An Ideal Husband?. Michelle StylesЧитать онлайн книгу.
after the Sebastian débâcle. Failed miserably as it came out too breathless for her liking. ‘Your idea of an unnamed proposal was particularly inspired. I hope … It doesn’t matter what I thought. It is finished now and my reputation is safe. From what Sir Vincent said earlier, I believe Cynthia will be safely married soon to the man she has chosen. It is important to choose a congenial life’s partner rather than have one chosen for you.’
‘I agree entirely,’ he said, helping her around a muddy puddle. ‘A close call, but I feel it was easily accomplished in the end. There should be no repercussions. Who would dare gainsay Lady Parthenope’s pronouncement of innocence?’
‘Will your aunt be cross when she discovers we have no intention of marrying each other?’ Sophie asked in an undertone. Her body was immediately aware of the way his gloved hand curled about hers. He frowned and let go of her hand.
‘She will get over it. Being a disappointment to my aunt appeals. Someone has to be and my cousins have thus far all proved to be sterling examples of moral rectitude and sobriety.’
Sophie forced a smile, but her heart gave a little pang. Lord Bingfield was by far the most interesting man she had met in years and the most unsuitable. A poised demeanour had to be her armour. Never again would she return to that frightened girl, cowering behind a door. ‘You were truly a shining knight.’
‘I’ve no love for Putney and a soft spot for beautiful ladies in distress. It was no trouble. Think no more about it.’
They reached the doorway to the house and in the sudden light, she saw Lord Bingfield clearly for the first time. His dark-brown hair curled slightly at his temples, framing his burnished gold eyes. His mouth was a bit large, but hinted at passion. It was the sort of face to make a woman go weak at the knees and forget her solemn vows.
Sophie fought against an inclination to prolong the encounter. There was no future for her and Lord Bingfield. She had given up on notorious men years ago. The adventure had finished and she and her reputation were safe.
She stopped beside the ladies’ withdrawing room. ‘The adventure has ended.’
‘Should you ever require a knight again, fair lady, let me know.’ He raised her hand to his lips.
The light touch sent a throb of warmth coursing through her. It would be easy to believe in romance, rather than chemistry. Against her better judgement, she wanted to believe he could be a shining knight and protect her from harm, rather than destroy her utterly.
‘You see, I did accept your proposal of protection from Sir Vincent. It was a truly honourable proposal.’
‘My pleasure and you understood the proposal.’ He gave a half-smile and inclined his head. ‘You do know I have no intention of marrying despite what my aunt might believe or my father might dictate.’
‘And you do know I have no intention of behaving badly,’ Sophie said, clutching her reticule close to her chest. Her earlier instincts had been correct. Lord Bingfield was the sort of man who was not safe in carriages. He had saved her reputation, but she knew how that particular game was played. Some day she hoped she’d meet someone who would make her heart soar and fulfilled all the criteria she had agreed with Henri on that fateful day. A friend before a lover. Someone of honour and whom she could love with the right pedigree for her stepmother. Other people had found love—why shouldn’t she?
A small dimple showed in the corner of his mouth. ‘Have I asked you to?’
‘No, but I suspect you entertain hopes. It falls to me to quash them.’ She pinned him with her best I-am-a-formidable-person look. ‘It is always best to be perfectly clear about such things.’
He threw back his head and laughed a deep rich laugh, utterly real and inviting rather than the arched one he’d used as he confronted Sir Vincent earlier. It warmed her all the way to her toes. Sophie started, surprised that the sound could affect her in that way. ‘The day I lose hope is the day I die.’
She concentrated on the flickering light of the chandelier in the entrance hallway, rather than the dimple in the corner of his mouth. She had to keep her wits about her and not indulge in some flight of romantic fantasy. He had given her an explicit warning about his intention to avoid marriage.
Naïve women chose to ignore such words of warning, believing that they were special or unique. It was what a rake traded on. Soon without meaning to, the woman had crossed all manner of bridges and boundaries. That was when a rake struck, showing his true colours. Sophie had learnt this lesson the hard way. A rake meant what he said all the times, and most definitely when it was said in a light-hearted or jesting fashion. And when things didn’t go as they wished …
‘We are at an impasse,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘For my determination is every bit as strong as your hope.’
‘Shall we risk a polka? Surely you can spare a dance for me?’ He held out his hands and his smile became even more beguiling. ‘I did save your reputation and I never ask a second time.’
Sophie swiftly shook her head, banishing the image of them swirling to the music together. It would be very easy to give in to the temptation and dance in his arms. And from there? Each little step would lead her further down a path she’d sworn never to go on again.
‘Here we part. I shall bid you goodbye. We part as friends.’ She held out her hand and allowed a frosty smile past her lips.
He ignored her hand. ‘Until we meet again, Miss Ravel.’
He paused and his gaze travelled slowly down her, making Sophie aware of the way her hair tumbled about her shoulders and her torn dress. Perhaps not quite the ice-maiden look she had hoped to achieve. He gave a long slow smile. ‘As we are no longer strangers.’
‘How could you do it, Richard? You are insupportable. I declare you get that from your father!’
Richard shaded his eyes with his hand. His head throbbed slightly and he reluctantly bid the dream of Sophie Ravel, naked in his arms, goodbye.
After he’d left last night’s ball, he’d spent time at the Northern Counties Club, playing cards and trying not to think about Miss Ravel and ways to meet her rather than returning to the house he rented for his mother and half-sister.
As his aunt had pointed out yesterday and the gossip in club confirmed, Sophie Ravel was a highly eligible heiress, rather than a young widow in need of money or the neglected wife of an aged and jaded aristocrat in search of an afternoon’s amusement. But he also knew the gossip was wrong on one important point. Miss Ravel had the reputation of a fearsome ice maiden—beautiful to look at, but brimming with virtue and utterly lacking in passion. The woman he’d nearly kissed last night had simmered with passion under her frosty exterior.
Only if he wanted to stick his head in the parson’s noose should he be having anything to do with her. Several of his dalliances had reached the scandal sheets in recent years—more for the women’s indiscretions after they parted than his actions, but it was enough to make him wary. He refused to be the instrument of any woman’s ruin.
The certain knowledge of his past notoriety had caused him to drink more than was good for him last night. How his father would laugh. He’d always predicted that his son would one day regret being in the gossip columnists’ sights and the day of reckoning had arrived.
He winced. He might not have deserved the scandal sheet’s attention when he was at Eton, but he’d certainly deserved it a few years ago when he’d attempted to forget his part in Mary’s fall from grace, her forced marriage to a man she loathed and her untimely death. Then, after that, he’d run through a number of bored wives and widows, ending each affair on his terms and walking away without a backward glance. And he did make it a point of honour never to ask a woman twice for something.
It was only a chance encounter with his half-sister eighteen months ago which had led him from the path of self-destruction.
‘Richard, are you going to speak to me? I know you are awake.’ A tall woman stood silhouetted