The Ton's Most Notorious Rake

‘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?’