Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12 - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 30

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 earrings, 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 funeral.’

‘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.

‘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.