LITMIR.BIZ

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the rips and tears. A twig stuck to the top frill of her blouse. He pointed and hoped she was aware of the scandal which she was about to be engulfed in.

      ‘I loved this dress.’ Her hand brushed away the twig. ‘Really loved and adored it. It is irreparable.’

      Her lavender scent rose around him. All his instincts told him to crush her to him and hold her until her shaking stopped, but that would be less than wise. The last thing he needed was to be engulfed in a scandal and for his father to realise he was in Newcastle rather than in London. His father, the Marquess of Hallington, was in ill health. In fact, he had only now begun to recover from the last fit at the end of April. With each passing week, his father seemed to slip more and more into a jealous rage against his mother and the scandal in which she had engulfed the family, even though those events had occurred many years ago.

      Richard knew he shouldn’t have come to Newcastle, but equally he knew he had to vet the man who had captured his half-sister’s affections. His mother was untrustworthy on this matter and he had also taken the opportunity to once again sort out his mother’s finances.

      He forced his arms to let the young woman go and put her from him. ‘Tell me quietly and quickly what you need and I will see what I can do about it.’

      ‘I need to go back to the ball.’

      ‘Looking like that? Brushing away one twig won’t mend the ripped lace. You must know what will happen to you. Shall I call a carriage?’

      Her hand instinctively tried to smooth her rumpled ball dress. ‘Very well, then. I need to get back into the house and go to the ladies’ withdrawing room where I can repair the damage. I do have my leaving arrangements in order.’

      ‘It should be simple a matter to walk straight back.’

      ‘Not so simple.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Someone is after me. He is determined to ruin me.’

      Richard regarded the woman. The back of his neck pricked. He should walk away now. ‘It is hard to ruin someone who does not wish to be ruined. Practically impossible.’

      She gave a half-shrug. ‘I was foolish and failed to consider the possibility. I fear we have not been introduced, but you must accept my assurance that I am normally considered to be extremely reliable and sensible in such matters.’

      ‘Viscount Bingfield.’ He inclined his head. ‘And I am most definitely received everywhere.’

      ‘I will take your word for it.’ Her voice dripped with ice cold.

      ‘Miss Ravel. Miss Ravel. Where are you? I will find you. You can’t hide for ever. And then you will see what happens to women who try to cross me!’

      Richard’s jaw clenched. There was no mistaking the grating voice of Putney! The man was a bounder and a cad of the first order. He’d detested the man ever since that first term at Eton where Putney had put his hand up the maid’s skirt and lied about it, causing the poor girl to be dismissed. Richard had sneaked out to see if she was all right and then the newspaper stories started. Then there was Oxford and the tragedy of Mary. Again he could not prove Putney had a hand in it, but he had encountered Putney in the street the day before he’d been called in front of the Master. Even now he could remember the furtive smile Putney gave.

      ‘Are you trying to hide from Sir Vincent Putney, Miss Ravel?’

      She gave a quick nod of her head. ‘I wish to return to the ball and avoid a scandal. I’ve done nothing wrong. That is all, Lord Bingfield. Once back under the chandeliers, all this will cease to be anything but a bad dream.’

      ‘In that state? Scandal will reverberate throughout the land. Your name will be on everyone’s lips as they attempt to work out how this happened and believe the worst.’

      She glanced down and fluffed out her skirt. ‘A few repairs need to be made. I slipped in the dark. Twice. I barely know the man. I was helping a friend out and matters failed to go as planned.’

      ‘Indeed.’

      ‘I was helping a friend elope.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘My friend was engaged to Sir Vincent, but desired to end the relationship against her father’s wishes. She loved an American. I merely facilitated the elopement. It went like clockwork except …’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Quick, Sir Vincent is coming. I need to get away from him.’

      Richard reacted instinctively. He swung her back into the shadows, up against the hedge and stood between Miss Ravel and the light.

      ‘Follow my lead and keep silent,’ he murmured against her lavender-scented hair. ‘We don’t have time.’

      ‘Your lead?’ she asked, attempting to peer around him. Her skirts brushed his leg. ‘Should I trust you?’

      ‘Do you have a choice?’ He took a glimpse down at Miss Ravel, seeing her clearly for the first time.

      Her lips hovered tantalisingly few inches beneath his. Her worried eyes looked up into his, trusting him to get this right and protect her. Truly Cinderella after the ball, missing a slipper and in need of a prince.

      Richard resisted the urge to crush her to him. Another time and another place he would have given in to temptation, but this closeness was far from a prelude to seduction, it was instead a means to prevent Miss Ravel’s ruin.

      ‘With any luck Putney will walk on without even noticing anything beyond a man and a woman in the shadows. He will expect to find you alone. Foolproof.’

      Footsteps resounded behind them. Every nerve went on alert. Silently he prayed this action would be enough.

      Miss Ravel stiffened and shrank back further against the hedge. The heavy footsteps went on past. The nervous energy drained out of Richard’s shoulders. They had done it! Miss Ravel would be safe. All that was needed was for him to step back.

      His feet refused to move. Instead he lifted his hand and traced the outline of her jaw. Her skin quivered underneath the tips of his fingers and her lips parted, inviting him.

      ‘Dear Richard, imagine! You should be in the ballroom, rather than in the garden,’ a heart-sinkingly familiar woman’s voice said. ‘I shall have to tell your father that we met. He was asking after you at lunch last week. I had understood you were in London. Does he know you journeyed to Newcastle?’

      Richard knew that things had suddenly become much worse. The most fearsome of his aunts had arrived.

      He gave Miss Ravel an apologetic look and swung around.

      ‘Aunt Parthenope, what an unexpected pleasure.’ Richard made a slight bow. ‘I would have called on you earlier today if I’d known you, too, were in Newcastle. I would have thought you’d be in London for the start of the Season.’

      ‘The Season does not properly begin until after Queen Charlotte’s ball. Plenty of time remains to sort out the hanger-ons and no hopers from the cream of this year’s débutantes.’ His aunt gave a loud sniff. ‘You should have known that I always come to Newcastle at this time of year. I have done for years—to visit your grandmother’s grave on the anniversary of her death. In any case, the train makes travel so convenient these days. It takes less than a day. Imagine—when I was a girl, it took more than a week by post carriage.’

      ‘We truly do live in an age of miracles, Aunt,’ Richard murmured, wondering if his mother was aware of his aunt’s habit and why she hadn’t warned him of the possibility.

      ‘Why are you out in the garden, Richard?’

      ‘Crowded ballrooms can cause claustrophobia. I wanted a breath of fresh air.’ He moved towards his aunt and started to lead her away from where Miss Ravel stood, hidden in the shadows, touching his fingers to his lips before he turned away. Immediately Miss Ravel shrank back against the hedge.

      ‘You know how it is, Aunt,’ he said in an expansive tone. ‘One minute, one is waltzing and the next, one needs to be away from the crowd. You have often remarked on how crowded these balls

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