An Ideal Husband? (10 page)

She dipped her head and did not meet his eyes. ‘Other people have. The woman can be the last to know.’

Silently he once more cursed the man who had made her so wary. He wanted to run him through for causing Sophie to doubt her charms
and power. And an unexpected surge of jealousy went through him. She should not be comparing him to such a cad.

He went over to her and raised her chin so that she was staring directly into his face. She did not pull away.

‘I am not other men, Sophie Ravel,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘Why should I want to pursue other women when the world thinks I am engaged to you?’

‘Because …’ Her tongue flicked out, moistening her lips and turning them to the colour of ripe cherries. ‘Because we are not truly engaged.’

‘I would hardly dishonour any fiancée in that way, particularly not one I’d sworn to protect. Whatever you might think of me, know I keep my promises.’

Giving in to temptation, he bent his head and tasted her lips.

This time, they trembled under his and parted slightly, inviting him to prolong the kiss. Before deepening the kiss, he brought his arms about her, pulling her close so that her body collided with his, just as he had longed to do ever since they had waltzed together. It fitted perfectly—her curves meeting his hard planes in exactly the right places. She melted further, opening
her mouth wide so that he delved his tongue in. He tasted. There was something so right about her taste, something that had been missing from his life. He hadn’t known he needed it until that instant and the longing frightened him.

With the last vestige of self-control, he raised his head and put her from him. He drew a ragged breath and resisted the overwhelming urge to take one more taste.

She looked up at him with uncomprehending eyes as her chest heaved. And he knew what he was destined to dream about tonight—Sophie naked in his arms. This was desire and nothing more. His shoulders relaxed. He understood desire.

Once he’d solved the puzzle of her, it would fade. He touched her cheek, enjoying its petal softness.

She looped a strand of hair about one shell-like ear, making a pretence of icy fortitude. ‘What … what was that about?’

‘There, that is how I say goodnight to my fiancée.’ He inclined his head. ‘Remember that the next time you wish to make an accusation about my habits, or believe yourself unworthy. You are my fiancée and I refuse to expose you to ridicule.’

T
he last place Sophie wanted to be was at her stepmother’s At Home. Crowded At Homes generally made her feel as though she was some exotic beast on show for the masses and this week was worse than usual.

She had lost track of the number of people who just happened to call, most with congratulations about the engagement. And those who had not bothered to read today’s editions were soon apprised of the fact by others in the room. As she had predicted, ‘The Redoubtable captures the Rake’ was the lead item.

Everyone wanted to meet the prospective bridegroom and hear the thrilling tale of a whirlwind romance which had turned into the engagement of the Season, if not the year!

Richard had been right. Their engagement was now an established fact. She couldn’t cancel it without seeming flighty or, worse still, a liar. She was well and truly trapped in a scheme of her own making. Worse, he had not put in an appearance.

She found herself watching the door and the clock, but the minutes were slipping by. The At Home would end without an appearance from him.

She wanted to run and hide and not face the humiliation of his non-show, but she felt guilty for even thinking of the idea. A Ravel always met her social obligations. The fact had been drilled into her at a young age when she’d hidden behind a curtain rather than meet one of her father’s business associates. So she smiled and asked after various children and elderly relatives and hoped no one else noticed that Richard wasn’t there and she had declined to give a time or date for the engagement party which her stepmother loudly proclaimed would be happening soon.

Sophie forcibly turned her gaze from the front door, tilted her head and graciously enquired after a neighbour’s son who was cutting his first tooth. If she concentrated on other people, then
maybe she’d forget the deepening hole inside and all the doubts and what ifs.

‘Lady Parthenope will be arriving momentarily,’ her stepmother’s latest butler declared in an overly theatrical fashion. ‘Her carriage has been spotted.’

Her stepmother went red with pleasure. Sophie excused herself and hurried over to her stepmother, putting her hand on her stepmother’s sleeve. ‘Is there some reason that Lady Parthenope has come to call? I wasn’t aware you are intimates.’

‘I sent her a note, dear, after you refused to allow me to go to her tea,’ her stepmother explained with the sort of smile which could light up a thousand ballrooms. ‘It seemed the right thing to do. She is dear Bingfield’s only female relation in the neighbourhood. I wanted her advice on the engagement party. I do hope she gives me a moment to compose myself before she finally appears. I declared I’m all at sixes and sevens. It is worse than waiting for the Queen.’

‘Her advice on the engagement party?’ Sophie put her hand on her stepmother’s sleeve. Composing herself for Lady Parthenope would have to wait. She needed to know precisely the full horror of what her stepmother had done.

‘It needs to be an event of glittering magnitude. There again, perhaps the aristocracy do things differently. I do want to be guided, my dear, and Henri is away in Europe. People have expectations.’

‘You have written to Henri!’ Sophie’s heart sank. She had hoped to present the entire episode as an amusing anecdote when Henri and Robert returned with their two young children, but her stepmother had closed that door.

‘I thought she’d want to know.’ Mrs Ravel peered around her and motioned to the footman to move several tables and chairs. ‘I do think it bad of Lord Bingfield not to call. I had wanted a chance to quiz him about it as well. After all, it will be his engagement party, too.’

‘You sent Lord Bingfield a note about the party?’ The complete horror of what her stepmother had done penetrated Sophie’s brain. Any engagement party would make things worse. They would have to be there as a couple in love. She might even start depending on him to be there. But she had no idea of how to stop it. Her stepmother’s juggernaut would flatten everything in its path.

‘First thing this morning while you were showing your new maid your clothes. Is there any reason I shouldn’t? Sophie, have you entirely
forgotten your manners?’ Her stepmother waved a hand. ‘And invitations have been arriving all morning along with an unsigned postcard from Liverpool. You and Lord Bingfield will be much in demand, I am happy to say, but where is he? It is most vexing.’

‘Lord Bingfield will call when he has the time.’ Sophie concentrated on the teacup. Cynthia arriving in Liverpool was the best news she had had all day. She had to remember that Cynthia’s love was true. She and her intended had known each other for months before they eloped. Sophie knew she had to hang on to the thought, rather than dreaming about Richard and his goodnight kiss. Desire did not make a love match. Desire did not mean she actually liked him.
It didn’t mean she disliked him, either
, a little voice whispered.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘How many others did you happen to ask for advice about this engagement party?’

Her stepmother counted on her fingers. ‘Fourteen, maybe seventeen. It depends on who you count. Miss Smith and her sister were visiting Mrs Butterworth when I happened to mention the engagement yesterday. They were the ones who suggested a party. It is not as if I am spreading lies, Sophie. You are going to marry
Viscount Bingfield and will eventually be a marchioness.’

‘An engagement has been agreed,’ Sophie corrected. ‘There is a difference. You know how many engagements were broken last year.’

‘Hornswoggle. Last night anyone with half an eye could see how entranced you were with each other when you waltzed. And then your declaration after Lord Bingfield punched that dreadful toad Sir Vincent Putney. It made my heart thrill. Romance truly does live. Your father would be fit to burst.’

‘You shouldn’t have done it, Stepmother, without consulting me.’

‘Mrs Butterworth was overly proud last year when her eldest daughter married a baronet. You being married to a viscount will be just the sort of setdown she needs. You will take precedence. My stepdaughter, one of the higher-ranking peers, just as your father always dreamt.’

‘But I would have preferred to have been consulted about this party first. You have no idea whether Lord Bingfield wants a party or not.’

‘It is why I want to speak to him.’ Her stepmother patted Sophie’s hand. ‘People always speculate. In any case, most of the people here I didn’t mention the party to, but everyone is asking about it.’

‘I wonder why that is.’

‘It will have to be a glittering affair. Your father did love a good party. Imagine if Lord Hallington attended. A living marquess in this house!’

‘We haven’t agreed on the settlement yet.’ Sophie lifted her cup to her lips. This entire affair seemed to have taken a life of its own. She had to begin to sow seeds of doubt or her stepmother would take to her bed for weeks when Richard and she broke it off. And what better place with all these people attending the At Home? Sophie raised her voice slightly. ‘I shouldn’t have even shown my ring last night. It was wrong of me. Premature. My father would be appalled at my lack of prudence. Perhaps Robert Montemorcy, my former guardian, should be consulted before this goes further.’

Sophie glanced about the room which was now filled with an expectant hush, awaiting Lady Parthenope’s arrival. Seed sown, her job was done.

Her stepmother gave a little frown. ‘I suppose you are right. I will put the party off until later in the year.’

‘Once it has been announced officially, then we can plan the party, properly with Henri. You know what an expert she is with such things.’
Sophie nodded towards the door. ‘You must go greet Lady Parthenope. It would not do to keep her ladyship waiting.’

Her stepmother’s ribbons trembled. ‘What shall I say to her?’

‘Hello?’ Sophie offered with a faint laugh, but her stepmother’s agitation only increased.

Lady Parthenope swept into the room and nearly knocked over a table of china pugs as the entire room fell silent and teacups were poised halfway to the lips. Sophie watched fascinated as her stepmother warred with two emotions—the desire to protect her china collection and the pride that so illustrious a personage should visit her house. In the end, pride won out. She hurriedly waved towards the china-dog table, which the butler moved without saying a word, and the background of a busy At Home recommenced.

‘I shan’t beat about the bush,’ Lady Parthenope said after she had greeted her stepmother. ‘Is it true you intend to give a party to celebrate your engagement to my nephew? I would have thought informing a family circle would be the first order of business before you announced to all and sundry, but what do I know about young people these days? The manners are all so different from when I was young after the war.
Then things were done in a certain fashion or not at all.’

‘It is something you will need to consult with your nephew about—why he asked before getting your permission to marry,’ Sophie replied and was pleased the words came out far more assured than she felt inside. ‘I would hardly like to break a confidence. You must understand that, Lady Parthenope, and these matters, much as we hope otherwise, are often fraught with inner peril. My stepmother is perhaps over-eager with the plans for a party, but they are far from well advanced.’

‘Humph,’ Lady Parthenope said with a glacial frown. She turned and began to greet the other women, asking after various relations or mutual acquaintances.

Sophie noted with no small amount of admiration that the woman appeared to know how to greet everyone graciously. She had to wonder if Lady Parthenope had always been like this or if she had ever hidden behind a curtain. No, she decided, Lady Parthenope belonged to that special breed of woman who was always sure in any social situation.

‘I see you wasted no time, Aunt, in making your acquaintance with my intended’s family,’ Lord Bingfield said as he came into the room.
His frock-coat was immaculate and he seemed to fill the drawing room. She noticed the way his hair curled about his temple and how the cut of his coat showed off his hips. Their eyes locked and a slow smile spread over his face.

Realising she was staring, Sophie hurriedly set down her teacup, managing to slosh the liquid on to her hand. Painfully obvious. The sudden heat jolted her back to reality. She winced, knowing her cheeks must be flushed. She was behaving worse than some débutante who was only a few weeks into her first Season. She was a veteran of four and knew better than to respond to men like Lord Bingfield. She had made so many mistakes in their short acquaintance.

‘Someone had to, dear boy. Your father is hardly likely to travel to the north. And the less said about your mother’s side of the family, the better, in my opinion,’ Lady Parthenope pronounced.

‘Finally you appear, Lord Bingfield. Sophie has been counting the minutes,’ her stepmother cooed, much to Sophie’s surprise and annoyance.

Her stepmother made it sound as though she had nothing better to do than to moon over him. Things were problematic enough with Lord Bingfield getting ideas about how she might feel
about him. Her stepmother’s triumphant look did nothing to calm Sophie’s nerves.

‘My pleasure, Mrs Ravel.’ He bowed low over her stepmother’s hand. ‘I regret the slight delay, but what does that matter as I am here now? I am at your disposal, Mrs Ravel. Who would you like me to meet first? Your friends all appear charming and I don’t want to get the order of precedence wrong.’

His smile spread over the entire gathering. Her normally poised stepmother turned a shade of red, highly akin to beetroot, while a gaggle of her stepmother’s friends gave barely concealed sighs. His voice was the sort that warmed your toes, oozing superficial charm.

Sophie frowned and concentrated on the alabaster vase containing a bouquet of wax flowers. She’d be wrong to forget that it was superficial, pretty to look at but having no real substances, and the fact that this was all an act. She knew precisely what happened when the charm faded and the rake in question was turned down.

Her temple throbbed slightly. She refused to go back to that inn. She had ceased to be that carefree girl years ago. Real and honest love took months, if not years, to develop and he had been quite honest about not having finer feelings for her. She was not going to believe in the
romance of it all. She had to be the practical one and search for other opportunities to sow seeds of doubt, so that when the end came, it would not cause her stepmother to take to her bed for weeks.

Richard accepted a cup of tea from her stepmother and came over to her. Her nerves pulsed with warmth. She found it impossible to forget the way his mouth had tasted when he’d kissed her last night.

She concentrated on the spill and tried to think of something else beside him and the way his shoulders filled out his frock-coat.

‘Do you need a handkerchief, Miss Ravel?’

His heady scent of balsam mixed with a subtle spice wafted over her, tickling her nose. And she inhaled deeply, savouring it, but then recollected where she was, sat up straighter and fixed him with her eye.

‘Everything is under control. I knocked the cup a little. I am fully capable of cleaning up my own messes.’

‘I would hate to think anything untoward happened to your delicate flesh.’ He came over and took her hand. His brow furrowed as his palm brushed her ring finger before releasing it. A subtle caress. ‘You are wearing the ring.’

Sophie fought against the temptation to flee.
He knew precisely what he was doing. He had played this sort of
double entendre
game with countless other females. It would be wrong of her to think otherwise. ‘I felt it best. Everyone wanted to see it. Even if it is tempting fate to wear it.’

‘Fate?’ A dimple played in the corner of his mouth, reminding her that her dreams had been full of that mouth and the way it tasted.

‘Nothing has been settled until certain agreements have been reached,’ she said decisively, banishing the thought.

He raised her hand to his lips. The tiniest touch, but enough to make her stomach flutter and the heat rise on her cheeks. She tried to tell herself that every woman had that sort of reaction to him, but it didn’t make it any easier.