An Ideal Husband?

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Not for a prolonged conversation.’ A faint dimple shone in the corner of his mouth. ‘There is always bound to be a quiet card room where we will not be disturbed.’

  She didn’t want to think about going to a card room with him. She could remember all too clearly what had happened when she went into that deserted card room with Sebastian. Never again would she be like that!

  ‘I have had enough of card rooms, thank you. In any case my stepmother will think it odd if we simply disappear at the first opportunity. She knows about the promises I gave my guardian years ago and how I have endeavoured to keep those promises.’

  ‘A waltz or the card room, Sophie.’

  ‘The first waltz, it is. I believe it will go a long way towards the besotted impression.’

  His entire being stiffened and didn’t appear to hear her last teasing remark.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked, peering at the young lady and stylishly dressed older woman who seemed to have caught Crawford’s eye. The young lady was beautiful in that dark sort of way that Sophie knew she could never be. There was a faint exoticism about her features. The older woman was clearly her mother.

  He shook his head and cupped his hand under her elbow, definitely turning her away from the pair. Her body reverberated from the touch. ‘It was simply someone I thought I recognised. A mistake.’

  ‘Another one of your conquests?’ She laughed and tried to concentrate on the poster advertising the visit of Charles Dickens that coming August. She should have expected it, but it still hurt. Once a rake, always a rake. She had no right to expect anything from him. This entire engagement was spun-sugar pretence and artifice, rather than truly solid and secure love. ‘I don’t mind. There is no finer feeling between us. Indeed, I have no interest in you beyond securing my reputation.’

  Her heart thudded that it was a lie. She was certainly aware of him. And he had been perceptive enough to realise that she was nervous. She simply didn’t want to start liking him. There had to be reasons to keep her heart safe. Soon enough, he would revert to type. She had to keep remembering that he was the worst sort of rake, the sort of man whom the gutter press loved. It was only because he wanted to conduct a private war against Sir Vincent that her reputation stood any chance of survival. He had not done this because he cared about her or her prospects.

  ‘Most definitely not one of my conquests. Nor ever likely to be.’ The light in his eyes flared gold. ‘And, Sophie, when we are together, I will not look at any other woman. I promise. It is not the way I was made or brought up.’

  ‘It can happen.’

  ‘And it causes tremendous heartache for other people.’ He stared down at her. ‘I have witnessed the consequences firsthand. Many times. And I have never knowingly caused a woman to break her vows, but it has always been a matter for her, rather than for me.’

  Sophie swallowed hard. She could hardly confess she had asked her stepmother about the scandals he had been involved in. ‘But you do know the women.’

  ‘After a fashion.’ His brows knitted. ‘I had not expected them to be here tonight. It changes nothing. Until our association ends, I am yours.’

  ‘Once the first waltz starts, you can come and find me if you wish to speak to them now,’ Sophie said brightly, forcing her mind away from the way her heart wanted to believe his words. Underneath he would be the same as any other rake—selfish and solely concerned with his own pleasure. ‘There is no need to introduce me. There are a number of other people I need to speak to.’

  Sophie silently prayed the waltz would be soon. Otherwise it was going to be torture waiting to speak to him and hoping that they had their story correct. But staying close to him was another sort of torture, undermining her resolve to keep aloof from his seductive technique.

  A smile transformed his features. ‘Our luck appears to be holding. I believe I can hear the first strains now. There is no need to greet distant acquaintances.’

  She allowed him to lead her into the middle of the dance floor. While some of the other rooms had gas lighting, the main ballroom still had its magnificent chandelier lighting system.

  He placed his hand on her waist, holding her a bit more tightly than strictly necessary. She pointedly twisted her waist to gain a little space.

  ‘I have been civilised, Miss Ravel. You will come to no harm.’

  ‘Everyone is watching us.’ She swallowed hard and attempted to ignore the fluttering in her stomach.

  ‘Everyone will have read the papers. They want to see what happens. Abject devotion.’

  ‘From you or me?’ Sophie gave a pointed smile. She was on firmer ground here. ‘Abject devotion fails to agree with me, Lord Bingfield. Never has done and I have no plans to start. Remember, I am redoubtable.’

  ‘I never believe anything I read in the press.’

  ‘You should believe that. I have spent years ensuring I do not have pointless flirtations.’

  ‘What a pity.’ He clasped his hand over hers. ‘I shall take comfort in the fact that you are far from indifferent to me. Your body must remember what happened the last time I held you in my arms.’

  Sophie ground her teeth. ‘A gentleman would refrain from mentioning that kiss.’

  ‘It was utterly delightful.’ He gave an unrepentant smile. ‘That is better. Your cheeks have colour. Far better for giving the impression of being besotted.’

  Besotted indeed! The one thing this engagement was not going to become was a way for him to seduce her. She knew the boundaries. The kiss would not be repeated. She refused to slip slowly but inexorably along that path again towards an illicit room in a rundown inn.

  She cleared her throat. ‘The dance has begun.’

  He began to move and she discovered that he was an expert dancer. She had danced with some very good dancers before, but Richard moved differently. It was more like floating on a cloud or having her body move as one with his. It would be easy to forget everything and simply enjoy the sensation of being in his arms.

  ‘We need to come up with a story,’ she said and ignored how his hand had moved to fit her waist far more snugly. ‘Something to test Sir Vincent.’

  ‘I doubt that will be necessary.’

  ‘We need to prove that he is our mutual enemy.’

  ‘Proving is nothing. What we need to do is ensure that he will not continue with his scheme. And he needs to learn that he should not try that sort of behaviour with anyone else.’

  ‘I take it you have a plan.’

  ‘I promised to protect you.’ His hand moved around to her back. ‘Trust me to do so and not abandon you to the winds of fate. You are far from alone, Miss Ravel. Relax and enjoy the dance. Look me in the eyes as if you never want to look anywhere else.’

  ‘And if someone asks how we met? I can hardly tell them the truth.’

  He missed his step, but recovered. ‘I had not considered it. Have you been away from Newcastle recently?’

  ‘Carlisle,’ Sophie answered with a faint smile. ‘I trust you know where that is.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I meant somewhere in the south.’

  ‘We went to Liverpool in late March as a new design of tea clipper was being launched and I wanted to see the hull. I know everyone says that steam will replace the sail, but there is something so glorious about the way the sails fill.’

  ‘I shall take your word for it. I had never considered the design of a hull before. All I want to know is that a ship will get me from one port to another, safely, if I am forced to take it.’

  ‘Much of my fortune comes from shipbuilding, Lord Bingfield.’ Sophie breathed easier. Speaking of shipbuilding kept her mind from the way he moved or the shape of his lips. Feigning being besotted was one thing, actually being so was another problem altogether. ‘I was brought up to have a keen interest. The board of directors may run the day-to-day business, but it is the lifeblood which brings all the good things in my life. It is important not to take such things for granted, but to understand
and to be able to question.’

  His smile became genuine. ‘I knew you were more than a pretty face.’

  ‘Do you like ships?’ Sophie asked quickly.

  ‘I am invariably seasick. It doesn’t matter if it is a rowing boat or a tea clipper—once I am on the water, my stomach heaves. Always has done. I suspect it always will.’

  ‘You do get used to the sea in time. Lots of people get over it and are never troubled again. A long sea voyage would do the trick. It did with me when I was seven. We went to the West Indies and I was so sick to begin with, but then I recovered. My father told me even Admiral Lord Nelson was seasick on occasion. Somehow it made it easier to bear.’

  ‘I shall take your word for it since you argue so passionately. Some day maybe I will test your theory.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. A bubbly sense of excitement filled her. ‘But for now Liverpool with its shipbuilding will have to do. The timing is reasonable and plausible. I do hope you did attend some sort of gala or a ball while you were there and your trip wasn’t entirely business.’

  ‘Do for what?’ Sophie frowned, trying to remember precisely what she had done. It was disappointing that Lord Bingfield wasn’t interested in ships and more than slightly disconcerting that she had hoped he would be. She shouldn’t want any connection with him, but she did. She trod down heavier than she should have and narrowly missed his foot. It was only Richard’s skill as a dancer which kept them upright. The heat in Sophie’s cheeks increased.

  ‘We went to the theatre. It was an amusing comedy that my stepmother was desperate to see. I cried off the launch ball because I had twisted my ankle at the shipyard. Is it important?’

  ‘For where we met? Yes.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. Sophie hurriedly glanced away. ‘I’d have hardly liked to have met you in a shipyard or on a railway platform. The theatre is a splendid choice. Plenty of time to spy people from a box and arrange a meeting. I take it you are adept at fan language despite your pretensions towards formidability?’

  He was going to imply she had arranged a meeting with her fan. Typically arrogant. Sophie started to pull away, but his hand tightened on her waist, holding her against his body.

  ‘Why is this necessary?’ she asked.

  ‘I must have had a reason to come to Newcastle to see you and see if the spark we both felt was something more. And your stepmother most blatantly had not met me before.’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Our meeting yesterday was hardly a chance one. You were enchanted by my persistence and overcome with desire. I had completely rearranged my life to be with you and you were utterly captivated. The press always do love a romance.’

  Sophie concentrated on taking the next few steps, rather than considering the desire part of his statement. She hated that a tiny part of her wanted to believe in the tale which he had spun. She wanted to believe that he would rearrange his life for her. ‘It does make sense. As a personal rule, I dislike being enchanted about anything. I have learnt, Lord Bingfield, that it is best to examine faults thoroughly.’

  He gave a bark of laughter. Several people turned to stare at them. ‘You might wish to pretend you are practical, but you possess the soul of a romantic, Miss Ravel. I see straight through you. You long to be swept off your feet. Otherwise why assist in an elopement?’

  ‘I much prefer being practical to starry-eyed. I gave up endangering my heart years ago.’

  ‘You are unlike any woman I have met.’

  ‘I hope that is a good thing. I like the idea of being an individual.’

  ‘Never doubt that! You, Sophie Ravel, are a one-off. You have even given me a hankering to test your theory about seasickness with a voyage to the West Indies, but only if you were with me.’

  ‘That won’t happen.’

  ‘A pity. A sea voyage with you could have been intriguing.’ A dimple played in the corner of his mouth. ‘You won’t even consider a trip across the Channel? You and I together? You could hold my hand.’

  Sophie glanced down. It would be so easy to allow herself to slip a bit more under his spell. She gave her head a shake and tried to remember all the reasons why he was not a good prospect for marriage. ‘Liverpool and the theatre in late March is where we met. Stop trying to cloud the issue with talks of voyages which will never happen. I want to save my reputation, not throw it away by giving in to the determined seduction of a man like you.’

  ‘Relax.’ His breath caressed her ear. ‘You see, everything is sorted. You don’t have to worry about a thing. All you have to do is to enjoy the waltz. Nothing will happen on a dance floor. I gave you my promise.’

  His hand firmly pressed against her back and she became more aware than ever of the way he moved.

  It was only a dance, but Sophie could feel her self-control ebbing away. With each step, she seemed to be more encased in a dream bubble of romance which she wanted desperately to believe in.

  It wasn’t real. She had made a mistake like this before, confusing the excitement of being noticed by someone who was older and more experienced than she was with real romance. She knew she wanted her romance real and true, like Robert and Henri shared, something which had grown over time rather than hitting her suddenly. What she felt for Richard Crawford was far too sudden to be real and substantial. It was another illusion and this time she refused to be taken in.

  Sophie concentrated on taking another step, rather than looking him in the face. She had to hope that his scheme worked quickly, otherwise Sophie knew all of her resolutions would be for nothing—she’d start believing in the romance. And she knew precisely where that led—straight to her barricading herself in a room at some rundown coaching inn.

  What was worse, this time, this time there would be no expectation of marriage. It would only be an affair as she had refused his proper offer of marriage and he would never ask her again. On that point, she knew he’d keep his word.

  Chapter Five

  The cool night air bathed Sophie’s flushed face as she stood out on one of the little balconies which fronted the Assembly Rooms’ first floor. After the waltz finished, Richard had abandoned her in search of refreshment, but Sophie knew everyone had seen their little display of being besotted with each other.

  The trouble was she knew that she could not keep it up. It would be far too easy to slip into the habit of dancing with him and being held far too closely. Her body still thrummed with awareness of how he’d placed his hand on the small of her back and how his fingers had curled about hers.

  Richard Crawford was precisely the sort of man she could easily lose her heart to, but he had one fatal flaw—he was unsafe in carriages and she’d be wrong to forget that. She recited the vows she had made in that inn bedroom; only they seemed to be of little substance.

  Sophie pressed her hand to her forehead. When he left her, Richard whispered in her ear that they would dance a polka later. And every fibre of her being looked forward to it. It was wrong of her. This was a temporary arrangement, not something that was going to last the rest of her life.

  A marriage needed to be more than physical desire. Sophie firmed her mouth. She’d been right to refuse his reluctant proposal. She wanted a steady love borne of friendship, rather than will-o’-the-wisp desire masquerading as something more.

  ‘Enjoying making a spectacle of yourself?’ The overly oily voice grated over her nerves and the stench of Madagascar hair oil washed over her. Sir Vincent had discovered her refuge.

  Sophie counted to ten and composed her features before she turned. She wished Richard had confided his plan to expose Sir Vincent, but he hadn’t. The next few minutes were up to her. Richard would simply have to go along with whatever happened. ‘Sir Vincent. Imagine encountering you here. I had not thought to see you again so soon.’

  ‘Lord Bingfield won’t marry you. You are simply making my job easier. I wonder where your recklessness will next take you. It is amazing that you have enjoyed such a spotless reputation until now.’

  Sophie deliberately wide
ned her eyes and adopted her best naïve débutante voice. ‘Why wouldn’t Lord Bingfield marry me? He has offered to protect me.’

  ‘He is not the marrying sort.’ Sir Vincent shook his ponderous head. ‘Other ladies have deluded themselves in the past and been terribly disappointed. Can you risk being more exposed in the press? They are already highly intrigued by you. I do hope you have no secrets in your past.’

  ‘Did you supply today’s item of tittle-tattle?’

  He gave a slight cough and adopted a pious expression. ‘People will speculate and I was unable to resist confirming what I knew. Unlike some, the press trust me.’

  Sophie rolled her eyes heavenwards and struggled to keep her temper. ‘Will the press speculate? That does surprise me no end. Gossip is endemic in Newcastle and always has been, Sir Vincent. It is such a shame when it proves to be false or people spread malicious rumours. It is amazing how quickly the gutter press can turn on one of their trusted sources.’

  ‘Your friend’s parents inform me that their daughter was caught on the road to Edinburgh and they hope hourly for her safe return.’ He blew on his nails. ‘But I have gone against the idea. Who wants an unwilling bride? Perhaps one of their other daughters will suit.’

  Sophie gulped hard. ‘You mean to have one of Cynthia’s sisters?’

  ‘Yes, one of them might be suitable as Lady Putney. There again, they all might bear the taint of their eldest sister’s conduct. What a pity you assisted in ruining another person’s life. Possibly several young persons’ lives. You must seriously reflect on your behaviour, Miss Ravel. Someone must stop you before you ruin anyone else’s life.’

  Sophie’s stomach clenched. It was a deliberate lie. She had received Cynthia’s postcard in the second post. The couple had made it to Carlisle without mishap. She would not put it past Mr Johnson to offer one of his other daughters, but she doubted that he would enforce it, not after Cynthia had made her dramatic bid for freedom. Mr and Mrs Johnson did love their children.

  ‘Do you enjoy theatricals, Sir Vincent?’ Sophie asked, making sure her voice flowed like honey. Her insides churned, but she refused to give way to panic. Somewhere in that crowded ballroom was Richard Crawford and he had behaved perfectly correctly. He refused to be used by this man. The thought gave her confidence. ‘Plays and the like?’