The Ruthless Rake

by Barbara Cartland

  “Are you alone? Could I speak with your Lordship for a moment?”

  He glanced round and saw Syringa dressed in a pale green gown.

  It made him think of the shrubs coming into bloom at King’s Keep as they were the first time he met her.

  He noticed, as she crossed the big library towards him, that her silken skirts rustled like the trees in Monk’s Wood.

  “You wish to see me,” the Earl said abruptly. “Well, as it happens I was just going to send for you. The Marquis of Thanet has asked me, Syringa, if he may pay his addresses to you.”

  “I told him not to!” Syringa exclaimed. “How can he be so tiresome and waste your time!”

  “Waste my time!” the Earl ejaculated in surprise.

  “I have already told the Marquis that I will not marry him.”

  The Earl rose to his feet and walked across the room, almost as if he was giving himself time to think.

  When he reached the hearthrug, he stood still and asked,

  “Am I understanding you correctly? The Marquis of Thanet has asked you for your hand in marriage?”

  “He has asked me several times,” Syringa answered, “and on each occasion I have given him the same answer. He has only come to you because he hopes that you will further his suit.”

  “Come and sit down, Syringa,” the Earl said and seated himself in an armchair.

  He crossed his legs and sat back. His eyes, very blue in his suntanned face, seemed to Syringa to be looking deep into her heart as if he would find the truth.

  “Why have you refused the Marquis?” he asked.

  “It’s quite simple,” she replied with a smile. “I don’t love him!”

  “Have you told my grandmother that he has proposed to you?” the Earl asked.

  “I did not exactly tell her,” Syringa answered, “but she guessed it from something the Marquis said and she told me that I was to accept him. She was very insistent that it was the best offer I was ever likely to receive.”

  “Grandmama is right!” the Earl said. “Thanet is a Marquis and immensely wealthy. He is also a sportsman and a man liked by other men. This is important, Syringa.”

  “I too like his Lordship,” Syringa answered, “and I have told him so, only I do not wish to marry him.”

  “But he is a Marquis,” the Earl repeated. “I thought that all young women wished above all else for an important title.”

  A dimple appeared at the corner of Syringa’s mouth.

  “Why?” she asked. “Like diamonds you cannot eat them!”

  The Earl laughed before he said,

  “As your Guardian I should do as Thanet expects of me and make you accept such an advantageous proposal.”

  “And as my friend – ” Syringa said in a low voice, “you know quite well that I will not marry – someone I do not – love,”

  There was silence.

  “And have you found someone to love since you have been in London?”

  Syringa shook her head.

  The Earl looked at her as if he could hardly believe that she spoke the truth.

  Then he said,

  “Very well, Syringa, if that is your wish, I will inform the Marquis that the choice is entirely yours.”

  “Thank you, my Lord, and now may I tell you what I came to say?”

  “Of course,” the Earl replied. “I must apologise, Syringa, for not allowing you to speak first. It’s a lady’s privilege.”

  “I wanted to wish you – many happy returns of the day, my Lord,” Syringa said in a shy voice, “and I have brought you – a present.”

  “A present?” the Earl exclaimed.

  “Your grandmama told me two or three days ago that your birthday was today,” she explained, “and I have made something for you.”

  She rose as she spoke and handed him a parcel done up with a bow of red ribbon.

  As if the excitement of waiting for him to open it was too intense for her to stand aloof, she knelt down at his side her eyes shining.

  “It’s many years since I have had a birthday present,” the Earl said slowly. “In fact I am getting so old that I keep my birthday a secret.”

  “You are thirty-two!” Syringa smiled, “but you need not have so many candles on your cake.”

  She put her fingers to her mouth.

  “Oh, it was to be – a secret!”

  The Earl undid the bow of ribbon. The parcel was very thin and square. He opened it and found a picture of a brown and white spaniel.

  There was silence as he looked at it.

  Then as if she could not bear the suspense, Syringa asked,

  “Is it – is it at all like – Judith?”

  “It is very like her,” the Earl answered.

  He realised that Syringa had used as a model one of the prints that hung on the walls in the passages. The picture was painted in watercolours and he knew that she must have spent a great deal of time on its execution.

  “Did you really do this all yourself?” he asked.

  “I used to sketch to please Mama,” Syringa answered. “But I am afraid that I shall never be a real artist as I am always in too much of a hurry. But it does – please you?”

  She looked up at him anxiously.

  “It pleases me very much,” the Earl said. “Thank you, Syringa, I shall treasure it always.”

  She gave a little sigh of relief.

  “I am so glad! I wanted to give you something – that was all mine. It would not have been the same if I had paid for it with – your money.”

  “This is indeed all yours,” he said. “Thank you again, Syringa.”

  His eyes met hers and for a moment it seemed to her as if something strange passed between them, something that she did not understand but which made her quiver.

  Then, as she felt rather shy and at the same time strangely excited, the Earl rose to his feet.

  “And I have a present for you, Syringa,” he said.

  He walked to his desk, opened a drawer and drew out a velvet-covered box.

  “Tomorrow we dine at Carlton House,” he said, “and I think you will find that this will embellish the beautiful gown that Grandmama tells me she has chosen for you.”

  He put the box into Syringa’s hands. She opened it and then gave an exclamation.

  Lying on the black velvet was a spray of flowers. Fashioned with diamonds they glittered and shimmered and the blossoms even moved at the touch of Syringa’s fingers.

  She stood looking down at it and then, as she did not speak, the Earl looking at her bent head asked,

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s beautiful – very beautiful,” she said slowly.

  “Then what is wrong?” he enquired.

  “I don’t – wish to – hurt you.”

  “To hurt me?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes troubled.

  “You must – understand,” she said, “you must – realise that I cannot – accept this gift.”

  “They are diamonds, Syringa. All women like diamonds.”

  “They may like them,” Syringa answered, “but they should not accept them from – a man to whom they are not – married.”

  For a moment the Earl was still.

  Then he said,

  “Are we once again concerned with your principles? As you well know, Syringa, I find them extremely irritating.”

  Syringa put the diamond brooch down on the desk.

  “It is not – only – that,” she whispered.

  “Then what is it?” the Earl asked.

  “I would rather – not tell – you.”

  “I am afraid that I must insist on a reasonable explanation,” he said. “You made an absurd fuss about accepting your gowns from me. But we overcame that difficulty and I am sure you have found that I was right in saying that you must be suitably dressed to appear upon the Social scene.”

  He waited as if he expected an answer.

  “Yes – you were – right,” Syringa agreed, “and I
am very – grateful for all the lovely clothes you have – given me. I have thanked you for them and I shall go on thanking you! But a diamond brooch is – different.”

  “How? In what way?” the Earl asked.

  She heard the irritation in his tone and Syringa twisted her fingers together miserably.

  How could she explain to him, she wondered, what Lady Elaine had said to her only a few days after her arrival in London.

  She had been alone in the drawing room waiting for the Dowager when Lady Elaine had been announced. She had appeared more glamorous and more beautiful than ever.

  Her gown was elaborate as befitted her status of a married woman, her hair was a mass of intricate curls and the hat that she wore on her head was a riot of flame-coloured feathers.

  “Alone?” Lady Elaine had asked in surprise. “Where is the delectable Earl?”

  “I don’t think that his Lordship is expected until later,” Syringa answered.

  “It’s of no consequence,” Lady Elaine said, “because I wish to speak to you.”

  “To me?” Syringa enquired in surprise.

  “Yes, you,” Lady Elaine answered. “Naturally I am interested in anyone who is staying in Ancelin’s house. We are so close, we do so many things together that it surprised me that he did not ask my opinion about you before you arrived.”

  “Things were – arranged in rather a – hurry,” Syringa remarked uncomfortably.

  “I know that,” Lady Elaine agreed. “And I have told Ancelin that I forgive him. After all, although you are a very pretty child, I can afford to be generous. Ancelin may offer you his hospitality, but he gives me so much, so very much more.”

  Lady Elaine had spoken softly. but there appeared to be a deliberate undercurrent in her words.

  “What do you mean?” Syringa asked bluntly.

  “I mean, dear, and it is wise for you to know this from the very beginning in case you should have any illusions about his Lordship, that he loves me. He has loved me for a very long time.”

  Syringa drew in her breath and then as she did not speak Lady Elaine continued,

  “But, of course, you must have been aware of it! Everyone in London knows it. Our names are always coupled together!”

  She saw the expression on Syringa’s face and rose to her feet, a satisfied smile on her lips.

  “I will not trouble to wait for the Dowager,” she said, “and anyway I shall see her at the ball tonight. We are all dining in the same party.”

  She paused a moment.

  Then she added,

  “I am so looking forward to Ancelin seeing my new gown because it matches the ruby necklace he gave me. Such a lovely present, one of the many by which he expresses his love for me.”

  She went from the room and Syringa wondered why, when she was gone, she felt as though someone had turned a knife in her heart.

  Now, instead of the diamonds glittering in their velvet box she could only see the necklace of blood-red rubies, fiery and somehow evil against the whiteness of Lady Elaine’s neck.

  “I am waiting, Syringa,” the Earl prompted.

  His voice made her start because her thoughts had been far away.

  “Waiting – ” she repeated.

  “For an explanation,” he said, “and I would like the truth.”

  There was a pause before Syringa said in a low hesitating voice,

  “You give jewels to – other women. Perhaps – they are able to give you – something in return. But I can give you – nothing and therefore I would not be under a further – obligation to – you, my Lord.”

  Her head was bent and she did not see the expression in the Earl’s eyes.

  “You mean,” he said quietly after a moment, “you don’t like taking without giving.”

  “No – no.”

  “And you are perhaps aware that I have given jewels to Lady Elaine.”

  “She – told – me so.”

  There was a pause before Syringa continued,

  “Lady Elaine must do as – she thinks right, but I would – rather not accept – the brooch – beautiful though it is.”

  There was a little throb in her voice as if tears were not far away.

  It was hard to fight the Earl and she knew that if he wished he could force her into accepting the present, to browbeat her as he had done before into obeying him.

  The Earl put out his hand and shut the lid of the velvet box with a decisive click.

  “Very well, Syringa,” he said, “I will not plague you. Instead I will offer you something else. It might please you.”

  She looked up at him wide-eyed. Her face was very pale in case he was incensed with her.

  The Earl sat down at his desk and taking a key opened a bottom drawer. From it he drew out a square jewel box and set it in front of him.

  “I have here,” he said, “the jewels that belonged personally to my mother. They are of little value or my father would undoubtedly have sold them. When she died, she left them to me for my wife.”

  He inserted the key in the lock and lifted the lid.

  “I would not give them away,” he went on, “but I would like you, Syringa, to borrow a brooch and wear it for as long as it pleases you.”

  The light came back into Syringa’s eyes.

  “Could I do that?” she asked. “I would be very honoured and very proud to wear anything – that belonged to your mother. I will take good care of it and – whenever you want it you will have it back.”

  She leant over the Earl’s shoulder, looking into the jewel box. There were several brooches, but there was one particularly that took her fancy.

  It was of three little flowers fashioned of turquoise. In the centre of each there was a diamond and the stalks and a small leaf were also made of brilliants.

  She touched it gently with her finger and the Earl drew it from the box.

  “I thought that this was the one you would like.”

  “It reminds me of our Secret Place,” Syringa said, “of the blue periwinkles that one can find in the grass and there are also blue forget-me-nots.”

  “Then this undoubtedly is the brooch you must wear,” the Earl said. “I am sure it will bring you luck.”

  “I am so lucky already,” Syringa smiled. “I cannot believe that I could be – more fortunate.”

  “Are you quite sure about that?” the Earl enquired.

  “Quite sure!” she answered. “But perhaps this brooch will make something – wonderful happen to me.”

  She pushed the pin through the front of her dress as she spoke.

  “Is that straight?” she asked.

  “Not quite,” he answered.

  He took the brooch from her and pinned it where the low décolletage of her gown just hid the little valley between her breasts.

  She felt his fingers touch her skin and a quiver ran through her like quicksilver.

  It was strange, she thought, and she could not quite understand or explain the sensation.

  The brooch was fastened.

  “I like to think of you wearing something that belonged to my mother,” the Earl remarked.

  “How can I thank you?” Syringa asked. “It’s your birthday – and yet you have given me a present.”

  She touched the brooch with her fingers.

  Then impulsively she bent forward and pressed her lips against the Earl’s cheek.

  “Thank you – thank you, Lord Jupiter,” she whispered, “not only for the brooch but for – everything else.”

  Then before he could answer or before he could rise to his feet, as if overcome with shyness, she ran from the room.

  Syringa went upstairs conscious that she could still feel the firm warmth of the Earl’s cheek against her lips.

  She remembered how the first time they had met he had kissed her and now she had kissed him!

  Somehow it was different, although she was not quite certain how.

  She opened the door of the drawing room expecting to find the Dowager there an
d wishing to display her new brooch.

  But to her consternation she saw sitting together on the sofa, their heads very close were Lady Elaine and Ninian Roth.

  She had met the Earl’s cousin already on several occasions and for some reason she could not explain to herself had disliked him on sight.

  A man nearing forty he was, Syringa had learnt, heir- presumptive to the title. There was something suave and slightly slimy about him.

  Very thin with a long pointed nose, he had eyes that seemed always to hold secrets that he dare not reveal.

  Ninian Roth was dressed in the height of fashion and was a dandy who wore an elaborate amount of jewellery.

  He was obviously persona grata with all the fashionable hostesses and Syringa had heard a number of people speaking warmly of his charm and his accomplishments.

  ‘It’s foolish of me,’ she thought, now seeing him across the room, ‘but I don’t trust him! Why is he talking so intimately to Lady Elaine?’

  She had then a quite unaccountable feeling that the Earl might be in danger.

  Then Lady Elaine saw her in the doorway and held out her hand.

  “Syringa!” she exclaimed, “how delightful to see you! We were just talking about you.”

  “Talking about – me?” Syringa enquired.

  “Yes, indeed! Ninian was saying what a success you have been since you came to London and how many people have congratulated him on a new and charming member of the family.”

  “Yes, that is true,” Ninian Roth interposed. “I really feel as if we have adopted you. And, as you are an orphan, why should we not do so?”

  “I am quite content as I am,” Syringa replied, hoping it did not sound rude.

  “But, of course, you are!” Lady Elaine agreed. “We are only joking! But Ninian predicts a very exciting future for you, Syringa. I wonder who you will marry?”

  “I have no wish to marry anyone,” Syringa said quietly.

  “You must not tell that to the Dowager!” Lady Elaine exclaimed in mock dismay. “She is making such plans for you and already I am quite certain that she has in mind many eligible and influential parties.”

  “I think I will go and find her Ladyship,” Syringa said a little breathlessly.

  “No, no wait a moment!” Lady Elaine replied. “We were just going to tell you something so amusing, were we not, Ninian?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Ninian Roth smirked. “I am sure you would find it great fun.”