Читать книгу An Ideal Husband? - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 9

Richard stood in the middle of the Ravels’ overly ornamented and chintz-hung drawing room, trying not to knock over any of the porcelain shepherds, china ladies or vases filled with wax flowers of every hue imaginable. The entire drawing room was a riot of pink tassels, lace doilies and small tables strewn with knickknacks, all in the most fashionable but horrendous taste. His frock-coat had narrowly missed one china pig and a precariously balanced bowl of waxen fruit already as he paced, waiting for Miss Ravel to put in an appearance.

What sort of woman was the redoubtable Miss Ravel? The woman he rescued last night had not seemed in any way formidable, but badly in need of protection. The gossip from the club said that she was aloof, an ice maiden, but he kept remembering the way her eyes had flashed when she rejected his offer of a polka.

His head pounded worse than ever. All the way here, he kept going over in his mind the possible scenarios and becoming angrier. Who else could have linked their names and informed the papers? He also knew that he had to make Miss Ravel understand that he had never made a proposal of that sort.

He had expected more from Miss Ravel. He regarded a particularly nauseating shepherdess who was more strangling a lamb than cuddling it. He knew next to nothing about her except that her ball gown had fetching sophistication and she had been in trouble. Hardly the stuff to build a relationship on. It was far better to get his painful interview over and get back to leading his life.

The lady in question strode into the drawing room. The simplicity of her blue dress contrasted sharply with the overly fussiness of the room. Richard drew in his breath sharply. His dreams had not done her features justice. A certain forthrightness about her jaw warred with the frankly sensuous curve of her bottom lip. Her waist appeared no bigger than his handspan.

Her quick backward glance at the door to ensure it remained wide open, rather than shut, was telling. She appeared determined to observe proprieties, even if no one else was in the room with them.

‘Lord Bingfield,’ she said, dropping a perfunctory curtsy and her lips curving up into a smile, but she failed to hold out her hand to be kissed. Truly redoubtable this morning. ‘An unexpected development.’

‘You have seen the papers?’ he asked, surprised. ‘I could hardly avoid calling on you after such item was printed. It would mean neglecting my duty. I may be many things, Miss Ravel, but I have never been a cad.’

‘We both made our positions quite clear last evening.’

‘I understand the item in question may have made some of the later London editions. My father—’

‘This would be the father who doesn’t know you are in Newcastle?’ She gave a superior smile. ‘I can remember what your aunt said. I’m far from stupid, Lord Bingfield. However, if your being in Newcastle was going to cause problems with your parent, you should have been open and honest about it.’

‘My reasons for being in Newcastle are private.’

She raised a delicate eyebrow. ‘I will allow you to keep your reasons private. I merely mentioned this as plans have a way of going awry.’

‘Have you seen the item?’

‘My stepmother informed me of it.’ She gave a small cough. ‘Apparently your aunt has written to her, inviting her to tea. My stepmother is transported with excitement at the thought of taking tea with the great Lady Parthenope.’

‘How charming.’

Her eyes flashed blue fire. ‘I won’t have my stepmother mocked, Lord Bingfield.’

He inclined his head. ‘I was referring to my aunt, rather than your stepmother. I had not anticipated this development.’

‘Your aunt began it.’

‘Aunts are a law unto themselves, Miss Ravel, particularly my aunts. They can be wildly unpredictable. It is part of their charm.’ Aunts were a law unto themselves, but he’d never expect his aunt to take it this far, making contact with Miss Ravel’s relations before any nuptials were publically announced. There again, his aunt prided herself on her ability to ferret out people’s most discreet indiscretion and remembering snippets of gossips. It was why she proved such an effective gatekeeper for Almack’s. Currently slow torture would be too good for her, in Richard’s opinion. He’d suggest it to one of his cousins. ‘I hope your stepmother will not be too disappointed when you explain why she must not accept this invitation.’

‘My stepmother has longed for such an invitation ever since she first married my late father. She wishes to mingle with the truly genteel.’ Her neat white teeth worried her bottom lip, turning it the colour of ripe cherries. There was something innocent about her. Despite her age and reputation of being formidable, she seemed soft and gentle and in definite need of protection. ‘It was one of the reasons I was sent away to school for a time.’

‘My aunt is haughty rather than genteel. Her rudeness and sense of entitlement can be shocking at times.’

‘No matter how I explain that it doesn’t matter, my stepmother persists.’ Miss Ravel shrugged a shoulder. ‘My stepmother must do as she pleases, but I have disabused her of any notion that we are considering an alliance. I leave it to you to inform your aunt.’

‘Did you have anything to do with the item in papers? Are you responsible for it?’

‘The appearance of the item is a mystery and most vexing.’ Her eyes flared. ‘Why on earth would I want to endanger my reputation by linking my name with yours? I am well aware of what happens to women who become entangled with men like you.’

‘A simple yes or no to the original question will suffice.’ Richard fought to control his temper. Miss Ravel made it sound as though he was some sort of affliction to be avoided at all costs. He had never knowingly ruined a woman. ‘We shall go at it another way. Do you know your enemy, Miss Ravel?’

Her blue eyes met his. ‘Then, no, if you must know, I did not contact the papers. And until today, I didn’t consider that I had an enemy. Sir Vincent must be more persistent than I thought. He has ignored your aunt’s pronouncement of total innocence. Why would he do such a thing, except that he knows the merest hint of your name will soil my reputation?’

The tension rushed out of Richard’s shoulders. Her assessment was the same as his. ‘Thank you. I believe you. Forgive me for doubting you, but I had to know.’

The fire went out of her eyes. ‘You are apologising.’

‘Sir Vincent and I have previous history. He is a formidable enemy.’

‘Indeed.’ She passed a hand over her eyes and sank down on to the pink-damask sofa. ‘I have made an enemy who intends to use underhanded means to win.’

‘He has succeeded before. I am determined to stop him. This time.’ Without bidding, the image of Mary’s face floated in front of his eyes. He would have done the decent thing and married Mary before he was sent down from Oxford, despite the pain it would have caused his father. If he’d done that, she’d never have been forced into that marriage, would have never run away and met her death in that canal accident. He forced his mind away. He had to concentrate on the now and saving Miss Ravel. He knew what she was up against. Miss Ravel was an innocent.

‘Putney means to ruin you, Miss Ravel. I’ve seen him do it to other women years ago and this time I will stop him.’

‘Ruin me? How?’ she said with a hiccupping laugh. ‘We have witnesses that you made an honourable proposal. Sir Vincent can’t harm me.’

‘There are several scandal-mongers lurking outside your house.’ He gave an apologetic smile. ‘When you have been notorious, you learn to know their type. I sent them on their way.’

‘They are watching the house? Still?’

‘It is entirely possible,’ Richard admitted.

Miss Ravel walked over to the drawing-room window and closed the shutters with a bang.

‘You should have told me about them before you started accusing me of informing the papers. My stepmother will be beside herself. My former guardian will have apoplexy. I would never have allowed you in if I’d known.’

‘I went to my club after I left the ball. I hadn’t seen the papers or I would have been here earlier…’

‘But they will know you were here.’ She put her hands to her head. Her face had gone pale. ‘Don’t you see? The scandal will be all the greater. The scandalous Lord B has called on the redoubtable Miss R … or possibly the not-so-fearsome Miss R…but wilful and headstrong.’

She clasped her hands together as if she was trying to keep them from trembling. Richard fought against the inclination to take her in his arms and hold her until the trembling stopped. She was right. His coming here had made matters worse, but he could not have just left her to face the coming storm alone. It was not in his nature.

‘It had to be done. Your post could be watched. The gutter press is called that for a reason.’

‘I shall have to quit society.’ Miss Ravel began to pace the room. ‘My stepmother will be displeased, but it will have to be done. She still harbours hopes of a glittering marriage for me. I’ll leave for Corbridge in the morning.’

‘The scandal hounds will follow you. Putney will ensure it. Running will only encourage them.’

She put a hand out to steady herself. ‘This is positively the last time I assist in anyone’s elopement. The consequences are far too grave.’

‘Listen to me, Miss Ravel, before you panic utterly.’

‘I never panic.’ she shouted. ‘This is my life you have ruined. All you have to do is leave this room. No one has any expectations of you.’

He raised an eyebrow and her cheeks infused with colour. He quickly calculated the odds and knew the risk was worth taking. He would have done everything possible and he could leave her with a clear conscience. He would also have fulfilled the vow that he made at Mary’s graveside. Putney would never use him to ruin another woman. ‘I have expectations of my behaviour. It is my expectations which are important here, not someone else’s.’

‘What do you suggest?’ she whispered, clasping her hands together so tightly the knuckles shone white.

‘It is nothing that either of us wanted, but I can see no other practical solution, one which allows us both some measure of honour.’ He went down on one knee. ‘Will you marry me, Sophie Ravel?’

Sophie stared at Lord Bingfield in astonishment. He had gone down on one knee with one hand clasped to his breast and was looking up at her with an intent expression.

Her mouth went dry. It was a proper proposal. He was truly proposing. Lord Bingfield, despite his scandalous reputation and his vowed intent never to marry, was doing the decent thing and properly proposing marriage. Her stepmother’s drawing room filled with its waxen fruit, china dogs and vases full of wax flowers had a distinct air of unreality.

‘You are silent for once, Miss Ravel. Have you been struck dumb?’

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. She refused to believe in fairy tales or instant love. He was doing this for his own purposes and not to save her.

She had learnt her lesson the hard way years ago. Some day she would find a man whom she could love and whom she wanted to share the remainder of her life with, but until then she kept her head. Bingfield expected her to refuse. Of course he did. Then he could say that he’d done the decent thing, but alas, the lady had been unwilling. She gave a small smile. She understood the game now. She fought against the temptation to whisper ‘yes’, simply because he must expect a ‘no’.

‘Am I supposed to give this serious consideration?’ she asked, tilting her head to one side and allowing her lashes to sweep down. ‘Or am I supposed to refuse outright, send you on your way with a clear conscience that you have behaved with propriety? It might solve your problem with your code of honour, but it will not solve mine.’

His eyes hardened to stones. ‘That is not for me to say. I merely asked the question in the proper manner. It is for you to answer when you have considered it. Simply know I will not ask the question twice. Being coy will get you nowhere.’

‘You do not know me well enough to feel any finer feelings.’

‘I never pretended any finer feelings, Miss Ravel. I asked you to marry me. You would hardly want me to be dishonest. The proposal suits my purposes for the moment. I will abide by your answer.’

The words served to puncture her entirely. Sophie frowned at the unexpected disappointment. It shouldn’t matter what Lord Bingfield thought of her, but it did. A tiny piece of her had hoped that somehow she’d been wrong and he’d fallen instantly in love with her. She had thought that the romantic part of her had died in that inn on the road to Scotland along with the rest of her girlish dreams, but apparently it hadn’t.

‘Is this some sort of a joke, Lord Bingfield?’

He slowly rose to his full height. Sophie was aware of the power in his shoulders and the way they narrowed down to his slim hips. Her body remembered how close they had stood last night. Her cheeks grew hot. He might not have any finer feelings for her, but she knew she wanted him to kiss her and that was not going to happen.

‘I would hardly go down on one knee unless I was serious.’ His lips turned down and his eyes became shadowed. ‘In light of today’s papers, do you think Putney will stop?’

‘He needs to be exposed.’

‘Others have tried and failed. I refuse to be used as an instrument of your ruin by the likes of him. Equally I refuse to be labelled a cad and have it whispered that I ruin eligible women for sport. Years ago, I made a vow that I would not be used by him to ruin any woman.’ He gave her a resolute look. ‘Marriage is the right and proper thing to do in these circumstances. If I had not asked, it would have weighed on my conscience. It is now up to you to make a decision. I will abide by your choice.’

Sophie stared at the ceiling. The proposal might be real, but he didn’t expect her to accept it. Not truly, not given in such a manner and after last night’s exchange. But did she need the protection of a marriage to save her reputation from Sir Vincent? All she needed was an engagement. Her heart thudded.

‘You suggest a fake engagement until the newspapers lose interest and I can jilt you? Putney is sure to move on when he realises that I am no soft target.’ She pursed her lips, considering. It made complete and utter sense. It would buy her time until the Montemorcys returned and she could get proper advice. She turned around and faced Lord Bingfield, adopting her best social smile. ‘A false engagement should stop comment. Whoever is doing this expects you to run and to leave me ruined, but this way Sir Vincent Putney will be left exposed. Marriage is not the answer, an engagement is.’

His brows knitted together and he seemed genuinely perplexed. ‘A false engagement? One is either engaged to be married or one is not, Miss Ravel. I don’t deal in fakes and deceptions of that nature. Attempting to cozen society is fraught with difficulty.’

‘It is in the novels my stepmother likes to read. They are all the rage.’ Sophie gave him a breezy assurance, but her insides twisted. He made it seem as though she dealt in deception regularly. She didn’t. Sometimes it was easier to give an impression of a certain behaviour for the greater good, that was all. ‘We don’t actually have to marry. Once the furore has died down and Putney is unmasked or quits the neighbourhood, we can part…amicably. Legitimate engagements are ended for all sorts of reasons.’

‘I meant a marriage if it came to it. I knew the risks when I asked. And if you had refused, I would have told the various journalists that my heart was broken by the redoubtable Miss Ravel.’ He inclined his head. ‘I will not pretend instant undying love. I have seen enough of love to know it leads two people who are wholly unsuited to each other to do stupid things. Love has little place in marriage. We might have suited if you had desired it.’

‘We obviously have different views on the subject. I would never have such a cold-blooded thing as an arranged marriage. A happy marriage needs a firm foundation of love.’

A half-smile flickered across his face. ‘Despite your formidable reputation, Miss Ravel, you are a secret romantic. Love only complicates things and makes people profoundly unhappy in my experience.’

‘I demand certain standards from any prospective bridegroom.’ Sophie drew herself up to her full height. ‘Standards which you sadly lack.’

‘However, I will consider your wish of a fake engagement and evaluate the risks. We might be able to play Sir Vincent at his own game.’

His mouth twisted as he spat the word fake. Deep-seated anger at the injustice of the whole situation flooded through her. She was trapped in a situation not of her making and had found the perfect solution if only he’d agree. She was being honest and forthright, whereas if she’d accepted his offer he would have found a way to make her jilt him. And his idea of telling the press she’d rejected him would make them more interested in her, rather than less.

‘Consider!’ Sophie put her hands on her hips. ‘It is the perfect solution. Surely you must see it. There will be no need for further scandal. We will quietly part at the end. There will be no hurt feelings or accusations as we both know from the outset that the marriage will never happen. Honesty on both our parts from the start.’

‘You know nothing about me!’

Sophie crossed her arms. He was like any other rake, solely interested in himself. ‘I know enough.’

‘I had not considered a limited engagement, but it would serve the same purpose, I suppose.’ He gave a long sigh. ‘My father will be disappointed when the longed-for engagement ends, but he generally is with me these days.’

‘You are a fortune hunter. It was why your aunt was so pleased to see you with me.’

Sophie backed away from the window. Her stomach knotted. She should have guessed. And she had handed him the perfect opportunity. Just once she wanted to be wanted for herself rather than for the fortune her father had amassed. The walls seemed to close in on her and she wished her corset wasn’t as tight. Here when she walked into the drawing room, she’d been so pleased with the way the slenderness of her waist contrasted with her new crinoline. It was always the way—either look good or be able to breathe. Next time she’d remember that breathing was important when dealing with people like Lord Bingfield, particularly Lord Bingfield.

‘Miss Ravel, jumping to conclusions is never good.’ His ice-cold voice filled the room and cut through her panic. ‘My fortune is quite secure. The estate is well funded thanks to my mother’s dowry and eventually it will be mine. My father cannot change that. Do you wish to see the accounts? He merely wishes me to marry and provide an heir.’

Sophie pinched the top of her nose. She could hardly confess about her past mistake with Sebastian. Just thinking about that made her feel unclean. ‘I have met fortune hunters in the past. They are a known hazard for heiresses. One has to be cautious. You can be left without any fortune at all.’

‘So I understand.’ His mouth twisted. ‘There are ways to protect women if one acts before marriage. You must take your time and get the right settlement. It saves heartache, as my mother found out to her cost.’

‘Your mother is still alive?’

‘My parents are divorced. The settlement was not in her favour. They were in a unique situation, as I am sure you are aware. It was all in the papers at the time. My mother was for ever banished from polite society.’

Sophie hung her head. She had done it again—jumping to a conclusion when the truth was precisely the opposite. It made sense now why he had acted so quickly to protect her. ‘I didn’t know. I have no idea who your parents are.’

‘Truly?’ He raised an eyebrow and his features seemed carved from stone. ‘You surprise me, Miss Ravel. My parents’ divorce was the subject of great scandal. The account of the crim. con. trial went into several editions. A best seller, or so Putney informed me when we were at Eton.’

‘It happened a long time ago. The world moves on,’ Sophie replied evenly. Her stomach clenched and she knew that she had to get this right. If she said the wrong words, he could decide not to help her. ‘Scandal is not branded on people’s foreheads. A person’s true character is of far more relevance than any perceived scandal.’

‘Other people may beg to differ. Ever since I was at Eton, the press have been interested in my doings. First because of my parents and then …’

She fixed him with her eye. It was obvious the sort of reputation he must have. He probably made Sebastian Cawburn look like an angelic choirboy. ‘Because you decided to give them what they wanted.’

‘I was determined to live my life as I pleased rather than looking over my shoulder for their approval. They have printed lies in the past and continue to twist my life so they can sell more papers. Once I had my head around that fact, I found it much easier to accept. Regardless of what the papers might say, there are certain lines I do not cross. Once I make a vow, I do my utmost to keep it. You must remember that, Miss Ravel.’

‘I am not interested in other people’s opinions and I am interested in how a person behaves.’

A light flared in his eyes. ‘You are a unique individual, Miss Ravel.’

‘I like to think so. Do you agree to my scheme?’ Sophie held out her hand and willed him to take it, sealing their pact. ‘Once I jilt you, you can nurse a broken heart for ages. The papers will be sympathetic. Your father will have to give you time to grieve. We are simply being honest with each other at the start, rather than playing games. Neither of us will get hurt. We have much to gain.’

He gathered her hands in his and she noticed how good it felt to touch him. Her body went rigid. She did not have to act on the attraction. Desire burnt itself out quickly. Desire was not the same as lasting love. ‘We could have made a great team, Miss Ravel.’

‘Sophie!’ Her stepmother’s outraged tones came from the open door. ‘What is going on here? You are holding hands with a strange man! Where has your sense of propriety gone, my girl?’

Sophie slipped her hands from Lord Bingfield’s. Her stepmother would have to choose this moment to come into the drawing room. Nothing had been settled. ‘Going on, Stepmother? Everything is utterly innocent.’

‘Hornswoggle! I have seen that look in your eye before, young lady. You had better not think to twist me around your little finger.’

‘Allow me to introduce myself, Richard Crawford, Viscount Bingfield. My father is the Marquess of Hallington, Mrs Ravel.’ Lord Bingfield recaptured her hand. Sophie gave a little tug, but he didn’t let go. ‘Your stepdaughter has done me the honour of becoming my fiancée in light of the news reported in today’s papers.’

Sophie struggled to fill her lungs. He had done it, despite his misgivings. They were embarked on the deception.

‘Sophie!’ Her stepmother went white and then red.

‘You had best sit down, Stepmother.’ Sophie let go of Lord Bingfield’s hand and led her stepmother to the pink-damask sofa. ‘You have had a shock.’

‘Then it is true, my dear child? Not some nonsense?’ Her stepmother fumbled for her reticule and her smelling salts. ‘You are going to marry this stranger? You could have told me that was the reason why you needed to meet him alone.’

‘I had no idea he would offer, Stepmother.’ Sophie took the reticule, retrieved the vial and waved it under her stepmother’s nose. ‘I didn’t want to get your hopes up. An engagement is the best solution in the circumstances. The gutter press appear determined that we court.’

‘I regret that subterfuge was necessary, but we didn’t wish for the press to become interested with regards to your stepdaughter’s innocence.’ Lord Bingfield bowed his head. ‘Alas …’

‘I completely understand,’ her stepmother said, her face alight with eagerness. ‘The press must be such a bother for you, dogging your footsteps. You seem to be a great favourite of theirs.’

‘Most of the stories they print about me have no bearing on reality, my dear Mrs Ravel. I do have my code of honour.’

Her stepmother gave a long sigh.

Sophie rolled her eyes. A few well-chosen words and her stepmother melted. She regretted the necessity of keeping her stepmother ignorant of the true arrangement, but her stepmother had never been able to keep a secret. And it was necessary to stop Sir Vincent once and for all time. But the sooner this deception was over, the better.

‘I had never considered what the people in the scandal sheets must feel and how cautious they have to be.’

‘You read the scandal sheets?’

Her stepmother put her hand to the side of her mouth and leant forwards. ‘Sophie disapproves.’

‘Does she?’

‘What a truly noble thing you have done. They were all wrong about you and how you break women’s hearts. I never believed the story about you, that Russian countess and her husband, the one who committed suicide rather than compete with you.’

‘I am grateful.’ Lord Bingfield inclined his head. ‘The situation was not how the press portrayed it. I met the countess after her husband died, and introduced her to her new husband. We remain friends.’

Sophie stared at him. Precisely how much of a favourite with the gutter press was he?

‘Lord Bingfield, you must partake of some tea or perhaps something stronger.’ Her stepmother straightened her cap. ‘I know how fond you gentlemen are of something a little more potent. I am dying to learn the truth behind some of the latest scandals.’

Sophie attempted to signal over her stepmother’s head, but Lord Bingfield simply gave a superior smile. ‘I would be delighted to spend time with you, Mrs Ravel, but I never discuss the latest tittle-tattle for obvious reasons.’

‘I shall leave you two now,’ her stepmother said at the end of a very long cup of tea. ‘Sophie has been glowering at me ever since the teapot arrived. I, too, remember what it is like to be young. I am so pleased you decided to do the decent thing, Lord Bingfield. I do worry about Sophie. Her future happiness has been a source of sleepless nights and now it is all settled. The late Mr Ravel must be beaming down from heaven. His Sophie will be a marchioness. He’d never thought his daughter would climb so high, but I knew she would.’

‘I am sure he is, Mrs Ravel.’

Her stepmother turned a bright pink and hurried off. Lord Bingfield closed the door firmly behind her. He loomed larger than ever. Sophie retreated a step.

‘The die is cast and the deception has begun,’ she said, adopting an ice-cold tone. ‘There was no need to close the door. We can take our leave in full view of any passing servant.’

‘There is every need.’ The gold in his eyes deepened. ‘I want to know why you believe you have only your fortune to offer in a marriage.’

‘What I have to offer is none of your business!’ Sophie crossed her arms. Her stomach tightened. In suggesting the false engagement, she’d just given Lord Bingfield an iron-clad opportunity for a seduction! She’d simply have to insist that certain boundaries weren’t crossed. ‘I was merely seeking to understand why you were insistent we have a real engagement. You have no regard for me.’

He took a step closer. ‘Are you saying that you are indifferent to me?’

‘Yes.’ Sophie stuck her chin in the air. ‘Yes, definitely.’

‘Liar.’

She went still. Her heart raced and her mouth became parched. She wet her lips. ‘I do not make a habit of lying, Lord Bingfield.’

‘Richard.’ He reached her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I am your fiancé now. You need to think of me as your true betrothed or Putney will create an even bigger scandal. Remember that. This might help you. Think of it as an aide-mémoire.’

She was aware of him in the same heart-thumping way she’d been aware of him the night before. She concentrated on the chintz curtains behind his left shoulder, rather than on his mouth. ‘What are you intending on doing?’

‘Demonstrating … Sophie.’

Her name sounded like a soft caress, sliding over her jangled nerves and soothing her. A warm pulse went down her spine. No one had ever used her name in quite that fashion before.

His hand tilted her chin so she looked into his eyes of pure gold.

She had only time to blink before his mouth descended, slowly, like a tiny fluttering of a breeze and then increasing intensity. Sophie told herself that she should keep her body still or scream. She should do something besides enjoying the kiss, but she discovered she was powerless to do anything else.

She closed her eyes, savoured the sensation and swayed towards him.

He let her go and stepped back. ‘Point proved … Sophie.’

This time her name was anything but a caress. Her cheeks grew hot and she rubbed her aching lips furiously. ‘It proves nothing except you, like any self-respecting rake, know how to kiss.’

He picked up his hat. ‘I will pick you up tonight.’

‘What is happening tonight?’ Sophie asked, her hand freezing in mid-air. The hard part of this engagement was not going to be pretending to be attracted to him, but keeping the attraction at bay. After insisting on the fake engagement, she could hardly back down now. When it was all over, she wanted to walk away with her head held high, knowing she had withstood the cynical seduction of a rake.

‘You and I will go to the Assembly Rooms tonight. You will demonstrate your waltzing skills to me. We want people to talk.’

‘Are we announcing the engagement?’

‘Not yet.’ He leant forwards and his breath caressed her cheek. ‘Everyone needs to see how besotted we are with each other. You can do besotted, Sophie, can’t you?’