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.’
The Ton's Most Notorious Rake Page 12