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An Ideal Husband?. Michelle Styles
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Автор произведения Michelle Styles
Издательство HarperCollins
‘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!’