An Ideal Husband? (2 page)

Her hand instinctively tried to smooth her rumpled ball dress. ‘Very well, then. I need to get back into the house and go to the ladies’ withdrawing room where I can repair the damage. I do have my leaving arrangements in order.’

‘It should be simple a matter to walk straight back.’

‘Not so simple.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Someone is after me. He is determined to ruin me.’

Richard regarded the woman. The back of his neck pricked. He should walk away now. ‘It is hard to ruin someone who does not wish to be ruined. Practically impossible.’

She gave a half-shrug. ‘I was foolish and failed to consider the possibility. I fear we have not been introduced, but you must accept my assurance that I am normally considered to be extremely reliable and sensible in such matters.’

‘Viscount Bingfield.’ He inclined his head. ‘And I am most definitely received everywhere.’

‘I will take your word for it.’ Her voice dripped with ice cold.

‘Miss Ravel. Miss Ravel. Where are you? I will find you. You can’t hide for ever. And then you will see what happens to women who try to cross me!’

Richard’s jaw clenched. There was no mistaking the grating voice of Putney! The man was a bounder and a cad of the first order. He’d detested the man ever since that first term at Eton where Putney had put his hand up the maid’s skirt and lied about it, causing the poor girl to be dismissed. Richard had sneaked out to see if she was all right and then the newspaper stories started. Then there was Oxford and the tragedy of Mary. Again he could not prove Putney had a hand in it, but he had encountered Putney in the street the day before he’d been called in front of the Master. Even now he could remember the furtive smile Putney gave.

‘Are you trying to hide from Sir Vincent Putney, Miss Ravel?’

She gave a quick nod of her head. ‘I wish to return to the ball and avoid a scandal. I’ve done nothing wrong. That is all, Lord Bingfield. Once
back under the chandeliers, all this will cease to be anything but a bad dream.’

‘In that state? Scandal will reverberate throughout the land. Your name will be on everyone’s lips as they attempt to work out how this happened and believe the worst.’

She glanced down and fluffed out her skirt. ‘A few repairs need to be made. I slipped in the dark. Twice. I barely know the man. I was helping a friend out and matters failed to go as planned.’

‘Indeed.’

‘I was helping a friend elope.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘My friend was engaged to Sir Vincent, but desired to end the relationship against her father’s wishes. She loved an American. I merely facilitated the elopement. It went like clockwork except …’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Quick, Sir Vincent is coming. I need to get away from him.’

Richard reacted instinctively. He swung her back into the shadows, up against the hedge and stood between Miss Ravel and the light.

‘Follow my lead and keep silent,’ he murmured against her lavender-scented hair. ‘We don’t have time.’

‘Your lead?’ she asked, attempting to peer
around him. Her skirts brushed his leg. ‘Should I trust you?’

‘Do you have a choice?’ He took a glimpse down at Miss Ravel, seeing her clearly for the first time.

Her lips hovered tantalisingly few inches beneath his. Her worried eyes looked up into his, trusting him to get this right and protect her. Truly Cinderella after the ball, missing a slipper and in need of a prince.

Richard resisted the urge to crush her to him. Another time and another place he would have given in to temptation, but this closeness was far from a prelude to seduction, it was instead a means to prevent Miss Ravel’s ruin.

‘With any luck Putney will walk on without even noticing anything beyond a man and a woman in the shadows. He will expect to find you alone. Foolproof.’

Footsteps resounded behind them. Every nerve went on alert. Silently he prayed this action would be enough.

Miss Ravel stiffened and shrank back further against the hedge. The heavy footsteps went on past. The nervous energy drained out of Richard’s shoulders. They had done it! Miss Ravel would be safe. All that was needed was for him to step back.

His feet refused to move. Instead he lifted his hand and traced the outline of her jaw. Her skin quivered underneath the tips of his fingers and her lips parted, inviting him.

‘Dear Richard, imagine! You should be in the ballroom, rather than in the garden,’ a heart-sinkingly familiar woman’s voice said. ‘I shall have to tell your father that we met. He was asking after you at lunch last week. I had understood you were in London. Does he know you journeyed to Newcastle?’

Richard knew that things had suddenly become much worse. The most fearsome of his aunts had arrived.

He gave Miss Ravel an apologetic look and swung around.

‘Aunt Parthenope, what an unexpected pleasure.’ Richard made a slight bow. ‘I would have called on you earlier today if I’d known you, too, were in Newcastle. I would have thought you’d be in London for the start of the Season.’

‘The Season does not properly begin until after Queen Charlotte’s ball. Plenty of time remains to sort out the hanger-ons and no hopers from the cream of this year’s débutantes.’ His aunt gave a loud sniff. ‘You should have known that I always come to Newcastle at this time of year. I have done for years—to visit your grandmother’s
grave on the anniversary of her death. In any case, the train makes travel so convenient these days. It takes less than a day. Imagine—when I was a girl, it took more than a week by post carriage.’

‘We truly do live in an age of miracles, Aunt,’ Richard murmured, wondering if his mother was aware of his aunt’s habit and why she hadn’t warned him of the possibility.

‘Why are you out in the garden, Richard?’

‘Crowded ballrooms can cause claustrophobia. I wanted a breath of fresh air.’ He moved towards his aunt and started to lead her away from where Miss Ravel stood, hidden in the shadows, touching his fingers to his lips before he turned away. Immediately Miss Ravel shrank back against the hedge.

‘You know how it is, Aunt,’ he said in an expansive tone. ‘One minute, one is waltzing and the next, one needs to be away from the crowd. You have often remarked on how crowded these balls are, not like the days when you were a young girl.’

Sophie hardly dared to breathe. She could see what Lord Bingfield was about to do—lead his aunt and her party away and leave her to make her own way back to the house. It was far too
late for regrets. She had to hope that Lord Bingfield’s scheme would work.

‘And this is why you were out in the garden, Nephew? A sudden and inexplicable need for fresh air? Do not seek to flannel me. Your father did explain about his ultimatum to you at luncheon. While I might not agree with it on principle, I should remind you, he is a man of his word.’

Sophie pursed her lips and wondered what ultimatum Lord Bingfield’s father had issued. One of two things—women or gambling debts. Possibly both. Why would the man she begged for help have to turn out to be a dishonourable rake, rather than the honourable person she’d hoped? Her luck was truly out tonight.

‘My father has no bearing on this matter, Aunt.’ Lord Bingfield waved an impatient hand. ‘I know what he said and he must do as he sees fit. I make my own way in the world.’

‘You were always a reckless youth, Richard.’

‘We should return to the ballroom, Aunt,’ Lord Bingfield said, starting forwards and grasping his aunt’s elbow so that she was turned away from Sophie. ‘I find I am quite refreshed after a short turn. You must tell me all the news. How does my father fare? Does his latest pig show promise?’

Sophie flattened her back against the hedge. The prickles dug into her bodice. Silently she bid them to go.

‘And your charming companion? Or do you wish to continue blathering fustian nonsense, thinking I would overlook her?’ Lord Bingfield’s aunt gave her nephew a rap on the sleeve with her fan. ‘You do not fool me one little bit, Richard. I know how this game is played.’

‘Charming companion?’

‘You do know her name, I hope, Nephew. You were standing far too close to her to be complete strangers. However, with you, nothing surprises me.’

Sophie’s heart sank as Lord Bingfield’s aunt confirmed her growing fear. Lord Bingfield was not
safe in carriages
or indeed anywhere.

‘Aunt, you wrong me dreadfully,’ Lord Bingfield protested. ‘Name one instance where I have behaved dishonourably.’

‘I do declare it’s Miss Ravel.’ Sir Vincent loomed out of the darkness. In the gloom, Sophie could make out his smug grin. Her misery was complete. He intended to cause mischief, serious mischief, and she had inadvertently given him the opportunity, wrapped and tied up with a bow like a parcel. ‘I am surprised that a woman such as yourself is out here in the night air, Miss
Ravel, with a man such as the notorious Lord Bingfield. What will your guardian say?’

‘My stepmother is aware of where I am and who I am with.’ Sophie kept her chin up. It was the truth. Her stepmother knew Sophie was at the ball, not her precise location and she had approved of the company. Her stepmother trusted her. She refused to allow Sir Vincent to imply that something untoward had happened. But it was poor luck that Lord Bingfield seemed to have a less-than-illustrious reputation himself.

‘You’re Miss Ravel? Sophie Ravel? The heiress who came out over four years ago?’ Lord Bingfield’s aunt squawked. ‘It would appear, Richard, that you have taken your father’s words to heart after all. Impressive.’

‘Everything, I assure you, is quite appropriate, Aunt,’ Lord Bingfield said. ‘It would be wrong of me to allow a lady such as Miss Ravel to wander about the garden on her own. Who knows the sort of ruffian she might encounter?’

He gave Sir Vincent a hard look. Sophie’s heart did a little flip. Unsuitable or not, Lord Bingfield shared her opinion of Sir Vincent. He was the only person standing between her and utter ruin.

‘It was your chivalry coming to the fore, Nephew,’ Lord Bingfield’s aunt pronounced.
‘All is now clear. I had feared you had decided to take after
your
mother’s side of the family.’

A muscle jumped in Lord Bingfield’s cheek and his hand clenched in a fist.

‘I believe Miss Ravel wishes to return to the ball, now that this little misunderstanding has been cleared up,’ he said in glacial tones.

‘Has it?’ Sir Vincent asked in a weasel-like tone. ‘You were in a close embrace! Did you see it, Lady Parthenope? It was quite clear from where I stood. And I know what a stickler you are for propriety and how everyone at Almack’s looks to your judgement.’

‘You were standing rather close to my nephew, Miss Ravel,’ Lord Bingfield’s aunt pronounced. ‘Young ladies need to be wary of their reputations at all times.’

‘Your attire is a little more dishevelled than a simple turn about the garden would suggest. How did you manage to tear your dress?’ Sir Vincent continued with a smirk.

Sophie winced. Lord Bingfield’s aunt would be someone of importance. Seeds of doubt and suspicions, that was what Sir Vincent intended. Little by little until she had no reputation left.

Her stomach churned. There was no way she could explain the current state of her attire away.
She gave Lord Bingfield a pleading look as she searched her brain for a good excuse.

‘I do take offence at having Miss Ravel’s attire discussed in such intimate terms, Putney,’ Lord Bingfield said, stepping between her and Sir Vincent. His stance looked more like a pugilist preparing to enter the ring than a man at a ball.

Sophie released a breath. Despite her earlier fear, Lord Bingfield had kept his promise. He was protecting her.

‘Why?’ Sir Vincent stuck out his chest. ‘I merely state what everyone will be thinking when they spot Miss Ravel.’

Lord Bingfield cleared his throat. ‘Miss Ravel is doing me the honour of considering my proposal and, until she has time, discretion is the best option. You did not see anything untoward and I would refrain from mentioning something you might live to regret.’

L
ord Bingfield’s words circled through her brain. A proposal! What sort of proposal did Lord Bingfield have in mind? Sophie’s reticule slipped from her grasp and she made a last-second lunge to rescue it before it tumbled to the ground. At the same instant, Lord Bingfield reached down and caught it. Their fingers touched and a faint tremor went through her. He gave a slight nod and she remembered his earlier words—
whatever happens, follow my lead
.

She stood up and clutched the reticule to her chest. She had little choice. It was either go along with Lord Bingfield’s scheme or face certain ruin at Sir Vincent’s hands. She had to go against her hard-learnt habit and trust an acknowledged rake. All she had to do was ensure
she refrained from making any rash promises to him. Easy if she maintained her poise and dignity.

‘A proposal? Do tell, Nephew.’ His formidable aunt rapped her fan against her hand. ‘I am all ears.’

‘It was the sort of proposal that I have longed to hear ever since I first encountered your nephew,’ Sophie said in a loud voice. ‘You do not know how happy it made me to hear his words. Perhaps it was a little rushed, but the location was so romantic. My heart simply soared.’

She glanced over at Lord Bingfield and saw that his eyes were dancing. They were as one on this plan. Her heart thudded.

‘Are you going to give him your answer?’

‘I think such a proposal merits careful consideration. Often a young woman has been led into folly by making too hasty a judgement one way or the other,’ Sophie retorted. A sense of thrilling excitement swept through her. For the first time in a long time, she felt as though she was living rather than merely existing, trying to be good and attempting to maintain a poised cold dignity in all her dealings with men. The realisation shocked her.

‘I am grateful that you are giving my proposal
any consideration in light of my past,’ Lord Bingfield said.

Sophie tilted her chin upwards. ‘I have learnt that one’s past is never a guarantee of one’s future.’

‘You appear to be a highly sensible young lady, Miss Ravel, despite being out in the garden alone with my nephew,’ Lady Parthenope pronounced. ‘A word to the wise—even if you are overcome with heat, it is always best to keep your chaperon in sight. To do otherwise is to invoke comment. However, on this happy occasion I must forgive the tiniest lapse of judgement.’

Relief swept through Sophie. Lady Parthenope was practically purring her approval. Her reputation might survive.

‘I know your nephew has honourable intentions, your ladyship,’ Sophie said firmly, fixing Lord Bingfield with her eye.

‘I was unaware you were acquainted with my nephew. That is all, Miss Ravel. I must do more to further our acquaintance,’ Lady Parthenope said.

‘Come, come, Aunt.’ Lord Bingfield put his hand on his aunt’s sleeve. ‘Do I need to send you a note every time I meet a suitable unmarried lady? Every time I wish to make a proposal of a
sensitive nature to said lady? If that is to be the way of the world, I want no part of it.’

‘It would be helpful, Richard.’ The elderly woman gave a sniff. ‘Your father was very tedious at our luncheon.’

‘Nor was I aware that you shared a close friendship with Lord Bingfield, Miss Ravel,’ Sir Vincent said. ‘The things one learns at balls. It puts our earlier conversation in a very different light. I do hope you remember every word of our previous encounter.’

A faint prickle of alarm ran down Sophie’s back, but she forced her lungs to fill with air. Sir Vincent’s threat was hollow. She was safe. Lady Parthenope had pronounced judgement. Despite the slight hiccup of Lord Bingfield being notorious, he had behaved impeccably.

‘Where did you think I was going to, Sir Vincent, after I delivered Miss Johnson’s note? I do hate being late.’ She made a curtsy which bordered on the discourteous. ‘I did say that I had a prior engagement. I failed to mention Lord Bingfield before because, quite frankly, it is none of your business.’

Sir Vincent’s mouth opened and closed several times.

Lady Parthenope suddenly developed a cough and Sophie struggled not to laugh after she
caught Lord Bingfield’s eye. Her heart suddenly seemed much lighter. Tonight’s events were not going to be a catastrophe after all.

After tonight, she would not push her luck. She had to remember that adventures only became exciting in memory. During an adventure, one was often out of sorts and uncomfortable. Adventure should happen to other people, not to her if she wished to keep her reputation. Ice-cold calm and dignity while she waited to meet the man whom she could love. Friends first, but only after he’d proved himself worthy—it was the only way to have a great and lasting romance. She had seen the formula work with Robert and Henrietta and now Cynthia.

‘Sir Vincent may escort me in,’ Lady Parthenope said after she recovered from her coughing fit. ‘His mother and I were at school together. And, dear Miss Ravel, you may take your time as long as you come to the right decision quickly. It is blindingly obvious to me that nothing untoward happened here. You must not presume the worst, Sir Vincent. There again, your mother possessed that unfortunate habit. It obviously runs in the family.’

Lady Parthenope swept towards the house with a bleating Sir Vincent on her arm and the rest of her party trailing in her wake. Sophie
waited until the noise had abated, feeling the cool night air on her face. She had survived.

Lord Bingfield held out his arm. ‘Shall we go, Miss Ravel? I take it you have had time to consider my proposal. My nerves shall be a-quiver until I hear your answer.’

‘I doubt your nerves ever quiver, Lord Bingfield.’

‘You wrong me.’ He put his hand to his forehead. ‘I may be the type to weep at dead daffodils.’

‘Are you?’

He stood up straighter. ‘Thankfully, no. I can’t remember the last time I wept at anything. Shall we go in before we invoke more comment?’

Sophie placed her hand on his arm. Her body became instantly aware of him and his nearness. His proximity to her was doing strange things to her insides and her sensibilities. Had she learnt nothing in the past four years? Rakes oozed charm and women forgot propriety when they were near them. The best defence was to be calmly aloof.

A tiny prickle coursed down her spine. Even when she had considered an elopement in her youth, she had not felt as though she wanted Sebastian Cawburn to kiss her, not in the desperate
deep-down way that she wanted Lord Bingfield to kiss her when they had stood so close earlier.

‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ she said, trying for the poised voice she’d perfected after the Sebastian débâcle. Failed miserably as it came out too breathless for her liking. ‘Your idea of an unnamed proposal was particularly inspired. I hope … It doesn’t matter what I thought. It is finished now and my reputation is safe. From what Sir Vincent said earlier, I believe Cynthia will be safely married soon to the man she has chosen. It is important to choose a congenial life’s partner rather than have one chosen for you.’

‘I agree entirely,’ he said, helping her around a muddy puddle. ‘A close call, but I feel it was easily accomplished in the end. There should be no repercussions. Who would dare gainsay Lady Parthenope’s pronouncement of innocence?’

‘Will your aunt be cross when she discovers we have no intention of marrying each other?’ Sophie asked in an undertone. Her body was immediately aware of the way his gloved hand curled about hers. He frowned and let go of her hand.

‘She will get over it. Being a disappointment to my aunt appeals. Someone has to be and my cousins have thus far all proved to be sterling examples of moral rectitude and sobriety.’

Sophie forced a smile, but her heart gave a little pang. Lord Bingfield was by far the most interesting man she had met in years and the most unsuitable. A poised demeanour had to be her armour. Never again would she return to that frightened girl, cowering behind a door. ‘You were truly a shining knight.’

‘I’ve no love for Putney and a soft spot for beautiful ladies in distress. It was no trouble. Think no more about it.’

They reached the doorway to the house and in the sudden light, she saw Lord Bingfield clearly for the first time. His dark-brown hair curled slightly at his temples, framing his burnished gold eyes. His mouth was a bit large, but hinted at passion. It was the sort of face to make a woman go weak at the knees and forget her solemn vows.

Sophie fought against an inclination to prolong the encounter. There was no future for her and Lord Bingfield. She had given up on notorious men years ago. The adventure had finished and she and her reputation were safe.

She stopped beside the ladies’ withdrawing room. ‘The adventure has ended.’

‘Should you ever require a knight again, fair lady, let me know.’ He raised her hand to his lips.

The light touch sent a throb of warmth coursing
through her. It would be easy to believe in romance, rather than chemistry. Against her better judgement, she wanted to believe he could be a shining knight and protect her from harm, rather than destroy her utterly.

‘You see, I did accept your proposal of protection from Sir Vincent. It was a truly honourable proposal.’

‘My pleasure and you understood the proposal.’ He gave a half-smile and inclined his head. ‘You do know I have no intention of marrying despite what my aunt might believe or my father might dictate.’

‘And you do know I have no intention of behaving badly,’ Sophie said, clutching her reticule close to her chest. Her earlier instincts had been correct. Lord Bingfield was the sort of man who was
not safe in carriages
. He had saved her reputation, but she knew how that particular game was played. Some day she hoped she’d meet someone who would make her heart soar and fulfilled all the criteria she had agreed with Henri on that fateful day. A friend before a lover. Someone of honour and whom she could love with the right pedigree for her stepmother. Other people had found love—why shouldn’t she?

A small dimple showed in the corner of his mouth. ‘Have I asked you to?’

‘No, but I suspect you entertain hopes. It falls to me to quash them.’ She pinned him with her best I-am-a-formidable-person look. ‘It is always best to be perfectly clear about such things.’

He threw back his head and laughed a deep rich laugh, utterly real and inviting rather than the arched one he’d used as he confronted Sir Vincent earlier. It warmed her all the way to her toes. Sophie started, surprised that the sound could affect her in that way. ‘The day I lose hope is the day I die.’

She concentrated on the flickering light of the chandelier in the entrance hallway, rather than the dimple in the corner of his mouth. She had to keep her wits about her and not indulge in some flight of romantic fantasy. He had given her an explicit warning about his intention to avoid marriage.

Naïve women chose to ignore such words of warning, believing that they were special or unique. It was what a rake traded on. Soon without meaning to, the woman had crossed all manner of bridges and boundaries. That was when a rake struck, showing his true colours. Sophie had learnt this lesson the hard way. A
rake meant what he said all the times, and most definitely when it was said in a light-hearted or jesting fashion. And when things didn’t go as they wished …

‘We are at an impasse,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘For my determination is every bit as strong as your hope.’

‘Shall we risk a polka? Surely you can spare a dance for me?’ He held out his hands and his smile became even more beguiling. ‘I did save your reputation and I never ask a second time.’

Sophie swiftly shook her head, banishing the image of them swirling to the music together. It would be very easy to give in to the temptation and dance in his arms. And from there? Each little step would lead her further down a path she’d sworn never to go on again.

‘Here we part. I shall bid you goodbye. We part as friends.’ She held out her hand and allowed a frosty smile past her lips.

He ignored her hand. ‘Until we meet again, Miss Ravel.’

He paused and his gaze travelled slowly down her, making Sophie aware of the way her hair tumbled about her shoulders and her torn dress. Perhaps not quite the ice-maiden look she had
hoped to achieve. He gave a long slow smile. ‘As we are no longer strangers.’

‘How could you do it, Richard? You are insupportable. I declare you get that from your father!’

Richard shaded his eyes with his hand. His head throbbed slightly and he reluctantly bid the dream of Sophie Ravel, naked in his arms, goodbye.

After he’d left last night’s ball, he’d spent time at the Northern Counties Club, playing cards and trying not to think about Miss Ravel and ways to meet her rather than returning to the house he rented for his mother and half-sister.

As his aunt had pointed out yesterday and the gossip in club confirmed, Sophie Ravel was a highly eligible heiress, rather than a young widow in need of money or the neglected wife of an aged and jaded aristocrat in search of an afternoon’s amusement. But he also knew the gossip was wrong on one important point. Miss Ravel had the reputation of a fearsome ice maiden—beautiful to look at, but brimming with virtue and utterly lacking in passion. The woman he’d nearly kissed last night had simmered with passion under her frosty exterior.

Only if he wanted to stick his head in the
parson’s noose should he be having anything to do with her. Several of his dalliances had reached the scandal sheets in recent years—more for the women’s indiscretions after they parted than his actions, but it was enough to make him wary. He refused to be the instrument of any woman’s ruin.

The certain knowledge of his past notoriety had caused him to drink more than was good for him last night. How his father would laugh. He’d always predicted that his son would one day regret being in the gossip columnists’ sights and the day of reckoning had arrived.

He winced. He might not have deserved the scandal sheet’s attention when he was at Eton, but he’d certainly deserved it a few years ago when he’d attempted to forget his part in Mary’s fall from grace, her forced marriage to a man she loathed and her untimely death. Then, after that, he’d run through a number of bored wives and widows, ending each affair on his terms and walking away without a backward glance. And he did make it a point of honour never to ask a woman twice for something.