The Ruthless Rake

by Barbara Cartland

  He did not raise his voice, but his words were like a whiplash. Mr. Hempster’s anger evaporated and he cringed.

  “I apologise, my Lord. You can’t mean what your Lordship’s just said.”

  “I mean it,” the Earl replied.

  He took Syringa by the arm as he spoke and drew her beside him through the door, leaving the bailiff alone in the writing room.

  They walked down the passage and because she felt so relieved at his decision she clung on to his arm with both hands and laid her cheek against his shoulder.

  “You were right! Right to dismiss him! He is a horrible man, he always has been. No one would have told you, but he has earned the estate a bad name for a long time.”

  They had reached the hall, the Earl looked down at Syringa with a faint smile on his lips.

  “Are you going to break the good news to my Italian tenants,” he enquired, “or am I?”

  “But you, of course!” she answered. “I want them to realise how kind, how just and how – wonderful you are.”

  Her voice was very soft, but the Earl seemed to listen to it.

  For a long moment he looked down into her eyes shining with admiration and joy.

  Then he disengaged his arm from her hands and walked towards the front door.

  *

  That evening they had dined in the big Banqueting Hall with its fabulous pictures by Verrio on the walls and on the ceilings.

  It was only as they sat down at the table, which was decorated with flowers and seemed to Syringa to be weighed down with gold plate, that she glanced up at the ceiling and gave a little exclamation.

  “What has surprised you?” the Earl said.

  “Jupiter!” she replied. “Do you see that Verrio painted Jupiter in the centre of the ceiling? I never realised it before and yet there he is surrounded by his Goddesses in all his glory.”

  “And do you still find a resemblance to me?” the Earl asked a little dryly.

  Syringa threw back her head revealing as she did so the rounded column of her white neck and the soft curves of her small breasts.

  Her gown was very simple. It was old and had been made by Nanny but it became her. Soft muslin framed her shoulders, a sash made her waist appear very small and her full skirts billowed out attractively.

  “Jupiter, as Verrio saw him, is very handsome,” Syringa answered, “but not as handsome as you.”

  She turned her eyes as she spoke from the ceiling to the Earl and she thought, as he sat in his high-backed chair very much at his ease, that no one could look more magnificent or indeed more commanding.

  “You flatter me,” the Earl demurred.

  “Is it flattery to speak the truth?” Syringa asked.

  “If I told you that you are very beautiful,” the Earl replied, “would you call that flattery?”

  Syringa hesitated a moment and then a dimple appeared at the side of her mouth.

  “I should make every effort to believe that your Lordship spoke the truth.”

  “Then, of course, I must believe you.”

  “I always think it so tiresome to be told one should not say nice things to people,” Syringa said. “I remember once when I was with Mama, we met a lady with a little girl and Mama said, ‘how very pretty your daughter is!’ And the lady replied, ‘hush, not in front of her, we go to a lot of trouble not to let her grow conceited’.”

  “And did you grow conceited at the nice things your mother said to you?” the Earl asked.

  “I think that Mama thought I was quite nice-looking,” Syringa replied, “but she really only had eyes for Papa and he always said – ‘if you are half as pretty as your mother when you grow up, you will be very fortunate’.”

  Her voice was a little wistful and the Earl said almost harshly.

  “Now you are grown up, you will find plenty of men ready to pay you compliments, to praise the beauty of your eyes or write an ode to your eyebrows.”

  Syringa laughed.

  “I am unlikely to meet such men. But if I do, I will merely tell them that they are being nonsensical.”

  “You would not like a poem written to you?” the Earl asked.

  “It would depend who wrote it,” Syringa answered. “If you wrote one, for instance, I should – treasure it always.”

  “You are quite safe,” the Earl replied. “I don’t write poetry and I would not insult you with bad verse.”

  “Perhaps you do not think me worthy of – a poem,” Syringa suggested, but it seemed as if he had not heard her.

  After dinner they went again to the library.

  Syringa sat down on the sofa and said,

  “I shall not disgrace myself tonight by falling asleep. I thought as I undressed that you might think that I had been rude. But it was difficult to keep my eyes open.”

  “You slept well?” the Earl asked.

  “So well that I fell asleep while I was saying my prayers and I never locked the door as Nana had asked me to do.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “Why did she ask you to do that?”

  “I cannot imagine,” Syringa replied. “She had some nonsensical story that there were robbers in the neighbourhood, but I have never heard of robbers trying to break into King’s Keep. And, when we lived at the Manor House, no one came to rob us.”

  She gave a little laugh.

  “I think Nana was just fussing over me to make herself important. I believe, although she likes being at King’s Keep and enjoys the comfort, she rather misses the autocratic position she had at the Manor House, when there was no one to argue or prevent her from doing anything she wished.”

  They talked until after eleven o’clock.

  Then Syringa saw the Earl glance at the clock on the mantelpiece and felt that it was up to her to make the first move to go to bed.

  “Perhaps I should retire,” she suggested. “I don’t want to keep you talking if you wish to read. Will we be riding again in the morning?”

  “If it pleases you,” the Earl replied.

  “You know how much I enjoy it,” she answered. “Shall we have a race tomorrow, although I am afraid that Thunderer will easily outpace Mercury?”

  “I might give you a short start,” the Earl conceded.

  “Then that is what we will do,” Syringa said. “I will be ready at nine o’clock.”

  She smiled at him, then curtseyed and said softly,

  “Thank you – Lord Jupiter, for another wonderful – wonderful – day. I have been so happy.”

  The Earl rose to his feet slowly, but already Syringa had reached the door.

  She turned to look back at him, her eyes shining in her small face.

  “It’s a pity,” she said, “that Verrio could not have seen you before he painted the scene in the Banqueting Hall.”

  Then the door closed behind her and the Earl stood looking at it as if he expected it to open again.

  *

  Syringa had been in bed for some time and was reading a book that she had taken from the library earlier in the afternoon.

  There was a candelabra holding three candles at her side and she had pulled the curtain of the four-poster back against the wall.

  She heard the door open and for a moment did not look up, thinking it must be Nanny returning for something she had forgotten.

  She heard the door shut again, realised that someone was in the room and, turning her head, saw the Earl.

  He was wearing a long brocade robe with a high velvet collar above which the white frill of his nightshirt framed his chin. He looked extremely attractive and there was a buccaneering glint in his eyes.

  Syringa threw down her book.

  “You have come to say goodnight to me!” she exclaimed and there was a note of joy in her voice. “How kind of you! I cannot tell you how much I miss Mama saying goodnight to me after I have got into bed.”

  The Earl came slowly across the room and when he reached Syringa’s side he sat down on the bed facing her.

&nbs
p; She looked small and very fragile against the large pillows with their frilled edges.

  The candlelight shone on her hair, finding little strands of gold and the Earl saw that she was wearing a muslin nightgown that buttoned at the neck, with a small flat collar edged with lace.

  The sleeves were long and the lace-trimmed cuffs fell over her long thin fingers.

  She looked very young, almost a child, and yet the muslin was thin and the soft curved outlines of her tip-tilted breasts were revealed by the candles.

  “When I was small, Mama used to tell me a story every night,” Syringa went on, “but now I have to read one for myself. I like to go to sleep thinking of gallant deeds or beautiful places in the world that perhaps I will never be fortunate enough to see.”

  The Earl did not speak, but was looking at her in what seemed to be a strange way.

  Because she sensed instinctively that something was disturbing him, Syringa said,

  “I know that your mother died when you were only two. You must have missed her terribly without realising you were – doing so.”

  “Perhaps I did,” the Earl replied speaking for the first time.

  “You have been through a lot of unhappiness,” Syringa went on, “but now you will be happy. How can you help it when you are in your home at last?”

  “Supposing I am lonely?” the Earl asked.

  “How could you be?” she enquired. “You must have many friends and so much to do.”

  The Earl did not reply and after a moment she said,

  “When I was saying my prayers tonight – and I said them properly kneeling by the bed – I thanked God because we had met. I thanked Him that you had bought Mercury and me.”

  The Earl made an impatient movement and Syringa said quickly.

  “I know you told me not to talk about it, but I was so afraid that someone would buy Mercury and be cruel to him. Well, I think the same applied to me. If anyone else had bid for me at that sale – they might have been – cruel and – frightening.”

  “You are not frightened of me?” the Earl asked.

  It was as if a thousand candles lit Syringa’s face.

  “How could I be afraid of you?” she asked. “You are my friend, a friend I have wanted so badly, a friend I have never had before in my whole life.”

  “You wanted a friend?”

  “I always thought how marvellous it would be to have one, someone to talk to, someone to laugh with, someone who would understand.”

  Syringa gave a little sigh.

  “When I met you in the wood – it was everything I had ever hoped for. You were so wise and yet so gentle and understanding. You made me see how foolish and cowardly I was being and when you left me – nothing was quite so dark and frightening as it had been before.”

  Her grey eyes looked at him, as if he dazzled her.

  They were wide and the Earl felt they were clear as a stream rippling over gravel. There was nothing hidden, nothing concealed!

  “What do you know about love, Syringa?” he asked and there was a deep note in his voice.

  Syringa made an eloquent gesture with her hands.

  “I suppose the truth is that I know nothing,” she answered. “I know how much in love Mama and Papa were with each other, but once Mama said to me – ‘never, Syringa, never give yourself to a man unless you love him’.”

  Syringa’s eyes look perplexed.

  “I don’t quite know what Mama meant by ‘giving yourself to a man’, but I suppose she was telling me not to marry anyone unless I loved him with all my heart.”

  The Earl was silent and Syringa went on,

  “I would, of course, not think of marrying unless I was deeply in love. Perhaps no one will ever ask me, but if someone did I would want to love him very much indeed.”

  “And if you were in love, what do you think you would feel?” the Earl asked.

  Syringa considered for a moment and then she replied shyly,

  “I think the man – I loved, if he – loved me, would – lift me up to the sky – so that we would forget the world – and be aware only of – ourselves and our love – ”

  Her voice died away into silence.

  Then she asked,

  “Is that why – you have never married? Because you have never found anyone who you could love like – that?”

  “Yes, that is the reason.”

  “And yet there must have been lots of ladies who loved you,” Syringa said reflectively. “When a man is attractive like – you and King Charles II, there must always be beautiful ladies who – want your attention and who wish to steal your heart – if they can do so.”

  “And, as you have already pointed out,” the Earl said with a twist to his lips. “Charles II was a rake and so am I.”

  “Perhaps that is what makes you so attractive,” Syringa replied. “I think women like men to be dashing, adventurous and brave.”

  “And you think I am all those things?” the Earl enquired.

  “Oh, and much more!” Syringa cried. “You are wise and you are kind too! I would rather have you as a friend than anyone in the whole world.”

  “As a friend?” the Earl repeated.

  There was silence and then Syringa said humbly,

  “Perhaps you do not consider me clever enough – to be your friend. I realise I am very ignorant and I know very little of the world. I have read lots of books but that is not the same, is it?”

  He did not answer and she went on,

  “And you have lived so fully and been to so many strange and interesting places. Perhaps I am just – someone you could – easily forget.”

  “I assure you I shall not do that,” the Earl said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure!”

  “Then – may I be your – friend?” Syringa asked.

  “And what do you think that implies?” the Earl asked, his eyes on hers.

  “I am not quite – certain,” she answered, “but I think it means someone I can tell my – innermost secrets to. Someone who will not think that I am being fanciful if I am – apprehensive or – worried. Someone with whom I can share not only the unhappy things in my life, but the happy ones. And most of all – someone with whom I can – laugh.”

  She hesitated a moment and then she added,

  “I think that is really what makes me feel most lonely. It’s not easy to laugh with one’s parents – they are so much older. And Mercury, marvellous though he is – does not really see a joke.”

  The Earl found himself laughing.

  “I see we have a lot to offer each other,” he said. “But you know, Syringa, that being a friend involves taking as well as giving.”

  “I know that,” Syringa said, “and that is why I want you to give me your trust – to let me – help you if I can. You know that I would always be – loyal whatever – happens.”

  “And what do you think might happen?” the Earl asked.

  “I don’t know, but I feel that something is – puzzling you – something you are not quite sure about and – I want to help you.”

  She looked up at him as she spoke.

  Their eyes met in the candlelight and suddenly she had a very strange feeling.

  She felt as if he was asking something and at the same time pulling her towards him.

  That she was being swept along by a power that she had no control over, nearer and still nearer.

  It was very hard to breathe, her lips were parted, then her hands made a little convulsive gesture and the spell was broken.

  The Earl rose to his feet.

  “Goodnight, Syringa,” he said. “I will try to be your friend.”

  “Oh, thank you. That means more to me than I can ever tell you,” Syringa replied. “Goodnight, Lord Jupiter, and I am so happy, so very – very happy to be here with you.”

  She raised her face as she spoke and it was a gesture of a child.

  The Earl looked down at her and for a moment she thought that there was a strang
e fire burning in his eyes. But it must have been an illusion in the light of a candle as he bent his head and kissed her on the forehead.

  She would have reached out her arms to him, but he was walking across the room.

  He opened the door and went out.

  For some mysterious reason that she could not explain, Syringa felt a sense of disappointment.

  Chapter Six

  Syringa came running down the stairs.

  As she did so she noted that the hand on the grandfather clock in the hall had not yet reached nine o’clock.

  She was early because she had woken almost with the dawn to watch the sunshine peep between the curtains and feel excited at the thought of the day that lay ahead.

  She would be with the Earl, they would ride together, they would talk! She found herself going over a whole list of subjects that she wished to discuss with him.

  Although it was early, it was already warm and, going downstairs, Syringa carried her riding jacket over her arm and her hat in her hand.

  She wore her riding skirt with several voluminous petticoats and a blouse of white muslin inset with lace which Nanny had spent many laborious hours over.

  It had, however, been made two years before, and now it clung to her figure making it very obvious that she was no longer the child which at times she appeared to be.

  As she reached the hall, she heard the sound of a horse moving away outside the front door and then saw the Earl come walking up the steps, his top hat on his head and a riding whip in his gloved hand.

  “Oh! You have already been riding!” she exclaimed, the disappointment obvious in her voice.

  “I woke early,” the Earl answered. “Our plans are changed. I wish to speak with you, Syringa.”

  Not waiting for her answer he walked ahead through the great marble hall and entered his study.

  He crossed the room and stood with his back to the chimneypiece watching Syringa who had followed him. She paused just inside the door, a troubled expression in her grey eyes.

  There was silence until Syringa asked,

  “Why have you changed our plans? I was so looking forward to riding with you this morning,”

  “I have decided to take you to London,” the Earl replied.