She vowed to stay clear of men...

But can she resist the ton’s most notorious rake?

Alone in the dirt, her ankle in agony, the last person Molly Morgan wants to come to her rescue is the handsome yet infuriating Beau Russington. Molly does her utmost to avoid scandalous rakes like Russ, but his dangerous allure shakes up her quiet country life. The sparks between them could be explosive, if Molly only dare surrender...

“Mallory pens a lovely, sweet second-chance romance.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Duke’s Secret Heir

“Passionate, moving and a positive gem.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Lady for Lord Randall

SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire Moors. She has been writing for more than three decades—mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, including the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award for The Dangerous Lord Darrington and for Beneath the Major’s Scars.

Also by Sarah Mallory

The Scarlet Gown

Never Trust a Rebel

A Lady for Lord Randall

The Duke’s Secret Heir

Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance

The Infamous Arrandales miniseries

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Temptation of a Governess

Return of the Runaway

The Outcast’s Redemption

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Ton’s Most Notorious Rake

Sarah Mallory

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07348-6

THE TON’S MOST NOTORIOUS RAKE

© 2018 Sarah Mallory

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

For TGH,

as we stand on the edge of another great adventure.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter One

‘Molly! Molly!’

She held her breath, balanced in her leafy eyrie and peeping down at the path below her. Edwin would never think to look up into a tree. Her brother did not think girls could climb trees. He was four years older and at school now and he did not think girls could do anything. True, her skirts had been a hindrance in scrambling up into the branches and Mama would be sure to scold her when she saw the tear, and Papa might beat her for it, too, and make her learn another tract from the Scriptures, but it would be worth it. She would wait until her brother had passed beneath her, then jump down behind him. That would give him a scare.

‘Molly, where are you?’

‘Where the devil are you?’

The voice had changed. It was no longer Edwin and suddenly she was no longer six years old and hiding in a tree. She was in a dark place, bruised and bleeding, and waiting for the next blow.

‘Molly. Molly!’

It was a dream. Only a dream. She shook off the fear and panic, clinging to the fact that it was her brother’s voice dragging her from sleep. She opened her eyes, but remained still for a moment to gather her thoughts. She was safe here. It was the vicarage garden and she was lying on a rug beneath the shady branches of the beech tree.

‘So there you are, sleepyhead.’

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘I beg your pardon, Edwin. I came out here to do some sketching and I must have fallen asleep.’

‘Well, if you will go off at the crack of dawn to help out at Prospect House.’ He threw himself down beside her on the rug, grinning at her and looking far more like the errant elder brother she had grown up with than the sober Reverend Edwin Frayne, vicar of the parish. ‘There is no need for you to visit more than once a week, you know. Nancy and Fleur are very capable of running the place.’

‘But I like to help when I can and today is market day when they sell the surplus from the dairy and the kitchen garden. There is always so much for them to do to pack up the dog cart, deciding on a price for the eggs and butter, and—’

He threw up a hand, laughing. ‘Enough, enough, Molly. You do not need to convince me. You are a grown woman and may do as you please.’

‘I know they could cope without me,’ she conceded, smiling. ‘However, today will be the last of those early mornings. With the days growing shorter I shall go to the house on a Tuesday. We will prepare all we can in advance so that Fleur and the others have only to pack up the cart in the morning.’

‘If you must.’

She reached for his hand. ‘I like to do it, Edwin. I like to help. It makes me feel necessary.’

‘You are very necessary, my dear. You are necessary to my comfort, keeping house for me here.’

She took his hand and squeezed it, wanting to say how grateful she was that he had taken her in when she was so suddenly widowed, but the memories that stirred up brought an unwelcome lump to her throat and she did not wish to embarrass either of them with her tears, so she pinned on a bright smile and asked him where he had been.

‘I called upon our new neighbours at Newlands.’

‘Oh.’

Edwin spread his hands, ‘I could not ignore them, Molly, you must see that. And I admit I was pleasantly surprised. Sir Gerald is really most gentleman-like. He was most accommodating.’

‘One would expect him to be, to a man of the cloth.’ Molly bit her lip. ‘I beg your pardon, Edwin, I know one should never listen to gossip, but from everything I have heard, Sir Gerald Kilburn and his friends are everything I most despise...’

She tailed off and Edwin looked at her with some amusement.

‘You must learn not to attach too much importance to the gossip our sister writes to you. She has inherited our father’s abhorrence of anything frivolous. Sir Gerald and his guests all seemed very pleasant. He introduced me to his sister, too. Miss Kilburn is to keep house for him here. She has with her an elderly lady who is her companion. Their presence and that of other ladies suggests this is not a party of rakish bucks intent upon setting the neighbourhood by the ears.’

‘Not all of them, perhaps,’ said Molly darkly. ‘But Louisa wrote to warn me that one of the party is sure to be Sir Gerald’s oldest and closest friend, Charles Russington. Even you will have heard of his reputation, Edwin. Louisa says the gossip about the man is no exaggeration. He is the most attractive man imaginable and no lady in town is safe.’

‘If the fellow is so attractive, perhaps it is he who is not safe from the ladies.’

‘Edwin!’

‘I beg your pardon, I did not mean to be flippant, but I think you are making too much of this. Yes, I have certainly heard of Beau Russington, but I did not see him today.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘If the fellow is as rakish as they say, then perhaps he is coming into the country for a rest! No, no, do not rip up at me for that, my dear. Forgive me, but I think you are too quick to judge. It is our Christian duty to give these people the benefit of the doubt, at least until we are a little better acquainted with them. And we shall soon know what our neighbours think of the newcomers. Sir Gerald told me they plan to attend Friday’s assembly at the King’s Head. His party comprises five ladies, excluding the elderly companion, and six gentlemen, so just think how that will liven things up!’

Molly was still digesting this news when Edwin coughed.

‘I thought we might go this time. Just so that you might meet the Newlands party, you understand. Miss Agnes Kilburn is a quiet, well-mannered young lady, about your age, and your situations are quite similar. I think you might get on very well.’

Molly said nothing, but her doubts must have been plain in her face, for Edwin said earnestly, ‘I really should like you to meet her, my dear.’

She narrowed her eyes, a sudden smile tugging at her mouth. ‘Why, Edwin, I do believe you are blushing. Have you taken a liking to Miss Kilburn?’

‘No, no, of course not, we have only met the once.’ His ears had turned quite red, which only increased Molly’s suspicions. He said, ‘I am merely concerned that we do not appear unfriendly. And I thought you would prefer that to my inviting them here.’

‘There is that,’ she agreed. ‘Very well, we shall go. I admit my interest has been piqued. In meeting Miss Kilburn, at least.’

‘Molly.’ Edwin tried to look stern but failed miserably. ‘I will not have you making Miss Kilburn feel awkward.’

‘No, of course not,’ said Molly, her grey eyes twinkling. ‘I shall be the very soul of discretion!’

* * *

Molly decided that if she was going to attend the assembly then she would need some new gloves, since she had noticed at their last outing that her old ones were looking decidedly shabby. Thus, on the morning of the assembly, she sallied forth to the high street to make her purchases. Hebden’s was by far the most popular shop for the ladies of Compton Parva. The business had begun as a haberdasher, selling everything one might require for sewing such as ribbons, thread and needles, but as the number of families in the area increased, the business had expanded to include such necessary items as ladies’ bonnets, scarves, reticules, stockings and gloves. The shop was now run by Miss Hebden, who had inherited the business from her parents, and when she saw Molly, she came immediately to serve her.

‘Ah, Mrs Morgan, good day to you,’ she greeted Molly with her usual cheerful smile. ‘How may I help you today?’

‘I need a pair of white gloves, but I can wait, if you have other customers.’

‘No, no, those ladies are shopping together and Clara is looking after them very nicely. She does not need me always looking over her shoulder.’

‘She has settled in well, then?’

‘Oh, yes, indeed, very well. She is a quick learner and not afraid to ask if there’s something she don’t know.’ She turned slightly away from her assistant and lowered her voice. ‘I admit I was a little reluctant, when you first suggested I should take her on, but she’s a good girl, very polite, and the customers like her, which is important.’

Molly smiled. ‘I am very glad.’

‘Yes,’ Miss Hebden continued. ‘And she’s company, too. In fact, I have grown very fond of her.’ She hesitated, then said in a rush, ‘I think what you are doing at Prospect House is a very fine thing, Mrs Morgan, taking in those poor girls and giving them a second chance. What Clara has told me about her last employer, trying to take advantage of the poor maid and then turning her off without a character when she refused—well, it makes my blood boil, so it does. And him a gentleman, too, so she says. There’s some wicked folks in this world, Mrs Morgan, and that’s a fact.’ For a moment, Miss Hebden’s countenance was unusually solemn, then she gave herself a little shake and smiled. ‘But I mustn’t keep you talking all day, ma’am. It’s white gloves you want, isn’t it? Now, then, let me see... Yes, here we are. You are in luck, it is the very last pair. We’ve had quite a run on them this week and on ribbons, too. Everyone wants to look their best for tonight’s assembly, I shouldn’t wonder. I understand the new owner of Newlands intends to be there, with his friends, so everyone will be out to impress them.’

Molly stifled the urge to say that she did not wish to impress anyone. More customers came into the shop at that moment, so she paid for her gloves and left. She felt a little spurt of indignation that the arrival of a fashionable gentleman and his friends could arouse such interest in the town. Well, she for one would not give them another thought.

Alas for such hopes. Molly had not gone a hundred yards when she met up with Mrs Birch and Lady Currick, two highly respected matrons of Compton Parva. Since each of them had a daughter of marriageable age, Molly was not surprised when they told her they would be attending that evening’s assembly.

‘All of Compton Parva will be there,’ remarked Mrs Birch, nodding sagely. ‘Everyone is agog to see the new owner of Newlands. Have you met him yet, Mrs Morgan? No? Ah, then we have the advantage of you.’

‘Yes,’ averred Lady Currick, interrupting her friend. ‘Sir William lost no time in visiting Newlands and invited them all to join my little card party last night. Was there ever such a man! Not a word to me until it was too late. I asked him how he thought I would accommodate another eleven guests, which, of course, he could not answer. But somehow I managed to squeeze in another table and it passed off very pleasantly, did it not, Mrs Birch? What a pity you were not able to join us, Mrs Morgan, for you could then have met the whole party.’

‘I vow I was a little in awe of them to begin with,’ said Mrs Birch, ‘but I needn’t have worried, they were all so pleasant and obliging. Sir Gerald is a most engaging young man, very genial and even-tempered, despite his carrot-coloured hair! And wait until you see the ladies’ gowns, Mrs Morgan. London fashions, one can tell at a glance.’

Molly listened in good-humoured silence while the ladies went into raptures over the cut and quality of the various gowns and giggled like schoolgirls over the handsome gentlemen, saving an especial mention for Beau Russington.

‘Oh, now there is a handsome gentleman,’ said Lady Currick, sighing. ‘One can quite understand why ladies are constantly throwing themselves at him. He is so very tall and with such an air of fashion about him!’

‘And those eyes, ma’am.’ Mrs Birch sighed gustily. ‘So dark and intense, and that way he has of fixing his gaze upon one, as if you were the only person in the room. La, I think if I were not a happily married woman I might succumb to the beau myself!’

‘Indeed, I think you are right, my dear, I have always had a soft spot for a rake, even one as notorious as Beau Russington.’ Lady Currick gave another little giggle before becoming serious. ‘But with so many personable young men in town, and all of them renowned for being a little fast, we must be sure the girls are properly chaperoned. No more than two dances, if any one of these gentlemen should ask them to stand up.’

Molly stared at them. ‘You acknowledge the gentlemen to be libertines, yet you will allow your daughters to dance with them?’

‘Why, of course, my dear, it would be a great honour to stand up with a fashionable gentleman. And I have no worries that they might attract the gentlemen’s attention beyond the dance, for I think Mrs Birch will agree with me that our girls cannot hold a candle to the fine ladies staying at Newlands. But you will see for yourself, Mrs Morgan, if you are coming to the ball this evening.’

The ladies strolled off and Molly went on her way, wondering if it was too late to cry off from tonight’s assembly, but it was not really to be considered. She would be obliged to meet the Newlands party at some point, so it would be best to get it over.

* * *

It was with the feeling of one doing an onerous duty that Molly went upstairs to change later that evening. She had no intention of dancing at the assembly and she chose to wear her grey satin gown with a demitrain, but when she tried to add a lace cap to the ensemble, Edwin protested, saying it made her look like a dowd.

‘Nonsense, it is perfectly proper for a widow of my age.’

‘Anyone would think you were forty rather than four-and-twenty,’ retorted Edwin. He added, ‘Covering your head like that is the sort of thing Father would have approved. He was ever the puritan.’

That made her laugh. ‘That is certainly a strong inducement to me to remove it.’

‘Which is my intention, little sister! Now, go and take that thing off.’

Molly capitulated, realising that her brother was very much displeased, and ten minutes later, she presented herself in the drawing room again, her unruly dark curls almost tamed by a bandeau of white ribbon.

* * *

The public entrance to the King’s Head assembly rooms was at the top of a flight of stairs, leading up from the yard. When Molly and Edwin arrived, the Newlands party were about to go in, and Edwin would have hurried Molly up the stairs to meet them, but she hung back.

‘There can be no rush, Edwin, and I would like to take off my cloak and tidy myself first. Even that may take some time, though; I so rarely come to these dances that I can already see several of our acquaintances waiting to speak to me.’

‘Very well, go and talk to your friends, my dear, and I shall meet you in the ballroom.’

Molly happily sent him on his way and went off to the cloakroom to change into her dancing shoes. She tried not to dawdle, acknowledging her reluctance to meet Sir Gerald Kilburn and his guests. The presence of a party of fashionable gentlemen and ladies in Compton Parva was bound to cause a flutter and, while the young ladies present this evening had the advantage of their parents’ protection, her girls, as Molly called the inhabitants of Prospect House, were very vulnerable.

Molly had set up Prospect House as a refuge for young women who had lost their reputation and had nowhere to call home. Some were of humble birth, but many were young ladies who had been cast on to the streets and left with no means of supporting themselves. Molly provided them with food and shelter, and in return, her ‘girls’ helped out in the house and on the farm attached to it. Molly tried to find them suitable work and move them on, but she knew there would always be more destitute young women to take their place.

Molly had worked hard to overcome the doubts and prejudice of the townspeople, but she knew that such a house would attract the attention of rakes and libertines, who would see its inhabitants as fair game. Molly was afraid that some of her younger charges were still innocent and naive enough to succumb to the blandishments of a personable man and that could have catastrophic consequences, not only for the young woman, but also for the refuge itself. In the five years since she had set it up, Prospect House had become self-supporting, but its success relied upon the continuing goodwill of the local townspeople.

She was thus not inclined to look favourably upon the newcomers, and when she went into the ballroom and saw her brother chatting away in the friendliest style to a group of fashionably dressed strangers, she did not approach him. Surmising this must be the party from Newlands, Molly moved to a spot at the side of the room and took the opportunity to observe them.

Sir Gerald was soon identified, a stocky young man with a cheerful, open countenance and a shock of red hair. Molly guessed it was his sister standing beside him. The likeness between the two was very marked, although Agnes’s hair was more golden than red, and in repose, her countenance was more serious. Her glance quickly surveyed the rest of the party. She had no doubt the local ladies would be taking note of every detail of the gowns, from the uncommonly short sleeves of one lady’s blossom-coloured crape to the deep frill of Vandyke lace around the bottom of Miss Kilburn’s gossamer silk. By contrast, the gentlemen’s fashions appeared to be very much the same—dark coats with lighter small clothes and pale waistcoats—but Molly was obliged to admit that she was no expert on the finer points of male fashion.

There was one figure, however, who stood out from the rest of the gentlemen. It was not merely his height, but a certain flamboyance in his appearance. His improbably black hair was pomaded to a high gloss and brushed forward to frame his face with several artistic curls. His countenance was handsome, in a florid sort of way, with thick dark brows and lashes that Molly thought suspiciously dark. His lips, too, appeared unnaturally red, even from this distance. The points of his collar hid most of his cheeks and the folds of his cravat frothed around his neck. His black tailcoat was so broad across the back and nipped in at the waist that she suspected the shoulders were padded. He was gesticulating elaborately as he talked and the ladies around him appeared to be hanging on to his every word. Molly’s lip curled in scorn.

‘So that is Beau Russington.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

The startled voice at her shoulder made her look around. A tall gentleman in a plain blue coat was regarding her. She did not know him, but recalled seeing him talking to Mr Fetherpen, the bookseller, when she came in.

‘Oh, dear, I did not mean to speak aloud.’ She smiled an apology. ‘The gentleman over there, holding forth to the group standing before the mirror. He has been described to me as an—’ She stopped herself from saying an infamous rake. That would be most impolite, and for all she knew the man at her side might well be one of the Newlands party. ‘As a leader of fashion,’ she ended lamely. She saw the amused look on the stranger’s face and added quickly, ‘That is what the epithet beau denotes, does it not?’

‘It does indeed, ma’am.’ The stranger looked across the room. ‘You refer to the exquisite in the garish waistcoat, I presume?’

‘Yes.’

‘That fribble,’ he said, a note of contempt in his voice. ‘That painted fop.’

‘Yes,’ said Molly, glad to discover he shared her opinion.

‘That is not Beau Russington, madam. It is Sir Joseph Aikers.’

‘Not?’ She looked at the stranger in surprise.

He gave a slight bow. ‘I am Russington.’

‘You!’ Molly’s first impulse was to apologise profusely, but she held back. It was not her intention to pander to any man. Instead she gave a little gurgle of laughter. ‘I thought you were a book salesman.’ His brows shot up and she explained kindly, ‘I saw you talking with Mr Fetherpen, you see. And our assemblies are open to everyone, as long as they have a decent set of clothes.’

Had she gone too far? She saw the very slight twitch of his lips and was emboldened to look up at him. There was a dangerous glint in his dark brown eyes, but that thought was nothing to the danger she perceived as she studied him properly for the first time. He was tall, certainly, but well proportioned with broad shoulders and a powerful frame. His black hair was too long to be neat and curled thickly about his head and over his collar. In repose, she thought his lean face might look saturnine, but with that smile tugging at the corners of a mobile mouth and his dark eyes laughing at her beneath their black brows, a bolt of attraction shot through Molly and knocked the air from her body.

Quickly she turned away. Lady Currick had in no way exaggerated this notorious rake’s charms and Molly felt a stab of alarm. If she felt this way, what effect might he have on her girls?

‘A book salesman?’ he murmured, dashing hopes that he might have walked off. ‘I suppose I should be thankful I was not talking to the butcher.’

Another laugh bubbled up inside Molly, but she resolutely stifled it and with an incoherent murmur she hurried away.

* * *

Oh, heavens, was there ever anything so unfortunate? Molly moved quickly around the room, smiling but not stopping when Lady Currick beckoned to her. That lady would have seen Molly talking to Mr Russington, but Molly was not ready to discuss it. She would dearly like to go home, but that would only cause more speculation. Instead she made her way to Edwin’s side, bracing herself for the introductions she knew he would be eager to make.

Her nerves were still raw, but she achieved a creditable appearance of calm as her brother presented Sir Gerald and his friends to her. They were all genial enough, clearly willing to be pleased by the provincial company in which they found themselves. Even Sir Joseph, the painted fop, bowed over her hand and paid her a few fulsome compliments.

Molly made her responses like an automaton, her thoughts still distracted by her recent encounter with Mr Russington. However, she forced her chaotic mind to concentrate when Sir Gerald presented his sister. Agnes Kilburn was handsome rather than pretty, and during their short conversation, Molly gained the impression that she was an intelligent, thoughtful young woman. In any other circumstances, Molly would have been delighted to make her acquaintance, but she had no wish to give Sir Gerald and his friends any reason to spend more time than necessary in Compton Parva.

Suddenly Molly was aware of a tingling down her spine and she heard a deep, amused voice behind her.

‘Ah, Mr Frayne, will you not introduce us?’

‘I’d be delighted to do so! Molly, my dear, may I present Mr Russington to you? M’sister, sir. Mrs Morgan.’

Steeling herself, Molly turned, her smile pinned in place. She could not recall putting out her hand, but within moments he was bowing over her fingers. It was ridiculous to think she could feel the touch of his lips through her glove. That must surely be her fancy, but she did not imagine the little squeeze he gave her hand before releasing it.

‘Mrs Morgan and I, ah, encountered one another a little earlier.’

She thought angrily that he might expect her to apologise for her mistake, but when he lifted his head and looked at her there was nothing but amusement in his dark eyes. A faint smile curved his lips and she felt the full force of his charm wrap around her.

She could hear music, but it took her a moment to realise the sweet strains were the sounds of the musicians striking up for the first dance. She was vaguely aware of Edwin leading Agnes Kilburn on to the dance floor, but for the world she could not tear her gaze away from Beau Russington’s laughing eyes.

‘Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Mrs Morgan, or does that privilege fall to your husband?’

She felt dangerously off balance and his amusement ruffled her. It was as if he was aware of her agitation.

She said coldly, ‘I am a widow, sir. And I do not dance tonight.’ She moved towards the empty chairs at the side of the room. When he followed her, she said crossly, ‘Surely, Mr Russington, you should dance with some other lady. There are plenty without partners.’

‘Ah, but none to whom I have been introduced. Besides, the dance is now started. I shall have to wait for the next.’

When she sat down, he took a seat next to her. Could the man not take a hint?

‘Pray do not feel you need to remain with me,’ she told him. ‘I am sure there are many here who would prefer your company.’

‘I am sure there are,’ he agreed, not at all offended.

Her agitation disappeared, ousted by a desire to shake him from that maddening calm.

She said, ‘When I was a child, Mama had a house cat, a very superior being that had the unfortunate trait of always making for the visitor who liked him least. You are displaying a similar trait, Mr Russington.’

‘You liken me to a cat?’

Molly hid a smile. She murmured provocatively, ‘A tomcat, perhaps.’

* * *

A tomcat?

Russ glanced at the lady beside him. She was fanning herself as she watched the dancing and looking quite unconcerned. Did she realise what she had said, at the insult she had just uttered? Of course, she did. From their first exchanges he had had the impression that she was trying to annoy him. Well, perhaps not at first. Not until she had known his identity. He wished now he had not spoken, but when he had heard her speak his name and had seen her looking with such contempt at Aikers, he had not been able to help himself.

He remembered how she had turned to him, a smiling apology upon her lips and in her frank grey eyes. Then, when she realised who he was, the look had changed to one of unholy amusement and soon after that, sheer dislike. He was used to ladies fawning over him, or teasing him in an attempt to gain his attention. Never before had one been so openly hostile. A tomcat! He felt a momentary shock, until his sense of humour kicked in and he laughed.

‘I fear a longer acquaintance with you will do my self-esteem no good, madam!’

‘No good at all,’ she agreed affably.

She rose and, with a nod of dismissal, she left him. Russ watched her walk away, noting the proud tilt of her head, her straight back and the soft, seductive sway and shimmer of her skirts as she glided across the floor. Perhaps it was a ruse to pique his interest. Perhaps he might indulge the widow in a flirtation. After all she was pretty enough, although nothing like the ripe, luscious beauties that he favoured.

He decided against it. Compton Parva was a small town and she was the reverend’s sister. In his experience it was better to dally with dashing matrons who could be relied upon to enjoy a brief liaison without expecting anything more lasting, and then, when the time came to part, they would do so amicably and with never a second thought. No. Much better to leave well alone.

* * *

Edwin and Molly strolled home from the King’s Head once the dancing had ended. They had decided against using the carriage for such a short journey and the full moon and balmy summer night made it a pleasant walk, but for Molly the enjoyment was dimmed as she waited for the inevitable question from her brother.

‘Well, sister, what thought you of Miss Kilburn?’

Molly was cautious. ‘She appeared to be a very pleasant girl, although we did not have an opportunity to speak a great deal.’

‘You would have had more if you had not insisted upon spending all your time with the old ladies such as Lady Currick.’

‘Edwin!’

‘Well, you must admit, Molly, you are young enough to be her daughter.’

‘But I could hardly sit with the young ladies who were waiting for partners. It was embarrassing to watch them all making sheep’s eyes at the gentlemen.’

‘You might have stayed with the ladies from Newlands,’ he suggested mildly. ‘Then you might have had more opportunity to become acquainted with Miss Kilburn.’

‘Perhaps, but these things are never easy at a ball.’

Edwin patted her hand, where it rested on his sleeve. ‘Never mind. All is not lost, my dear, we have been invited to Newlands for dinner next Tuesday. I am going fishing with Sir Gerald during the day, but I will come home to fetch you for the evening.’

Molly’s heart sank, but before she could utter a word he continued, ‘I know you usually visit Prospect House on Tuesdays, but if you take the gig, you will be back in plenty of time to change. And you will have saved yourself a tiring walk.’

‘Well, that is the clincher!’ She laughed. ‘Especially since I tell you that I am never tired.’

‘There you are, then. It is settled, you will come!’

She heard the satisfaction in his voice and said nothing more. It was clear that Edwin wanted her there and, after all the help he had given her, how could she refuse?

Chapter Two

Molly had never visited Newlands and as Edwin’s carriage rattled along the drive she leaned forward to catch a first glimpse of the house. What she saw, glowing golden in the sunlight, was a rambling stone house in a mix of styles. Its previous, ageing owner had not used it for years, so she could understand the excitement that had erupted in the town when Sir Gerald bought the hunting lodge. The gossip had started several months earlier, when workmen had descended upon the property. Word soon spread that Sir Gerald was a bachelor of substantial means who was planning to bring a large party to the house at the end of the summer. Molly’s sister, Louisa, soon provided even more information, writing to inform her that Sir Gerald was a familiar figure in London and numbered amongst his acquaintances many of the fashionable rakes and Corinthians who flocked to the capital each Season.

Now those fashionable acquaintances were here, staying only a couple of miles from the town and far too close to Prospect House for Molly’s comfort. Beside her, she heard Edwin chuckle.

‘You look disappointed, Molly. Were you hoping Newlands would be so ugly and uncomfortable Sir Gerald and his friends would quit it within the month?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Do not fret, my dear,’ He patted her hands. ‘Sir Gerald has made it very clear he and his party are here for the sport. Why else would he have bought a hunting lodge?’

‘But if the area’s hunting, shooting and fishing do not live up to the party’s expectations, might not Sir Gerald and his louche friends look elsewhere for a little entertainment? And a house full of what they would consider to be “fallen women” is certain to attract their attention.’

‘Now you are being unreasonable,’ exclaimed Edwin. ‘You cannot deny that at last week’s assembly the gentlemen from Newlands behaved impeccably. You have no reason to think ill of them.’

‘I have Louisa’s letters,’ replied Molly darkly.

‘Louisa has nothing better to do with her time than pass on salacious gossip, for the most part untrue or exaggerated. Come, Molly, you are being unfair to Sir Gerald and his friends. When people are disparaging about the inhabitants of Prospect House, you tell them that one should not make hasty judgements, yet here you are doing just that.’ Edwin squeezed her fingers, pressing home his point. ‘I am sure our new neighbours will have no interest at all in Prospect House, and if they do...’ He spread his hands. ‘You cannot keep your charges locked away for the duration of Sir Gerald’s visit, my dear.’

‘I know that,’ she admitted, as the carriage pulled up before the house. ‘But even if the gentlemen have no designs upon them, I very much fear one or two of the girls might find the presence of such handsome and fashionable gentlemen in Compton Parva...distracting.’

‘My dear, if they are ever to make their way in the world again then they will have to learn to withstand the attractions of personable gentlemen.’

‘Of course.’ Molly clasped her hands together. ‘But you saw how the ladies at the assembly reacted. Such fashionable young bucks, with all the glamour of the town clinging to them, are particularly attractive to susceptible young women.’

Edwin laughed. ‘Do you really believe that, Molly?’

She thought of Beau Russington with his dark looks and careless charm and felt her stomach swoop.

‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘I really do.’

* * *

Sir Gerald and his friends were waiting for them in the drawing room. With the exception of Mrs Molyneux, Miss Kilburn’s aged companion, they had all been present at the assembly where introductions had been made. As greetings were exchanged, Molly took the opportunity to study the company. She had been reassured at the assembly to see that Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon were homely matrons, while Agnes Kilburn and the Misses Claydon had soon been at ease and mixing with the young ladies of the town. They were all very lively, but not at all the dashing sirens she had feared. This second meeting appeared to confirm her view, which was a relief, and she turned her attention to the gentlemen. Their host, Sir Gerald, was the most genial looking of them all, while Sir Joseph and Mr Flemington were the most flamboyant in their dress. But there could be no doubt they were all very fashionable—the cut of their clothes, the number of fobs and seals and the intricacies of their cravats had made them stand out at the recent assembly.

All except Beau Russington. She had been too agitated at their first encounter to appreciate why he was considered a leader of fashion, but here, in the elegant drawing room of Newlands, she had the opportunity to make a calm appraisal of the man. It did not take her long to realise that although he was not as showily dressed as his friends, his style was far superior. At least to her inexperienced eye. There was a simplicity to his dress, but nothing shabby in the superb cut of his clothes. Not a wrinkle marred the perfection of the dark evening coat stretched across his broad shoulders. It fitted him so well she wondered how many servants it had taken to ease him into it.

A plain white waistcoat was buttoned across his chest and she refused to allow her gaze to linger on the close-fitting breeches that sheathed narrow hips and powerful thighs. She quickly raised her eyes to take in the snowy neckcloth, intricately tied and with a single diamond winking from amongst the exquisite folds. The study of his cravat took her eyes to the countenance above it. A lean face, darkly handsome with a sensuous curve to the mouth. At that moment, as if aware of her scrutiny, the beau turned to look at her and her cool assessment came to an abrupt end.

Even from the other side of the room she felt the power of his gaze. Those dark, almost-black eyes skewered her to the spot and caused her pulse to race. Not only that, excitement flickered deep inside, like flames licking hungrily at dry tinder. She looked away quickly, shocked to realise that he had awoken sensations she had never wanted to feel again.

Sir Gerald was addressing her and she forced her mind to concentrate on his words. She exchanged pleasantries with his sister and then joined in a conversation with Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon while the gentlemen discussed the day’s shooting until dinner was announced.

Molly found herself seated at Sir Gerald’s right hand, with Sir Joseph Aikers beside her. Mr Russington, she was relieved to see, was sitting opposite her brother at the far end of the table. She did not think she would have enjoyed her meal half as much if the beau had been sitting beside her. Sir Joseph might be a fribble and a painted fop—as some people so cruelly described him—but Molly soon discovered he was exceedingly good-natured and assiduous of her comfort, ensuring her glass was filled and that she had her pick of the succulent dishes on offer.

The food was excellent and the conversation interesting. No awkward subjects were broached and Molly began to relax. These were cultured, educated people who knew how to set a guest at ease. Perhaps she had been magnifying the dangers they posed. Just as that thought occurred to her, Edwin laughed and she glanced down the table towards him. After his day of sport, her brother was clearly upon easy terms with the gentlemen. Mr Russington was looking her way and he caught and held her gaze. Molly’s heart began to race again. She felt trapped, like a wild animal, in thrall to a predator. With an effort, she dragged her eyes away, realising the danger was all too real. At least where one man was concerned.

Her appetite was quite gone and she was relieved when Miss Kilburn invited the ladies to withdraw. Molly intended to sit with Lady Claydon and Mrs Sykes, but when they reached the drawing room Miss Kilburn and the Misses Claydon were determined that she should perform for them.

‘Your brother was eager that we should hear you play upon the pianoforte, Mrs Morgan,’ explained Miss Claydon, opening the instrument and beckoning to Molly to sit down. ‘He told us you are most proficient and that you sing, too.’

‘Such praise,’ murmured Molly, vowing to give Edwin a trimming as soon as they were alone. ‘I am very much afraid I shall disappoint you.’

Harriet Claydon gave a trill of laughter. ‘I doubt that, ma’am. Judith and I are both hopeless, despite Mama insisting that we have the best of teachers.’

‘Sadly that is very true,’ agreed Lady Claydon, shaking her head. ‘We spent a fortune upon their education and they can neither of them do more than play a few simple pieces. Miss Kilburn, however, is very accomplished.’

Molly drew back in favour of her hostess, but Miss Kilburn was quick to decline.

She said shyly, ‘We should very much like to hear you play, Mrs Morgan.’

Molly took her place at the piano. Perhaps it would be as well to play now, before the gentlemen came in. She played a couple of short pieces and, when urged to sing, she rattled off a lively folk song, before concluding her performance with an Italian love song. Her audience were generous in their praise, but when she could not be persuaded to play more, Agnes Kilburn took her place and Molly retired to sit with the older ladies, relieved that she was no longer the focus of attention.

She hoped that might be the case for the rest of the evening, but it was not to be. When the gentlemen came in, the conversation turned towards Newlands.

‘Many of our friends were against my purchasing such an out-of-the-way place,’ said Sir Gerald cheerfully. ‘Including the beau here. Ain’t that right, Russ?’

‘I was.’ Mr Russington moved a little closer to the group. ‘After all, there are good places to hunt that are much closer to London.

‘Aye,’ declared Mr Flemington, coming up. ‘These provincial towns can be the very devil for entertainment. Not Compton Parva, you understand,’ he added hastily, with a bow towards Edwin and Molly. ‘The assembly at the King’s Head last week was as good as any I have attended outside London.’

‘Well, I do not regret my choice,’ declared their host. ‘It may be a long way north, but what is a few days’ travel, compared to the sport that is to be had here? No, I am delighted with my new hunting lodge and glad now that I did not allow myself to be dissuaded.’

Edwin laughed heartily. ‘Did you expect to find only savages in Knaresborough, Kilburn? I admit I had the same reaction from my friends and acquaintances when I accepted the living here. But I am very much at home, you know. And I vow it provides some of the best riding in the country.’

‘Yes, I grant you, if your taste is for rugged grandeur,’ put in Sir Joseph Aikers, waving one hand. ‘You cannot deny the weather here is less clement than the south. And the mud.’ He gave a comical grimace that made his companions laugh.

‘In the main we are very favourably impressed,’ declared Mrs Sykes. ‘It is true the journey was a trifle wearisome. But Kilburn has made the house very comfortable and the townspeople of Compton Parva are most welcoming.’

‘We are relieved to have Newlands occupied at last and not only for the enlargement of good society,’ Edwin told her with a smile. ‘It provides occupation for local people and business for our tradesmen. That must always be welcome.’

‘There is one thing that surprised me,’ remarked Lady Claydon. She hesitated and glanced towards the pianoforte, where her daughters and Miss Kilburn were engaged in singing together. ‘I had not expected to find a house here for females of a certain order.’

‘My wife means the magdalens,’ declared Lord Claydon. ‘I admit I was surprised when I heard of it—one usually associates Magdalene hospitals with the larger cities. But I suppose small towns have the same problems, what? It’s a way of keeping that sort of female off the streets.’

Molly stiffened, but Edwin caught her eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

‘You refer to Prospect House’ he said calmly. ‘It is a refuge for unfortunate women who have suffered at the hands of men. It is not a house of correction.’

‘However, it is a little disturbing to think there is a need for one in Compton Parva,’ remarked Mrs Sykes.

‘The sad fact is we need more of these places,’ said Edwin. ‘Since Prospect House opened its doors, it has always been full, taking in residents from far and wide.’

‘Ah,’ cried Mr Flemington, rolling his eyes, ‘So it is not that this area has more than its fair share of Lotharios.’ He cast a laughing glance around at the gentlemen standing beside him. ‘At least, not until now!’

There was much good-natured protest from his auditors and Mrs Sykes rapped his knuckles with her fan, telling him to behave himself.

‘This is no laughing matter,’ she said. ‘I would assure Mr Frayne that we are great supporters of the Magdalene houses. After all, someone has to help these poor women and show them the error of their ways.’

‘Error of their ways?’ Molly was unable to keep silent any longer. ‘None of the women in Prospect House are prostitutes, ma’am, although that might have been their only way to survive had they not been taken in. However, I admit it was set up on the precepts of the original Magdalene hospital,’ Molly added, ‘to provide a safe and happy retreat for women of all classes.’

Molly knew her words would bring the attention of the group upon her, but it could not be helped. She sat up very straight, holding her head high. A couple of the gentlemen had raised their eyeglasses to regard her and Beau Russington, too, was watching her, but Molly ignored them all.

‘Do you mean there is no attempt to reform them?’ asked Lady Claydon, her brows rising in surprise. ‘Is this not merely pandering to vice?’

‘The women at Prospect House are the victims of vice, ma’am, not perpetrators,’ Molly told her. ‘Some have been seduced, others come here to escape seduction or because their reputations have been ruined by men who sought to use them for their own ends. As for reform, they are taught suitable skills in order that they may support themselves.’

‘You appear to be very well informed about the business, Mrs Morgan,’ remarked Mr Russington.

‘I am,’ said Molly, tilting her chin a little higher. ‘I set up Prospect House.’

Her words brought a flutter of gasps and exclamations.

‘Oh, good heavens,’ murmured Mrs Sykes, fanning herself rapidly.

Molly kept her head up, prepared to meet any challenge, but she could see no condemnation or disapproval in the faces of those around her. Some of the gentlemen looked amused, the ladies merely surprised and then, to her relief, she heard Edwin’s cheerful voice.

‘Yes, and I am very proud of my sister. She purchased the property, provided a small annuity to fund it and then set up a committee of local people, knowing it was important to have the goodwill of the town if the house was to survive.’

‘Most commendable, I am sure.’ Lady Claydon responded faintly.

‘It is proving a great success,’ Edwin continued. ‘They have a small farm which provides most of their food and any surplus of eggs, butter and the like is sold at the weekly market.’

‘Quite an enterprise,’ declared Sir Gerald. ‘You must allow me to contribute to your fund, Mrs Morgan.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Molly smiled, warming to him, until in the next breath he suggested they should all visit Prospect House to see it for themselves.

‘I am afraid not,’ she said quickly. ‘With the exception of the doctor, they admit only women to the house. All deliveries and callers are directed to the old farmhouse.’

‘But a house full of women, that is quite a temptation.’ Mr Flemington sniggered. ‘To, ah, uninvited guests.’

‘We have seen to it that they are well protected,’ replied Molly. ‘Their manservant, Moses, is a fearsome fellow. A giant. He has orders to keep all unwelcome callers at bay.’

Her fierce stare swept over the gentlemen.

‘Well, well,’ declared Sir Gerald, breaking into the awkward silence. ‘Shall we have some dancing?’

The gentlemen jumped up with alacrity and began to move back the furniture from the centre of the room and roll up the carpet. Hoping to atone for making everyone feel uncomfortable, Molly immediately offered to play. This was robustly contested by Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon, who both expressed a willingness to perform this duty and persuaded Molly that as a guest she must take her turn on the dance floor.

‘Now, now, Mrs Morgan, I hope you are not going to say you do not dance tonight,’ said Lady Claydon, moving towards the pianoforte. ‘Lord Claydon does not dance, since his accident, and if I play for you all, everyone else has a partner. Is that not splendid?’

‘And as our guest, the honour of leading you out falls to me,’ declared Sir Gerald, coming up. He held out his hand. ‘Come along, let us show the others the way!’

Molly felt her heart sinking. She had not expected that there would be any impromptu dancing, but a very quick calculation told her there were just enough gentlemen and ladies to make six couples, if one excluded the pianist and Lord Claydon, with his bad leg. It would look odd, therefore, if she refused to dance, for that would leave only one gentleman without a partner. She had not even the excuse that she was not dressed for dancing, because her green muslin evening gown with its moderately flounced hem would not be any hindrance at all. She accompanied her host to the floor, pinning her smile in place.

Sir Gerald’s good humour was infectious and Molly’s smile became genuine. She loved to dance, although she did not indulge in the amusement very often, and she was soon lost in the music. She skipped and hopped and turned as the lively, noisy, country dance progressed. They began to change partners and Molly was moving from one gentleman to another and another, and by the time she was standing opposite Mr Russington her smile was wide and brilliant. As they joined hands and began to skip down the line she looked up into his face. He caught and held her eyes, a glinting amusement in his own, and in that moment everything changed. She could hear the piano, the other dancers clapping in time, but it was as if she and her partner were in a bubble, contained, connected. Her mind was filled with images of him pulling her close, holding her, kissing her, undressing her...

The familiar patterns of the dance saved her from humiliation. She danced like an automaton, moving on, smiling at her next partner, on and on until Sir Gerald claimed her once more and the dance was ending. She joined the others in applauding, but inside she was in a panic. Everyone was changing partners for the next dance. From the corner of her eye she saw Beau Russington looking at her. She could not dance with him. Would not! Quickly she grabbed Edwin’s hand.

‘Pray dance with me, brother. It is an age since we stood up together.’

‘Dance with you?’ Edwin sent a quick look over her head. ‘Oh, I was hoping to ask Miss Kilburn to stand up with me again.’

‘Please, Edwin.’ She hoped her tone was not too beseeching, but she clung to his hand, and after a moment, he capitulated.

For this dance she had only the smallest contact with the beau as the dancers wove in and out of one another. It was a mere touch of the fingers and this time she was prepared. As they crossed one another she was careful not to meet his eyes, but just his presence made her body tingle. Every part of her was aware of him, as if there was some connection between them, and it frightened her.

* * *

When the music ended Molly made her way to the piano, where Lady Claydon was leafing through the sheet music.

She said, ‘My lady, I know the music for “The Soldier’s Joy” by heart. I beg you will allow me to play.’

‘Oh, but surely you would prefer to dance, my dear. You so rarely have the opportunity.’

‘I think I sprained my ankle a little in the last dance, ma’am, and would prefer to rest it for a while, but that would leave a gentleman without a partner, and besides, my brother would fuss so if he knew of it.’

Lady Claydon was immediately full of sympathy. That made Molly feel a little guilty, but they exchanged places, Lady Claydon going off to join in the dancing, and Molly’s guilt eased a little when she saw how much the lady was enjoying herself.

* * *

She remained at the piano for two dances, then Miss Claydon suggested ‘Dancing Hearts’ and Molly was obliged to search through the sheet music. She had just found the piece when Beau Russington approached and that nervous flutter ran through her again.

‘Would you not prefer to dance, Mrs Morgan? I am sure one of the other ladies would play for us.’

Without looking at him she waved her hand towards the music. ‘No, no, I am quite content, thank you. I am not familiar with the steps of this dance.’

He leaned closer. ‘I could teach you.’

Her mouth dried as, inexplicably, her mind filled with images that had nothing to do with dancing. It was his voice, she decided. It was too low, too deliciously seductive.

‘No. I—that is, I turned my ankle in that first dance and prefer not to dance again this evening.’

‘Ah, I see. So you do not trust yourself to dance? I quite understand.’

His tone suggested he did not believe her and Molly felt guilty colour rushing to her cheeks. She busied herself with straightening the sheet music on the stand, trying to concentrate on the notes she would have to play, and after a moment he walked away.

‘Well, if he understands that I do not want to dance with him, then so much the better,’ she muttered, running her fingers over the keys. ‘And if he is offended enough to leave me alone then that is better still!’

She played two more dances, which were very well received, then Sir Gerald announced that refreshments awaited everyone in the dining room. There was a general move towards the door and as Molly got up from the piano, she found Beau Russington beside her.

‘Allow me to give you my arm, ma’am.’ When she drew back he added, ‘It is best you do not put too much weight upon your foot.’

‘My—oh. Oh. Yes.’

He offered his arm, and as her fingers went out he grasped them with his free hand and pulled them on to his sleeve.

‘I am perfectly capable of walking unaided,’ she told him, panicked by his firm grip.

‘But what of your ankle, Mrs Morgan?’

‘It is well rested now, thank you.’

‘I think you are afraid of me.’

‘And I think you are teasing me.’

‘Well, yes, I am. Your reluctance for my company is intriguing.’

‘It is not meant to be. A gentleman would be able to take the hint.’

He sucked in a breath. ‘Cutting. You do not consider me a gentleman, then?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said with deceptive sweetness. ‘I know you for a rake, sir.’

If she had hoped to offend him, she was disappointed.

‘Do you think you are being quite fair to me, madam?’

‘Oh, I think so. Your reputation, and that of your friends, precedes you. And it is not mere gossip, I assure you. The information comes on good authority and from more than one source.’

Molly felt exhilarated by the exchange. She could not recall speaking so freely to any man before.

‘The devil it does!’

She laughed and was immediately aware of the change in him. Through the fine woollen sleeve beneath her fingers she could feel the muscles tighten. And she suspected she had angered him. When he spoke his voice was soft, smooth as silk, cold as steel.

‘But all this is hearsay, madam—what do you really know of me?’ They had reached the hall and with practised ease he whisked her away from the crowd and into the shadowy space beneath the stairs. ‘Well, Mrs Morgan?’

He had turned her to face him, his hands resting on her shoulders, very lightly, but she found it impossible to move. Even in the shadows, his dark eyes glowed with devilish mischief. She had the strangest feeling that invisible bonds were wrapping around them, tightening, forcing her closer. She could feel him, smell him, a musky, spicy, lemony scent that she wanted to breathe in, to close her eyes and give in to the desire burning in her core. She fought it, curling her hands until the nails dug into her palms, using the pain to stop her from reaching out and pulling him towards her. To stop herself surrendering, as she had done once before to a man. A rake who had taken everything and left her to suffer the consequences. Desire was replaced by panic and she fought it down, struggling to keep the terror from her voice.

‘You go too far, sir. I beg you will let me go.’

His hands tightened. ‘Are you afraid I might kiss you?’

I am afraid I might not be able to resist!

‘You would not dare.’

* * *

Russ felt her tremble, saw the uncertainty in her eyes and knew she was weakening.

He murmured softly, ‘But you said yourself, madam, I am a rake and rakes are very daring.’

Her eyes widened, he saw the pink tip of her tongue flicker nervously across her lips and for a moment he was tempted to carry out his threat. To pull her close, capture that luscious mouth and kiss her into submission. Then he saw the apprehension in her gaze and something more, a fear that was not warranted by the threat of a mere kiss. She was terrified.

What the devil were you thinking of, Charles Russington? Are you such a cockscomb that you think no woman should be able to resist your charms?

He took his hands from her shoulders and stepped away. This was no way to treat a lady.

‘You are right,’ he said. ‘I beg your pardon for teasing you.’

The look of terror had lasted only a moment and it was now replaced by anger. She glared at him.

‘I would expect nothing else from a libertine.’ Her voice was shaking with fury as she put up her hands to straighten the little puff sleeves of her gown that had been flattened by his grip. ‘Your disgraceful behaviour proves that the reports I have heard about you do not lie. The sooner you and your...your friends remove from Compton Parva, the better!’

With a toss of her head she turned and hurried away. Russ watched her go, but he made no move to follow her back into the laughing, chattering throng that was slowly making its way into the dining room. He knew he had been wrong to tease her, but she had made him angry and he had forgotten himself. His lip curled in scorn. The great Beau Russington, famed for his sangfroid, his charming manners, had allowed his temper to get the better of him.

He raked his fingers through his hair. Damn the woman, she should not have this effect on him. Why, she was not even his type—too small and dark for one thing, and a sanctimonious reformer to boot. No, his original instinct had been right. Leave well alone!

* * *

Two days of rain followed the dinner at Newlands and Molly was relieved that the bad weather deterred visitors. She thought—hoped—no one had seen that brief interchange with Beau Russington, but had no wish to discuss the evening with anyone, not yet, when she was still so unsettled.

On Thursday she took the carriage to make her belated visit to Prospect House, thankful for the inclement weather. The house and its farm were situated on the opposite side of the valley to Newlands and she knew Sir Gerald and his guests rode out frequently beyond the bounds of the park, but it was much less likely that they would do so in bad weather.

Prospect House was a stone-built dwelling standing tall and square on the landscape. It had belonged to a gentleman farmer who had built himself this house in a style more fitted to his dignity and it now boasted large sash windows and a pedimented front door. The new dwelling had been built at a suitable distance from the old farmhouse and separated from it by the stables and a kitchen garden.

Prospect House was now home to ten women of various ages and stations in life. They tended the house and garden with the help of one manservant, who also looked after the farm. It had taken Molly years of hard work and determination to turn Prospect House into a successful and self-sufficient refuge, and as the carriage turned in through the gates she felt an immense pride in the achievement.

The door was opened to her by Moses, the only male servant, whose size and somewhat bovine countenance belied a sharp intelligence. He had worked at Prospect House all his life, and when Molly bought the property, she had kept him on, recognising that his knowledge of farming would be invaluable. This had engendered Moses with a fierce loyalty to his employer and made him protective of the house and its female residents. Molly greeted him cheerfully and made her way to the office at the back of the house. The pretty blonde poring over the accounts glanced up as the door opened and flew out of her chair to hug her.

‘Molly! I did not expect you to come here in all this rain.’

‘But as patron I must call at least once a week to see how you go on, although I was certainly not going to walk here.’ Molly laughed and returned the hug. ‘But, Fleur, I am interrupting you.’

‘Not a bit of it, I had just finished totting up the money we took at market yesterday and I am pleased to say we sold everything, which was a surprise, given the heavy rain.’

‘I am glad of it and only sorry I did not come over to help you—’

‘There is no need to apologise, Molly, we tell you time and again that we can manage.’ Fleur took her arm. ‘Come along into the drawing room, and we will take tea.’

Molly accompanied Fleur out of the office, reflecting that the happy young woman at her side was a far cry from the frightened girl she had taken in all those years ago. Fleur Dellafield was a childhood friend of Molly’s. She had grown up to be a beauty, but when her widowed mother had married again, life had become a nightmare. She had been thrown out of her home after thwarting her stepfather’s attempts to ravish her. Molly had found her, destitute and starving, and brought her to the newly opened Prospect House. She had settled in well and shown such an aptitude for organisation that Molly had been delighted to make her housekeeper. She had protested at the time that Fleur was too pretty to languish for long at Prospect House, but Fleur had been adamant.

‘I met plenty of gentlemen at my come-out in Bath,’ she had told Molly. ‘I found none of them more than passable, and after what happened with my step-papa, I have no wish to meet any more. No, Molly, I want only a comfortable home and to be needed.’

So Molly had installed Fleur as housekeeper and seen Prospect House flourish. Now, as they entered the drawing room and she saw the welcoming bowl of fresh flowers on the highly polished drum table, Fleur’s words came back to her.

‘I like to come here, Fleur,’ she told her friend. ‘I like to feel I am needed.’

‘Then do, please, call as often as you like, for there is always something to be done!’

Fleur tugged at the bell pull and a few moments later a maid in a snowy cap and apron entered. Molly smiled at her.

‘Good day to you, Daisy. How are you?’

‘Very well, ma’am. Thank you kindly.’ The maid dropped a curtsy, her cheerful face creasing into smiles. ‘Between Miss Fleur and Miss Nancy, I am learning how to run a household and to cook.’

‘And your son?’

‘Ah, Billy is doing very well, thank you, ma’am, although he don’t much like his lessons.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Twice this week I left him practising his letters and he escaped through the window.’

‘He does prefer to be working out of doors,’ remarked Fleur. ‘He is a great asset in the garden and Moses says he has an ability with animals.’

‘Perhaps we should let him help out on the farm more,’ suggested Molly. ‘Although I think it imperative that he learns to read and write, at least enough to get by.’

‘Then I shall tell him that if he works for an hour at his lessons every morning he may spend the rest of the day helping Moses,’ said Fleur. ‘Will that be acceptable to you, Daisy?’

‘Very kind of you, Miss Fleur, and more than we have a right to expect.’

‘Nonsense, you have worked very hard since you have been here and we would like to help you and Billy to find a home of your own. Now, perhaps you would be kind enough to fetch tea for Mrs Morgan and myself, if you please.’ Fleur waited until the door had closed behind the maid before sighing. ‘I wonder if we did the right thing, taking in Daisy Matthews and her son. We have none of us any experience of ten-year-old boys.’

‘But where else would they have gone? Daisy’s employer had thrown them on to the streets upon discovering that Billy was her natural child. And Edwin tells me the vicar who applied to us had tried to find them another home, with no success at all.’

‘It is such a cruel world,’ said Fleur, her kind face troubled, but then she brightened. ‘However, Daisy is quick to learn, and I am already looking about for a suitable position, although I fear Billy may not be able to go with her. However, if all else fails he can stay here and help Moses.’

‘A very sensible idea,’ agreed Molly, ‘but we can make no decisions until we have procured a position for Daisy. Which reminds me, I was in Hebden’s on Friday last and saw Clara at work. You will be pleased to learn that Miss Hebden is delighted with her, so I think we may write that down as another success. Now, you must tell me how everyone else goes on here.’

Molly listened carefully while Fleur made her report. It did not take long and they had finished their business by the time Daisy returned with the tea tray.

‘Which means we may now please ourselves what we talk of,’ declared Fleur, preparing tea for her guest. ‘And I very much want to know what you think of our new neighbour at Newlands.’ Molly did not reply immediately and Fleur shook her head at her. ‘You cannot think that we would remain in ignorance,’ she said, handing her friend a cup of tea. ‘Everyone at the market this week was talking of Sir Gerald and his friends. I would like to know your opinion.’

Molly made a cautious reply. ‘They are all extremely fashionable.’

‘They spend a great deal of time in London I believe,’ remarked Fleur. ‘Six men, I understand. Are all of them libertines, do you think?’

Molly was surprised into a laugh. ‘Good heavens, Fleur, that is very blunt. Why should you think that?’

‘Nancy told me.’

‘Ah, of course.’

Molly sipped her tea and considered the woman who was now cook at Prospect House. Nancy, or more correctly Lady Ann, was the youngest daughter of an eccentric and impoverished earl who had tried to force her into a marriage with a man old enough to be her grandfather. Molly should have remembered that she was still in contact with one of her sisters, a terrific gossip, who kept her well informed of the latest London scandals.

‘So, Molly, tell me what you think,’ Fleur prompted her.

‘Edwin thinks them all very gentlemen-like.’

‘But you, Molly. What do you think?’

With her friend’s anxious blue gaze upon her, Molly could not lie.

‘I suspect one or two of them might have a...a roving eye.’ She saw Fleur’s look of alarm and hurried on. ‘They know of Prospect House, of course, but there is no reason to think they will call here. I gave them to understand you were very well protected.’

‘That is all very well, but we cannot remain within the bounds of Prospect House for ever!’

‘No, indeed, and I see no need for you to do so, as long as you never go out unaccompanied. These are gentlemen, Fleur, they would not force their attentions upon an unwilling female.’

‘Would they not?’ Fleur gave a little shudder. ‘That has not been our experience.’

Molly was silent, remembering the loud voices, the blows, the pain. Fighting back the memories, she said quietly, ‘The horrors we experienced happened in private, at the hands of men with power over us.’

‘But Nancy says Sir Gerald and his friends are known for their wildness.’ Fleur turned an anguished gaze upon Molly. ‘We both grew up in one small market town in Hertfordshire and now live in just such another. You were married at eighteen and I have never been further afield than Bath. What do we really know of rakes and libertines and the fashionable world?’

Molly sighed. Fleur was right and it was useless to ask Edwin for advice. He insisted upon seeing the best in everyone. Unlike their father, she thought bitterly. He had only seen the worst in everyone, especially his youngest daughter. The truth, she suspected, was often somewhere in between. She put down her cup.

‘Come along,’ she said, rising. ‘Let us go and talk to Nancy. She knows far more about these things than we do.’

They made their way down to the kitchen where they found the earl’s daughter beside the kitchen table, sitting in a most unladylike pose with her feet up on a chair. Nancy was large, loud and brash, but she had a heart of gold and a surprising flair for cooking. She had explained to Molly that she had learned the skill from her father’s French chef, a tyrant with a soft spot for a child so ignored and unloved by her parents that she might disappear to the kitchens for days on end without question. Now Nancy ruled the kitchen at Prospect House and was something of a mother hen to all the residents. She greeted Molly and Fleur cheerfully and invited them to join her at the table.

‘I don’t suppose you want more tea,’ she said, swinging her feet to the floor and turning to face them.

‘No, thank you,’ said Fleur, disposing herself gracefully on a chair. ‘We have come to talk to you about the people at Newlands.’

‘More especially the gentlemen,’ added Molly, taking a seat beside Fleur. ‘My sister has already hinted that they were...er...gentlemen of fashion, and I understand yours has sent you similar information.’

‘Yes, only in far less mealy-mouthed terms,’ said Nancy, not mincing matters. ‘Sir Gerald Kilburn’s set are infamous in town. Young men with too much time and too much money and spend both on flirtations, affairs and outrageous wagers.’

‘Oh, heavens,’ murmured Fleur.

‘But Newlands is a hunting lodge,’ said Molly. ‘Sir Gerald told Edwin they are here for the sport.’

Nancy gave her a pitying look. ‘Sir Gerald’s party will be made up of rakes and Corinthians. They regard pursuing women as sport. But you have met them, Molly. What is your opinion?’

‘They all appeared very amiable. Two of the gentlemen are accompanied by their wives, and Lord and Lady Claydon have also brought their daughters. Miss Kilburn acts as hostess for her brother and she has brought a companion, to give her countenance.’

Nancy shrugged. ‘Perhaps we are misinformed, then. But rich, idle men are always a threat to women. Who else is in the party, what single gentlemen are there?’

‘Apart from Sir Gerald?’ Molly tried to sound unconcerned. ‘There is Mr Flemington, Sir Joseph Aikers and Mr Russington.’

‘Kilburn’s closest cronies,’ exclaimed Nancy. ‘I remember them all from when I was in town. Flemington and Aikers were notorious womanisers even then, at least my father would not countenance them making me an offer, but that may have been more to do with their station than their reputation. He was determined that I should marry an earl at the very least.’

‘And Mr Russington?’ asked Molly, tracing a crack in the table with her finger.

‘Ah, yes, the beau.’ Nancy rested her chin on one hand, a smile on her lips and a faraway look in her eyes. ‘He is more notorious than all the rest. I remember him very well. He and Kilburn are of an age, I believe. They must be, what, eight-and-twenty now.’

‘The same age as yourself,’ put in Fleur.

Nancy nodded. ‘They came to town after my come-out. My sister tells me Russington is a friend of Brummell, although unlike Mr Brummell, he is also a noted sportsman. A Corinthian rather than a dandy.’ She cast a mischievous glance across the table. ‘We danced once, at Almack’s, you know, I remember it because he is taller than I! And so handsome. All the ladies were in love with him, but he soon earned a reputation for being dangerous, because any woman who threw her cap at him was likely to be indulged in a wild flirtation. Wise mamas keep their daughters out of his way now, but it may be that Kilburn has Russington in mind for his sister. I believe he is exceedingly wealthy.’

Fleur shuddered. ‘He sounds exceedingly dangerous, if he is so very attractive. What did you think of him, Molly?’

‘I?’ Molly gave a little laugh, playing for time. ‘I had very little to do with him.’

‘Was he one of those gentlemen you said had a roving eye?’

She did not know how to answer Fleur’s question. She had not noticed the beau’s dark eyes on anyone but herself and then with devastating effect. Just the thought of it sent a shiver along her spine.

‘I am not sure the beau needs one,’ said Nancy, meditatively. ‘From what my sister says he does not need to look about him. Women fall over themselves to gain his attention.’

Molly gave a little huff of despair. ‘Oh, how I wish Sir Gerald had never come to Newlands!’

‘Too late for that now,’ said Nancy, ‘they are here and we must deal with it. We must make sure the others are aware of the dangers.’ She began to list the girls on her fingers. ‘Daisy is hopefully too old to attract the attention of these gentlemen. She has Billy to look out for, too, which should make her wary. Elizabeth and Bridget are young and pretty, but as the daughters of gentlemen they already know what a dangerous combination that is and will be anxious to avoid repeating the mistakes that led to their being cast out of their homes. Marjorie is near her time now and her condition should make her safe from any unwelcome advances. That only leaves the two housemaids. They are still young and silly enough for anything. I shall keep an eye on them and make sure they do not step outside without Moses or one of us to accompany them. I shall also ask Moses to inspect that all the doors and windows are fastened at night.’

‘Perhaps we should get a dog.’ Fleur suggested.

‘That is a good idea.’ Nancy agreed. ‘I shall tell Moses we must have a guard dog, although knowing his soft heart he is likely to bring back the first mongrel he sees that needs a home. In the meantime we must all be vigilant to keep the girls safe from predatory men.’ She sat up straight, folding her arms across her ample bosom. ‘As for you, Fleur, you must always take one of the girls with you when you go to market, for with your golden hair and blue eyes, you are quite the prettiest of us all and the most likely to attract the attentions of a rake, especially such a noted connoisseur of women as Beau Russington.’

Molly was aware of a little stab of something that felt very much like jealousy and quickly pushed it aside. She did not want the beau’s attentions, so why should she be jealous? It made no sense at all.

‘You flatter me, Nancy,’ said Fleur, blushing. ‘And I really do not wish to attract any man’s attention, or unwelcome advances.’

‘They will not harm you, Fleur,’ said Molly, catching her friend’s hand. She frowned and added grimly, ‘I shall not allow them to harm anyone here.’

Chapter Three

Despite her brave words, Molly came away from Prospect House knowing there was very little she could do to protect its residents. It was unlikely that any of the gentlemen would actually come to the house, but it was very possible they would see the girls when they went into town to fetch supplies or to sell produce on market day. However, when she mentioned her worries to Edwin, he was sanguine.

‘I believe your charges have little to fear from the gentlemen at Newlands,’ he told her. ‘There is enough sport to be had to keep them hunting, shooting or fishing for weeks, and apart from the assemblies there is little to bring them into Compton Parva. Why, it is quite possible they will never set eyes upon your girls, as you call them!’

With that Molly had to be satisfied. Since Edwin had no wife to help him, she took it upon herself to visit the sick and distribute clothes and food to the poor of the parish. This, combined with her role on various committees, including that of Prospect House, kept her busy most days and she was able to put her worries about the Newlands party out of her head until the following Sunday.

* * *

When she accompanied Edwin to the morning service at All Souls, Sir Gerald and some of his guests were already occupying the box pew allocated to Newlands. She spotted Mr Russington’s tall figure immediately, but Sir Joseph and Mr Flemington were absent.

The residents of Prospect House were amongst the last to arrive. They were all most soberly dressed, with the ladies heavily veiled, and they were accompanied by Moses and little Billy Matthews, scrubbed and dressed in his best coat. The whole party slipped into their usual seats at the back of the church and, although they quickly settled down for the service, Molly found it difficult to concentrate. She rebuked herself for her inattention and told herself there was no reason at all why Sir Gerald or his friends should have occasion to look back at Fleur and her companions, but she did not relax until the service was over and the Newlands party had gone out without sparing a glance for the rest of the congregation. She hovered at the church door and watched them exchange a few words with Edwin and only when they had climbed into their carriages and driven away did she turn her attention to her friends.

‘Everything is well at the house,’ Nancy told her, in answer to Molly’s anxious enquiry. ‘We have had no unwelcome visitors and Moses has found us a guard dog.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘He brought home the prettiest little terrier! Not a mastiff, I know, but he has a good bark, which is what we need, and Moses tells me he will be useful for keeping down the rats in the barn.’

Molly laughed. ‘He sounds perfect.’

‘Why not come back with us and you can see him for yourself?’

‘I would love to do so, but I am helping with the Sunday school today, and tomorrow I have promised to call on Mrs Calder at Raikes Farm. Edwin tells me she has not been well and asked me to visit her. No matter, I shall see this new addition on Tuesday, when I come over to help you prepare everything for the market. If the weather is as fine as today, I shall walk.’

‘And you will bring your maid?’

‘Of course. I intend that Cissy shall go everywhere with me from now on, whenever her other duties allow. Having recommended that you must all be circumspect, I must lead by example!’

* * *

Alas for such good intentions. On Monday, when Molly went below stairs to collect the basket of food for Raikes Farm, she found that the upper housemaid, who also acted as her dresser, was in tears, having received word that her mother was very ill.

‘Then you must go to her immediately,’ Molly decided, quickly revising her plans. ‘Gibson shall take you in the gig. He is waiting for me at the door now.’

‘Ah, no, ma’am, I couldn’t possibly,’ sniffed Cissy, mopping her eyes with her apron. ‘You and the master is too good to me already, taking me in, and me without a reputation—’

‘Nonsense,’ said Molly briskly, handing Cissy her own handkerchief and shepherding her up the stairs. ‘Reverend Frayne and I know very well that you were too young to be blamed for what happened to you. But I hope you know better now than to walk out into the gloaming alone with a young man.’

‘Aye, I do, ma’am, and it won’t ever happen again, I promise you. I am much wiser now.’ She managed a watery smile. ‘And the baby is doing very well.’

‘You have no regrets about sending him to live with your sister and her family?’

‘Oh, no, because I wants to become a lady’s maid and I can’t do that if I have my baby with me, so I was very happy when my sister offered to have him. No, he is very happy where he is. They quite dotes on him.’

‘I am very glad of it,’ said Molly, ‘and you are proving to be a very good dresser, Cissy. As soon as we can find another housemaid to take your place, I shall promote you to my personal maid.’

She cut short Cissy’s effusive thanks and instructed her to run up and fetch her cloak. ‘I will tell Gibson there is a change of plans and he is to take you to your mother. And you must remain with her at least until tomorrow. Promise me.’

‘Very well, miss, if you say so, but what will you do about delivering your basket?’

‘Mr Frayne shall drive me to Raikes Farm in the carriage.’

Having seen the maid off, Molly went in search of her brother, only for him to tell her that he had made other arrangements.

‘My old college professor is on his way to Ripon and is breaking his journey at Compton Magna tonight,’ he said. ‘He has invited me to join him at the White Hart for dinner.’

His face clouded when she explained she had sent her maid off in the gig and he immediately suggested he could cancel his engagement, but Molly stopped him.

‘No, indeed you must not do that,’ she said, smiling. ‘You will be passing the turning to Raikes Farm on your way, so if you set off a little earlier you can drop me off there. Now, please do not argue, Edwin. It promises to be a fine afternoon for me to walk back. I do not intend to stay above an hour and it is barely two miles from here cross-country, so I shall be back in good time for dinner.’

The arrangements having been agreed, Molly collected her basket and set off with her brother in the carriage. The inclement weather had not let up for the past week, but at last the skies had lifted and although the sun only showed through intermittently, there was every promise of a fine afternoon and evening.

Molly’s visit to Raikes Farm was much appreciated. Mrs Calder was the wife of a hard-working farmer and the young family had been struggling to cope while their mother was ill. They fell with delight upon the basket of food, with its bread and pies and cakes. Molly soon ascertained that Mrs Calder was on the mend and after spending an hour talking to them all, she set off to follow the footpath back to Compton Parva.

The sun was peeping in and out of the clouds, but there had been so much rain over the past week that the footpaths were thick with mud. Molly did not mind. She had taken the precaution of wearing serviceable boots and she would be able to change as soon as she reached the vicarage, so she strode away from the farm, determined to enjoy her walk.

The highway to Compton Parva followed a circuitous route, but the footpath was much more direct, ascending between enclosed pastures until it joined the stony cart track running along the ridge. A solidly built drystone wall ran along one side of the track and separated the farmland from the moors that stretched upwards to the skyline. To avoid the thick, glutinous mud that covered large sections of the lane which had not yet dried out, she walked along a narrow grassy strip at the side.

The view from here was unrivalled. Looking across the valley and the road that ran through Compton Parva, she could see the lane leading to Prospect House, while directly ahead was the dark green mass of Newlands’s Home Wood. At this distance she would see immediately if anyone was riding out from the Park, but all was quiet and she knew she would shortly be cutting back down towards the town, so she had little fear of meeting anyone while she was alone and unprotected. She gave a little sigh. Before Sir Gerald and his rakish friends had appeared, she had never worried about walking unaccompanied in the town or in the surrounding countryside. Now she was aware of the constant danger.

As if summoned by her thoughts, her eye caught a movement on the lane ahead of her. Someone was approaching from the opposite direction. The gentle curve of the lane meant she could not see the figure clearly above the walls, but she could make out it was a man, carrying a long staff. Most likely a farmer, checking his stock. A shepherd, perhaps, looking for a stray sheep.

Distracted by trying to peer into the distance, Molly missed her footing. Her boot slipped off the uneven grassy bank, and she lost her balance. Her left foot flew forward, but landed awkwardly amongst the stones of the rutted lane and she gasped as the impact jarred her ankle. The next moment she found herself measuring her length along the ground.

Bruised and shaken, Molly pushed herself up, feeling very cross. Her skirts and spencer were filthy and she suspected that her face, too, had not escaped the mud. As she tried to stand a sharp pain shot through her ankle and she fell back. She took a couple of moments to compose herself, then struggled to her feet, but one tentative step was enough to tell her that the pain was too severe for her to walk unaided.

She hobbled to the wall and leaned against it, considering what she should do. The farmer, or shepherd, had by this time reached the junction and turned to follow the footpath down to the road in the valley bottom. A glance each way along the cart track showed her that it was deserted. She might sit there all day in the hope of someone driving past. Molly bit her lip, knowing she had no choice but to shout out and ask the only other person within sight for help.

She called, then called again. The man stopped and she waved to attract his attention. He started back up the path, but it was only as he turned into the lane that Molly realised he was no farmer, despite the long staff he held. As he strode along the lane towards her she could see the embroidered waistcoat and the tight-fitting buckskin breeches he wore beneath his country jacket and his mud-spattered top boots had the cut and fit only obtained from a first-class bootmaker. With a sinking heart she raised her eyes and looked into the lean, handsome face of Beau Russington.

* * *

It took Russ a few moments to recognise the bedraggled figure leaning against the wall and he was aware of a most reprehensible feeling of satisfaction. So the widow who had so plainly shown her dislike of him, who had been so contemptuous, now needed his help.

‘Mrs Morgan.’ He touched his hat, all politeness. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

Her cheeks were flushed with a mixture of annoyance and chagrin.

‘I think I have sprained my ankle.’

‘Indeed?’ He could not help it, his lips twitched. ‘Possibly fate is paying you back for your using the excuse the other night. I should be flattered that you were prepared to go to such lengths to avoid dancing with me.’

She bit her lip and glared at him, but he noticed she did not deny it.

She said icily, ‘I thought, perhaps, if you would lend me your staff, I could manage to walk home.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He rested the staff against the wall and came closer.

‘Wh-what are you going to do?’ She shrank back, putting her hand out as if to hold him off.

‘I am going to carry you.’

‘B-but you can’t.’ She looked horrified.

‘Oh, I think I can. You do not look to be too heavy.’

‘But I am covered in mud. Your clothes—’

‘The mud will certainly test my valet’s skills,’ he agreed, scooping her up into his arms. ‘However, we must risk that.’

‘And it is too far,’ she protested.

‘Flack is waiting with my curricle at the bottom of the lane.’

‘What about your staff?’ she objected as he began to walk.

‘I will send someone back to collect it later.’ He settled her more comfortably in his arms and set off towards the footpath. They had only gone a few yards when he stopped and looked down at her. ‘I think you will be more comfortable if you allow yourself to lean against me,’ he said. ‘And you might want to put your arm about my neck to support yourself.’

Her cheeks flamed, but one dainty hand crept around his collar.

He grinned. ‘That’s better.’

She did not reply, neither did she look at him, but Russ did not mind. He was enjoying himself, bringing the haughty widow down a peg or two. That might be an ignoble and unchivalrous sentiment but it was damned satisfying. After all, he was only human.

* * *

The curricle was soon in sight and Flack showed no surprise when Russ came up with a woman in his arms, merely watching in wooden-faced silence as Russ deposited his burden on the curricle seat. She winced as her foot touched the boards and he frowned.

‘We had best ascertain the damage to your ankle. May I?’

She did not protest, but pulled her skirts aside to reveal her footwear. As Russ untied the laces, he reflected wryly that he was more in the habit of removing satin slippers than serviceable half-boots, but such thoughts disappeared when he looked at her ankle.

‘I do not think you have broken any bones, but it is already swelling,’ he muttered. ‘We must get some ice upon that as soon as we can.’

* * *

Molly was beginning to feel a little faint, and she clung on to the side of the curricle as the beau jumped up beside her and they set off at a smart pace along the road, the groom swinging himself up into the rumble seat as the vehicle shot past him. Her ankle was throbbing most painfully and she was content to sit quietly as the curricle bowled along, but when it slowed and turned off the main road she sat up, saying urgently, ‘This is not the way to Compton Parva.’

‘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 to 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.’

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