An Ideal Husband? (8 page)

‘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.

T
he 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 widened 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?’

‘Not overly.’ He gave a smug smile. ‘Sometimes the actresses are worth watching, but I only go to the theatre to be seen. The true spectacle happens in the stalls.’

‘A pity. You would have made the exact prototype of a pantomime villain.’ Sophie clenched her fan tighter and sought to control her temper. This time she would walk away and not lose her head or panic. She would find Richard and demand they carry their engagement a step further—only an announcement in the papers would end the speculation.

Even Sir Vincent in his arrogance must know where that particular line of polite society was drawn. Sophie’s head spun. That was it. She had to find a way of getting him to cross that line in full view of everyone. Expose him and his pathetic attempts at blackmail. And she had to do it now.

Behind Sir Vincent, she could see the crowds of people standing on the edge of the ballroom. A few steps into the room and this conversation
would be overheard. Sophie’s stomach clenched. She didn’t have time to wait for Richard to appear. Long ago, she’d given up on any errant knights coming to her rescue. She would have to execute the entire operation herself.

Sophie judged the distance. Too much in the open and he’d never react. Too far into the balcony and no one would hear or react. It had to be just right. Without giving herself time to think, she edged towards the ballroom.

‘You dare to insult me!’ Sir Vincent took a step towards her, blocking her exit and obviously intent on forcing her more fully on to the balcony.

‘Why would I do that?’ Sophie’s mind raced and she attempted to remember the way he had lost his temper last night. She ducked under his arm. ‘Could it be because you are a pompous fool? Why would anyone in their right mind wish to be married to someone like you? I know Cynthia’s younger sisters and they feel exactly the same way about you. They think you a pompous braying fool.’

She was out from behind the curtain now. The ballroom teemed with people and music. Everyone had their back to her and her personal duel with Sir Vincent.

Richard was nowhere to be seen. She was
truly on her own. Silently she prayed that she had done enough. Her heart thudded in her ears.

‘No one calls me that!’ Sir Vincent parted the curtain and emerged red-faced and spitting with anger.

‘I just have! Now I must bid you adieu, Sir Vincent.’ She made a curtsy which bordered on the insulting. ‘Pray remember I am not some snivelling scullery maid or a naïve débutante. I do have friends, so stay out of my way. Do not attempt to blacken my name again!’

He reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘We are finished when I say we are.’

‘Unhand me!’

‘Not until we have finished our discussion.’ He started to drag her back towards the balcony.

‘Someone help me. Please.’

A fist connected with Sir Vincent’s jaw and he staggered backwards against the heavy curtain and fell down. The curtain tumbled with a loud thud and rip which resounded through the room.

‘You have insulted Miss Ravel for the last time, Putney.’ Richard’s voice held none of its usual warmth.

He had arrived! Precisely at the right moment. Sophie’s heart did a little flip.

Richard towered over Sir Vincent. ‘When a
lady asks you to let go, you do so. I demand an apology!’

‘What right do you have to intervene?’ Sir Vincent rose to his feet and adopted a pugilist’s stance. ‘Hit me again and see if I am slow to respond. Fight like a gentleman, Bingfield.’

Richard’s voice held a note of barely controlled fury. ‘I claim the right of any gentleman to act when a lady is accosted.’

‘We were merely conversing. I demand satisfaction. You have impugned my character for the last time, Bingfield.’

‘I can see the marks of your hand on her elbow, Putney. I heard Miss Ravel beg for help. I suspect the vast majority of the gathering heard her plea. What man among you would fail to assist a woman in need? Are you a molester of women, Putney? Is that the reputation you seek to defend?’

Sir Vincent went a violent colour of puce and foam speckled his mouth.

Sophie saw a crowd had gathered around them and the orchestra had stopped playing. In the silence, she made sure her voice could carry. ‘Sir Vincent threatened me and grabbed hold of my arm. He refused to let go. I feared for my person and my reputation. Lord Bingfield rescued me.’

‘I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation,’ an elderly lady piped up. ‘That gentleman grabbed hold of the lady in a most unbecoming manner.’

‘That’s precisely right,’ said a well-upholstered man. ‘This gentleman acted bravely in rescuing the lady.’

Various other people in the crowd murmured their agreement. Sir Vincent stood there with an increasingly panic-stricken look on his face.

Sophie pointed towards the large double doors on the other side of the ballroom. ‘Depart, Sir Vincent, and reflect on your behaviour. It falls far short of what civilised society requires.’

A small round of applause rippled throughout the room.

Sir Vincent glanced over his shoulder and slowly lowered his fists. ‘I will remember this, Bingfield.’

Sophie held out her hand to Richard. She started towards the dance floor. ‘Shall we go, Lord Bingfield? I fear the incident has quite spoilt my evening and here I was having such an enchanting time. Perhaps another dance with you will restore my mood.’

‘Putney’s behaviour was not what I would have wished for, not tonight of all nights, but I could hardly allow your plea for help to go unanswered.’
A faint smile touched his lips. ‘Another waltz will suit admirably, Miss Ravel.’

‘He won’t marry you, Miss Ravel. You will have only yourself to blame when it ends in tears,’ Sir Vincent called out, halting their progress. ‘You should look to your own reputation before you start smearing others. Do you know how many women he has cozened and fooled? How many women he has ruined?’

Richard’s entire being stiffened as his hand became a clenched fist. Sophie knew what she had to do to prevent a brawl breaking out. Richard might want to beat him into the ground, but she had a better means of destroying him once and for all.

The moment had come. Silently she thanked his foresight of getting her a ring. Her stomach clenched slightly. Finally the time had come to triumph. She peeled off her glove and raised her hand so the two sapphires twinkled in the candlelight.

‘If he has no intention of marrying me, why did Lord Bingfield give me this ring?’ Sophie asked, twisting her hand to and fro so everyone could see it. ‘And my behaviour this very evening? You must forgive the extravagant display earlier, but how often does a woman accept a proposal from the man of her dreams?’

Sir Vincent spluttered, but no sound came from his throat. The gathered crowd, however, gave a long collective sigh.

She put her hand on Richard’s arm and forced her feet to move away from the scene where Sir Vincent was now surrounded by various people intent on getting their penny’s worth in before he was hustled out of the ballroom. It would appear he was not as well liked or thought of as he’d boasted.

A great crowd of people surrounded them, blocking Sophie’s view. The men wrung Richard’s hand, offering congratulations, while the women all wanted to admire the ring. Everyone said how delighted they were with the outcome. One or two of the ladies confessed that it was the most romantic thing they had ever seen and wasn’t Lord Bingfield the epitome of a hero. Sophie found it harder and harder to mouth the words about how much in love they were and how sudden and totally thrilling it was.

Her head started to spin and she gave a helpless look at Richard. He appeared to understand instantly and ushered her away to a small antechamber, the very model of a solicitous fiancé. Her heart did a queer leap as her body instantly responded to his touch and she knew her cheeks flamed worse than before.

Once they were away from the crowds, he removed his hand. Sophie sank down on a chair and waved her fan frantically, hoping Richard would think it was speaking to all the well-wishers, rather than his touch, which had caused her high colour. The cool breeze did much to restore her equilibrium.

‘My knees threatened to give way out there. The number of people who wanted to congratulate us was simply astonishing. I didn’t anticipate there would have been so many interested in my ring. The news of our betrothal seems to have spread like wildfire. The redoubtable Miss Ravel has captured the Rake.’

He stood with his back to her, making it impossible for her to tell his true feelings. ‘Interesting and dramatic tittle-tattle has a way of doing that. Particularly when you announced things in the way you did.’

‘I’ve recovered from my faint,’ Sophie said firmly. She refused to apologise for her actions. Surely Richard had to see they were positively inspirational. ‘The crush overwhelmed me. So many people demanded to see my ring that I struggled to breathe.’

‘Your timing was impeccable both in leaving the crowd and earlier when we left Putney,’ he said, turning around to look at her. His eyes
glowed with a sort of admiration. ‘Well played, Miss Ravel. Very well played indeed.’

‘Yes, I was rather proud of the way I handled Sir Vincent, particularly the final flourish.’ Sophie leant forwards. ‘I simply had not accounted for how many people were listening in.’

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘I quite like the thought of being someone’s dream, although it gives me a lot to live up to.’

Sophie primly folded her hands in her lap. Perhaps her word choice had been extravagant, but it had utterly crushed Sir Vincent.

‘A figure of speech, that is all,’ she said, meeting his gaze full on. ‘I never thought you would hit Sir Vincent.’