left your curricle at that particular spot.’

  ‘I have formed the habit of walking the moors every day before breakfast. There are golden plover up there, did you know? I have been watching them. It was not possible to make my usual walk this morning, so I stopped off on my way back to Newlands. No doubt you thought my only interest in birds was in killing them. For sport.’

  She flushed guiltily. ‘I did not think that at all, sir.’

  ‘There, it is done,’ said Agnes.

  Molly was relieved that the soft words brought an end to their interchange. The beau turned his attention back to her ankle and she clasped her hands about her glass, biting her lip as he used towels to pack the ice around her foot.

  ‘It is exceedingly swollen. Are you sure it is not broken?’ Agnes asked him.

  ‘I inspected it earlier, when I first came upon Mrs Morgan, and I am sure it is merely sprained,’ he replied. ‘However, if you would feel happier we will send for the doctor.’

  Molly quickly disclaimed. ‘I am sure I shall be well again very soon,’ she assured them. ‘Although I may have to trouble you for the use of your carriage, Miss Kilburn, to take me home. My brother has gone off to Compton Magna and will not be back until very late, if at all tonight.’

  ‘Then it would be best for you to stay here,’ said Agnes. ‘We will send a carriage to the vicarage to tell them what has happened and to bring your maid—You look distressed, Mrs Morgan, have I said something amiss?’

  ‘No, no, it is merely that I gave my maid the evening off.’

  ‘Then on no account can you go home,’ declared Agnes. ‘You must stay here, where we can look after you.’

  In vain did Molly protest. Shy, quiet little Agnes Kilburn proved immovable.

  ‘There is no time to fetch your clean clothes before dinner, so you shall dine here,’ she told Molly. ‘And afterwards, if you feel well enough, my maid shall help you change and you can be brought downstairs to rest on a sofa in the drawing room. I know everyone will want to assure themselves that you are recovering well and the evening will pass much more quickly in company, do you not agree?’

  Molly did not have the strength to withstand such common sense. With Edwin out for the evening, and Cissy looking after her mother, she knew there was no argument she could put forward that would not sound ungrateful.

  ‘Very well, then. Thank you, Miss Kilburn. You are too kind.’

  ‘Call me Agnes, please,’ said her hostess, smiling. ‘And, if I may, I shall call you Molly.’

  ‘Then it is settled,’ said Mr Russington, picking up his coat. ‘We will leave you in peace now, ma’am, and I shall return after dinner to carry you downstairs.’

  ‘I am sure that will not be necessary, sir,’ said Molly swiftly. ‘I might be able to walk by then, or, if not, one of the servants—’

  ‘Oh, but I insist,’ he interrupted her, his eyes teasing her in a way that made Molly want to hit him. ‘As your rescuer, I think I have earned that privilege.’

  He followed Agnes out of the room and Molly was alone. She felt exhausted, and not a little homesick, despite the undoubted comfort of her surroundings. She glanced at the small table beside her with its glass of water, the vinaigrette bottle in case she should feel faint and the little hand bell that Agnes had urged her to ring, should she require anything at all.

  She closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift. Nothing could have exceeded Agnes Kilburn’s kindness, but Molly could not help thinking that she was in the lion’s den. The people in this house stood for everything she detested: wealth, privilege and a lack of moral restraint that she could not condone. But even as the idea formed she rebuked herself for being unfair. Sir Gerald had not brought a party of single gentlemen and their inamoratas to Newlands. The ladies were all perfectly respectable and if any of the gentlemen had a reputation for loose living, it was up t
o the mothers of Compton Parva to protect their offspring from these dangerous individuals.

  Molly stirred restlessly. It was one of those dangerous individuals, Beau Russington, who had come to her aid that afternoon and she had come to no harm. Now that she was alone with time to reflect, she realised that what disturbed her most was that when the beau had lifted her into his arms—as if she weighed nothing!—she had not felt at all afraid. In fact, she admitted now with great reluctance, she had never felt safer. Not that that made the man a jot less dangerous!

  * * *

  ‘So, Russington, you have been rescuing damsels in distress.’ Joseph Aikers helped himself to more brandy before pushing the decanter towards his neighbour.

  ‘I could hardly leave her sitting in the lane,’ said Russ, refilling his own glass. ‘It was fortunate that my curricle was nearby.’

  He kept his tone neutral. The ladies had withdrawn and Gerald had dismissed the servants, so there were only the gentlemen left in the dining room and Russ knew from experience that at this stage of the evening the conversation could easily degenerate, and somehow he did not want Molly Morgan to become the object of any lewd discussion.

  Flemington gave a coarse laugh. ‘I’d wager the beau would have preferred to find a pretty young gel languishing at his feet. I saw a few that I wouldn’t mind trying at the assembly last week.’

  Gerald met Russ’s eyes as he took the decanter from him.

  ‘Seducing innocents has never been the beau’s way,’ he remarked. ‘He’s like me—too afraid of the parson’s mousetrap.’

  There was general laughter at that, but it was Lord Claydon who answered.

  ‘I know you young bucks think yourselves awake upon every suit,’ he said, shaking his head in mock severity. ‘But let me warn you that one day you will find yourselves in the suds and I hope when you finally make a fool of yourself that you have the sense to choose a good woman.’

  Gerald chuckled. ‘I am not sure a good woman would suit the beau.’ He grinned at Russ. ‘If I thought that, I’d have suggested m’sister as a match for you, my friend, but your roving ways would break her heart and I would have to call you out.’

  ‘Then it is fortunate for everyone concerned that Agnes and I regard each other as siblings,’ Russ told him. ‘You may be assured, though, that when I do eventually decide upon a wife, my...er...roving ways, as you call them, will be at an end.’

  A ripple of laughter went around the table and cries of disbelief.

  ‘Is that why you have remained single for so long, Russington?’ called Sykes from the far end of the table. ‘It can’t be for lack of opportunity. Your lineage is impeccable and your fortune is so vast you have the pick of the ton.’

  ‘Aye, you lucky dog,’ cried Flemington, the suspicion of a sneer in his voice. ‘You can have any woman you want for a bride.’

  ‘But I do not want any woman,’ drawled Russ. He lifted his glass and stared at it, as if inspecting the contents. ‘If, if I marry, it must be based on mutual affection and respect. A marriage of true minds, as Shakespeare calls it. Nothing less will do.’

  ‘Ha, you are searching for a mare’s nest,’ declared Sykes, reaching for the decanter. ‘Believe me, it doesn’t exist. You’d be advised to give up such daydreams and find yourself a good-natured woman who will make you a comfortable wife.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Mrs Sykes wasn’t my first choice, nor was I hers, but we have rubbed along very nicely for the past twenty years, which is more than many couples can boast.’

  ‘Sound advice,’ agreed Claydon. ‘Best to leave love well out of it, my boy. Look what happened to your own father, hardly out of mourning before a beautiful woman got her claws into him. Never seen a man so besotted. Pity it wasn’t mutual. She almost ruined him.’

  ‘Quite.’ Russ’s fingers tightened about his glass as the familiar pain sliced into him, but he said lightly, ‘I want a wife who will love me for myself, not my fortune.’

  ‘And if you don’t find her?’ asked Gerald.

  ‘Why, then, I shall continue to enjoy my bachelor life.’ He drained his glass. ‘Which reminds of a promise I have made. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I offered to carry Mrs Morgan down to the drawing room.’

  ‘Oh, ho!’ cried Sir Joseph. ‘Stealing the march on us with the widow, are you, Russington? I wouldn’t have thought she was your type.’

  Russ paused at the door to look back, unsmiling.

  ‘She is not at all my type, as you so crudely put it, but she is safer in my arms than anyone else’s, because she has made no secret of the fact that she detests me.’

  Mindful of propriety, he went to find Agnes and ask her to accompany him when he collected the invalid, but when he entered the drawing room, he found that Molly was already downstairs and resting on a sofa. He had to admit she was looking very much better, dressed in an evening gown of lavender silk trimmed with silver lace and with a fine silk shawl thrown over her feet.

  ‘So, you are here before me, Mrs Morgan.’

  He was surprised that he should feel so unaccountably annoyed, as if he had been denied some treat. It was a ridiculous idea and it exacerbated his temper even further, but he forced himself to speak cheerfully. Her bright smile was equally false.

  ‘Yes. I managed to walk downstairs, with help from Miss Kilburn.’

  His brows snapped together. ‘That was rather reckless of you, ma’am.’

  ‘I did not wish to inconvenience anyone.’

  ‘It will be more of an inconvenience if you have further strained your ankle! If you will permit me to check?’

  ‘No!’ Her hands came down quickly on the shawl. ‘I assure you there is no need. I am quite well.’

  ‘Fie, Mr Russington,’ cried Mrs Sykes, coming up, ‘Would you be so indecorous as to expose a lady’s ankle in public? Come away, sir. Mrs Morgan assures us she is quite well and needs only to rest, is that not so, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  She was looking up at him, her grey eyes defiant, and Russ hesitated. He wanted to argue, but at that moment the rest of the gentlemen spilled noisily into the room.

  ‘I pray you will go away, sir, and not draw any further attention to me.’

  Her words were quiet but heartfelt, and he moved away. Gerald and the others descended upon the widow to enquire after her health. Mrs Sykes went to sit near Molly, and Russ was drawn into a discussion about the following day’s shoot, but all the time part of his mind was racing.

  Had she walked downstairs rather than have him carry her? He could hardly believe it. He had known women to throw themselves at his feet, feigning an injury to gain his attention, but never one so determined to reject his help. Ungrateful creature!

  He turned to glare across at the petite figure reclining on the sofa. As if he could have designs upon such a thin drab of a woman. He recalled that moment under the stairs, when he had been tempted to kiss her, but that meant nothing. It was merely the result of too much wine. True, there was something appealing about her elfin face, but her mouth was far too wide for beauty and those unruly curls would not stay beneath her bonnet. They had tickled his chin as he had carried her down the hill this afternoon. Damned annoying that had been, too!

  And her eyes, a cool grey with an unsettlingly direct gaze. What man would want that? He preferred cerulean blue, or deep chocolate brown. Eyes that a man might drown in. He tried to name one of the beauties of his acquaintance, as evidence of this assertion, but could think of none. Russ shook his head. What did it matter? He dragged his mind back to the conversation, agreed that if the weather was fine tomorrow, they might enjoy an afternoon’s shooting, and kept his back resolutely turned towards the sofa for the rest of the evening.

  * * *

  However, when the tea tray was brought in, he could not refuse Agnes’s request that he carry a cup across to Mrs Morgan. She watched him approach, suc
h a wary look upon her countenance that his bad mood evaporated and he could not help the smile tugging at his mouth.

  ‘Am I that alarming, Mrs Morgan?’

  She relaxed a little. ‘No, of course not, but I feared you might be going to scold me again.’

  ‘I would not dare,’ he murmured, handing her the cup. ‘You have made your opinion of me perfectly clear, Mrs Morgan.’ Everyone else had moved towards the tea table, so there was no one to overhear him. ‘You likened me to a tomcat, if I recall correctly.’

  Her chin lifted a little at that. ‘I was trying to convince you that I did not desire your attentions.’

  ‘As you did when you feigned an injury rather than dance with me the other evening. Although I rather think you have been paid back for that little deception, do not you?’

  She looked away, spots of colour staining her cheeks. ‘It was not just you. I did not wish to...to dance with anyone else.’

  ‘Why was that? You seemed to enjoy your first dances.’

  ‘I have already told you. The reputations of the gentlemen staying at Newlands are well known in Compton Parva. I have no wish to encourage such persons.’ She met his eyes, but only for an instant. ‘I am extremely grateful for your assistance today, sir, but one such act is not enough for me to make a sound judgement of your character.’

  ‘I think your judgement of my character has already been formed,’ he retorted, nettled.

  Molly’s spirits dipped as she watched him walk away, but she rallied them immediately. It should not worry her that the gentleman did not like a little plain speaking. If he ignored her in the future, then that would be a good thing. And if he and his friends thought Compton Parva too dull for them and decided to quit the area, that would be even better!