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?
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
