An Ideal Husband?

by Michelle Styles

  He let her go and stepped back. ‘Point proved … Sophie.’

  This time her name was anything but a caress. Her cheeks grew hot and she rubbed her aching lips furiously. ‘It proves nothing except you, like any self-respecting rake, know how to kiss.’

  He picked up his hat. ‘I will pick you up tonight.’

  ‘What is happening tonight?’ Sophie asked, her hand freezing in mid-air. The hard part of this engagement was not going to be pretending to be attracted to him, but keeping the attraction at bay. After insisting on the fake engagement, she could hardly back down now. When it was all over, she wanted to walk away with her head held high, knowing she had withstood the cynical seduction of a rake.

  ‘You and I will go to the Assembly Rooms tonight. You will demonstrate your waltzing skills to me. We want people to talk.’

  ‘Are we announcing the engagement?’

  ‘Not yet.’ He leant forwards and his breath caressed her cheek. ‘Everyone needs to see how besotted we are with each other. You can do besotted, Sophie, can’t you?’

  Chapter Four

  Sometimes it was better to know than not to know, Sophie decided as she fastened her earrings, the final detail in tonight’s dress. In the grand scheme of things she would have liked to ask Richard Crawford more about himself and to have set the precise boundaries for their relationship, but she didn’t have time.

  She glanced at her stepmother, who was already dressed in her evening finery and hovering behind her, making comments. ‘You will tell me what you know about Lord Bingfield from the scandal sheets.’

  ‘You should ask your intended about what the scandal sheets have printed over the years, if you want to know. If you had read them before now, you wouldn’t have to ask me. You must do the decent thing and wait for Lord Bingfield to tell you.’

  ‘Stepmother!’ Sophie turned on the stool and motioned for her maid to leave the room. ‘You may tell me what is bothering you.’

  ‘It is difficult to understand why you have kept your cards so close to your chest. How well do you know this Lord Bingfield? He does have a reputation for sweeping married women off their feet. There was that Russian countess with the dead husband and a duchess more recently. Possibly there have been more.’

  Sophie stood up and fluffed out the upper tier of her skirt. Married women. Women of experience. Not unmarried heiresses. He had not lied about that. He had his code. ‘It is what an engagement is for. A chance to get to know the gentleman in question. I have not married him … yet. If I decide we will not suit, then I have the chance of changing my mind. The item in the newspaper left me few alternatives, Stepmother. Once the gutter press get hold of you, they keep hold. You can remember what Robert said after The Incident.’

  ‘Sometimes I feel like you are keeping secrets from me. We used to share everything, Sophie, when I first married your father.’

  ‘You are the one keeping secrets now, Stepmother. You love gossip. Generally I have to block my ears. Tell me something about Lord Bingfield and his family, please. Help me to understand why the press are so interested in him.’

  Sophie waited as a variety of emotions warred on her stepmother’s face. If her stepmother would not supply the information, she would go to the Lit and the Phil and spend time looking at old papers to see if she could discover the scandal.

  ‘Very well, I shall tell you about his parents,’ her stepmother said when Sophie had given up hope. ‘Lord Bingfield’s parents were involved in a massive scandal about twenty years ago. The marchioness ran away with her lover and there was a huge crim. con. case. It was absolutely fascinating and a best seller. Of course they say the marquess never recovered from it. And the marchioness … well … she was never received in polite society again. When Lord Bingfield entered society, everyone was naturally curious, and he didn’t disappoint.’

  ‘It must have been awful for Lord Bingfield,’ Sophie said. ‘He was a child, the innocent victim of two people’s complicated lives.’

  ‘He certainly hasn’t been shy about courting scandal in his adult life,’ her stepmother remarked tartly. ‘He must have a list of mistresses as long as your arm. Women seem to forget the sense they were born with around him. There are things which have to come from the other person, my dear, rather than from reading a newspaper.’

  ‘You know the newspapers do print lies. Robert has told you enough times.’ Sophie tilted her chin upwards. Her stepmother’s revelations were proof enough that she needed to be cautious.

  ‘Sophie, are you sure you want to marry this man?’ her stepmother asked in a rush. ‘With Robert and Henri out of the country, I feel I must say something. Refuse to be rushed. You can have a long engagement. You don’t need a special licence, an ordinary one will do.’

  ‘I thought you always wanted me to marry by special licence.’

  ‘Only if the man is suitable for you.’ Her stepmother gave a long sigh. ‘I don’t know what is wrong with me. This morning when Lord Bingfield was here, I was transported with happiness for you, but I have spent all afternoon staring at Mr Ravel’s portrait and wondering—is this the sort of man your father would have approved of? Is being in the aristocracy worth your ultimate happiness?’

  Sophie concentrated on her bare hands, rather than looking at her stepmother’s face. Her stepmother only ever spent time talking to her father’s portrait when she felt overwhelmed. It was tempting to confide in her, but the arrangement would only make her more agitated. And could she trust her stepmother to keep it a secret? Her stepmother had the habit of gossiping with friends. It was far more important to catch Sir Vincent and destroy him. She’d confess later. Her stepmother would understand. Far better to beg forgiveness, than request permission in this case.

  Sophie glanced at her stepmother’s kindly face and swallowed. Or at least she hoped her stepmother would understand.

  ‘I know what I am doing. And it was in all the papers, Stepmother. You know what happened to the Neville girl. She was banned from court and that was fifteen years ago. Once the gutter press get hold of you, they do not let go.’

  ‘Do you know about his finances? Such men can be dreadfully let in the pockets. You remember Lord Cawburn. He tried to rush you and it was only through Henri’s intervention that your reputation emerged unscathed. Now, this business with the newspapers … Could he …? That is to say, Lord Bingfield has much to gain.’

  ‘Lord Bingfield is not trying to rush me. We are engaged because the gutter press demanded a robust response. There is little point in denying the rumour as Lord Bingfield was prepared to do the honourable thing. I refused to do anything irrevocable without a proper settlement.’ Sophie patted her stepmother’s hand.

  Everything would work out if her scheme was allowed to happen. There had to be a simple way of trapping Sir Vincent and then saying goodbye to Richard Crawford before she started liking him too much. They were allies only because they faced a common enemy, not because they shared a mutual understanding or finer feelings.

  ‘You have eased my mind.’ Her stepmother took her mother’s single pearl and undid the clasp before fastening it around Sophie’s neck. ‘I hope you are not doing this just to please me. All I have ever wanted for you is to be happy.’

  A tiny prickle of fear went through Sophie. What if they didn’t succeed in trapping Sir Vincent? She pushed it away. They had to win. ‘And if I can’t do that within society?’

  ‘Your father worked his entire life to ensure his daughter would be gentry. You won’t dishonour your father’s memory.’

  ‘Trust me, please. I am all grown up. I’ve survived three seasons since Lord Cawburn without incident.’

  ‘It is what makes this situation so strange. I don’t understand how you could have met a man such as Lord Bingfield without me knowing.’ Her stepmother stepped back. ‘There, pretty as a picture. I do wish your father had lived to see you triumphant and in love.’

  Sophie straightened her blouse. With her favourite pair of earring
s, and the cream ball gown with cascades of lace, she was armed for battle.

  Sir Vincent was not going to get away with his scheme and he wasn’t going to be allowed to wreck anyone else’s life. She simply had to figure out how to feed him information which would incriminate him before she did truly become besotted with Richard Crawford. She had to remember that above all things she had to keep her heart safe. Men who were not safe in carriages were best handled at arm’s length, rather than offering up her lips at the earliest opportunity. Boundaries were required and it was up to her to set them.

  She reached for her tortoise-shell fan and ignored the way her lips ached in memory of that kiss. Kissing complicated matters. They might be posing as an engaged couple, but it did not mean he had any finer feelings or regard for her. She was a means to an end.

  One last glance in the mirror told her everything she needed to know. The dress was passable, but she looked far too excited. And she was excited, excited about the possibility of beating Sir Vincent, rather than seeing Richard Crawford.

  ‘Shall we go? I feel capable of achieving great things tonight.’

  Richard drew in his breath as Sophie walked down the stairs. Tonight she was the perfect epitome of a redoubtable ice princess rather than a woman in distress. Her blonde hair was immaculate and the bodice of her ball dress skimmed the tops of her breasts. A single pearl nestled in the hollow of her throat. But for all her finery, he could see the nerves underneath—the slight hesitation on the last step, the pinched way she held her mouth and the way she clutched her gloves until her knuckles shone white. Sophie was less certain about tonight’s piece of playacting than she wanted to be.

  He had a great longing to throw her over his shoulder, and take her somewhere where he could protect her. But tonight was necessary for more than one reason. Not only would he demonstrate to Putney that seeking revenge on Sophie in this manner was doomed to failure, but he would also provide the perfect excuse for any visit to Newcastle. His father would understand the need to pursue an heiress far better than Richard’s need to be part of his mother and sister’s life.

  ‘You look exquisite,’ he said when Sophie reached the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘It is last Season’s dress and the sleeves didn’t alter as well I wanted them to, but I like the shape of the skirt too much.’

  ‘You sew your own clothes?’ Richard struggled to think of a woman of his acquaintance who would admit it. The last one was probably Mary. His mind moved firmly away from that memory. He was not going to start liking Sophie Ravel. He only became friends with women after he no longer desired them. To allow a woman into his heart and his whole life was to invite her to abandon him. It was not going to happen to him as it had happened to his father. He was the one who left first, before his heart became involved.

  ‘Only alterations. I want perfection and my stepmother ensured my accomplishments included both fine sewing and the making of clothes.’ Her smile lit the hallway. ‘One has to be practical. A dress can easily be made over into the latest fashion. I never want to disappoint.’

  ‘You won’t do that.’ He reached into the pocket of his evening coat. ‘But you are missing one thing.’

  She glanced down. ‘I believe I have everything. Slippers, reticule, fan and gloves.’

  ‘A ring.’

  Her cheeks flamed. ‘I … I hadn’t considered it necessary. Not for tonight.’

  His heart gave an odd wrench. It was ironic. Normally he was the one who put limits on his relationships with women, but this time it was Sophie. He’d seen the ring at the jewellers and knew it would be the one thing to give her confidence. ‘How else will people know we are engaged?’

  ‘A notice in the papers?’ Her laugh rang hollow.

  Richard held on to his temper. He wanted to murder the man who had made her so distrustful. She should try trusting him. He wanted to prove to her that he could solve their difficulty.

  ‘Hold out your finger and stop being awkward. It will remind you that you belong to me if you are tempted to waltz with any divine dancer. No flirting with any other man.’

  She held out her hand and he slipped on the ring, a pearl flanked by two sapphires. She twisted her hand back and forth. ‘It is very pretty and it fits. I never flirt, Lord Bingfield. It goes against my nature.’

  He allowed the remark to pass. He had seen a glimpse of the passionate woman underneath her frosty exterior and wanted to see her again. ‘I saw it in a jeweller’s window this afternoon and guessed your size. Sapphires for your eyes. It suits your hand.’

  ‘It is elegant rather than showy.’ Sophie tilted her chin upwards. ‘It is the sort of ring I would have chosen … if asked.’

  ‘I will remember for the future.’

  ‘You mean you don’t intend for her to have the family jewels?’ Mrs Ravel asked with a suspicious glance at the ring as she came to stand guard over Sophie. ‘I would have thought the fiancée of a viscount deserved something better.’

  Richard gave a quick glance at Sophie, who shrugged. She had obviously failed to confide in her stepmother about the false engagement as he’d expected her to do after he left. Intriguing.

  ‘Engagement rings have an unfortunate past in my family. With your stepdaughter, I thought it best to break with tradition.’ Richard made a bow. ‘Should Sophie wish it, she may of course exchange it for another.’

  ‘And the family jewels? I presume there are some. There again, the family jewels are always the first to go. Several women I know were palmed off with paste.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘You can always tell.’

  ‘Honestly, Stepmother! I explained that Lord Bingfield is not let in the pockets.’

  Richard controlled his temper. The pair had obviously dealt with a fortune hunter before. Could he be the one responsible for Sophie’s caution? A stab of jealousy went through him. He wished … Richard pushed the thought away. He never speculated on a woman’s past. Ever.

  ‘Kept in a vault at Hallington, awaiting the next marchioness. After we are married, the jewels can be reset to her taste. My father has always been clear on that.’

  ‘Admit it, Stepmother, you simply wanted to boast that I was wearing a family heirloom. Personally, I am pleased Richard has shown some restraint and taste.’ Sophie flashed a smile. ‘How perfect to be able to wear it tonight. I believe I shall keep my gloves on to start with. It will make the revelation of our engagement all that more sensational if the need arises.’

  ‘My thinking entirely.’ Richard’s shoulders relaxed as they shared a conspiratorial smile. Tonight was about laying the foundation of the trap for Putney and ensuring Sophie remembered whom she belonged to at the moment, rather than proclaiming the engagement to everyone. Patience was required. He could risk liking Sophie as he knew what the outcome would be. He could stop this before it went too far.

  ‘I’m pleased we are as one on this.’

  Her level blue eyes met his. ‘We are.’

  The Assembly Rooms blazed with light and sound when Sophie arrived with Richard and her stepmother.

  With each turn of the carriage wheel, the ring grew heavier on Sophie’s finger. It became harder and harder to keep up a light conversation. There were so many things she wanted to say to Richard about the necessity of boundaries, but her stepmother was there. And her stepmother was sure to pick up any attempt at subterfuge. Her head pained her and she wished she’d found an excuse not to attend, rather than trying for this pretence.

  ‘The first dance must be mine,’ Richard murmured as he handed her down from the carriage. The simple touch of his gloved hand on her elbow did nothing to calm her nerves. If anything, it heightened her awareness of him and the way her body reacted when he was near. ‘We must begin as we mean to go on. Besotted, Sophie, not looking like a death sentence hangs over your head. You were the one to suggest this. For it to succeed, people need to believe in the romance. We met and fell instantly and irrevocably in love. Right now you appear more ready for a funer
al.’

  ‘I thought you liked my dress,’ she said in dismay. Besotted indeed! There was no possibility of allowing her heart to rule her head. What she was feeling was attraction and desire towards a distinctly unsuitable man. She didn’t have to act on that attraction. This engagement was about saving her reputation, not destroying it for ever.

  ‘I do, but it is your expression I worry about and I was sure you would break your fan in the carriage. You clutched it far too tightly and you chose to sit as far away from me as possible, practically hugging the door.’

  Sophie pressed her lips together, hating that he had noticed her discomfort. She could hardly confess to being wary of him. It would only mean making it easier for him to seduce her. ‘It is difficult to fit two dresses in the same carriage.’

  He laughed. ‘If that is what you want to believe you may, but I prefer to trust my instincts.’

  Sophie forced her features to relax. Her stomach was in more knots than the first time she had attended a dance. It amazed her that Richard had noticed anything and had thought to ask. Her stepmother had sailed on, seemingly oblivious as her earlier misgivings proved groundless.

  There were so many pitfalls to this current plan. She wished she had actually thought it through thoroughly before she suggested it. But it was this or ruin. Or accepting his offer for real. She ruthlessly quashed that little voice.

  ‘We need to speak. Urgently,’ Sophie whispered back. ‘There is so much which is unsettled between us. Ways other people, particularly Sir Vincent, can expose us.’

  ‘It must be a waltz. Waltzing is more convenient for speaking than a polka.’

  She refused to consider how he knew such things. If they waltzed, she’d be in his arms, Sophie realised with a gulp. ‘I thought you never asked a woman twice. I refused you last night.’

  ‘Last night I asked. Tonight I am telling you. I trust you know the difference.’

  ‘A quadrille won’t do?’ she squeaked.