The Ton's Most Notorious Rake

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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.’