LITMIR.BIZ

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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 in the doorway. His man lurked behind her.

      Richard shook his head. Myers had always been a soft touch where women were concerned. He focused on his mother instead of his valet. The sooner this contretemps in a teacup was sorted, the sooner he would get back to his dream.

      ‘Mother, what are you doing waking me up so early?’ Richard sat up and stretched. He glanced at the small ormolu clock on the bedside table. ‘I thought you would find this time of day exceedingly early for civilised people.’

      He waited for her to make her excuses and withdraw.

      ‘I left you to sleep for as long as I dared,’ his mother said, straightening her cap. ‘Luckily your sister remains in ignorance of last night’s events. I only pray we can keep it that way. Her head cold last night turned out to be a blessing in disguise after all. I dread to think what would have happened if Hannah had been at the ball.’

      Richard’s heart sank. His mother had obviously heard the wrong sort of gossip. Silently he bid goodbye to a morning’s rest. He would have to sort out whichever mess.

      ‘What promise have I broken?’ Richard retained a leash on his temper. His mother enjoyed her dramatics. ‘At least do me the courtesy of hearing the full accusation.’

      ‘You obviously haven’t seen the morning papers. It is in all of the local ones. It is sure to be in the London ones by nightfall. Your father will know you are here! He is far from stupid and he will know your reason for coming to Newcastle.’

      ‘I’m a grown man, Mother. My father doesn’t dictate or control my movements. There are numerous reasons why I might have travelled to Newcastle, none of which involved yourself or Hannah.’

      ‘He will ruin any chance of Hannah’s happiness out of sheer spite. You know what he is like when he is in one of his rages. How could you involve yourself in scandal at this juncture?’

      Richard pressed his palms against his eyes. He did know what his father was capable of and how, each time, the fits of anger appeared to last longer. Most of all he feared the gentle father he loved would remain a raging mad man, incapable of coherent thought. The doctors told him that there was nothing they could do except lock him up, and Richard was not prepared for that to happen.

      ‘Mother, as I went to bed in the not-so-early hours of the morning, I have not seen the papers. Whatever you are seeking to blame me for, I am innocent.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pinch me. See, I am here in my bed, alone.’

      ‘At least tell me that the woman in question is an heiress, this redoubtable woman of yours. Your father might understand your need to chase her up here if she was eligible. Your being single must be a worry. I know how relieved he was when I produced you as the heir. All your father has ever cared about was having the line continue and those blasted pigs of his.’

      He pressed his lips together, considering the first part of his mother’s statement. He could explain away Newcastle on chasing an heiress. His father would accept that, rather than going into some apoplectic rage over the fact that his son had regular contact with the one woman he hated more than life itself. His father’s mental state and health were far too fragile to risk that. He loved both parents and refused to bow to his father’s insistence that he choose a side. Once his father’s health improved, he would explain properly. For now, a small amount of subterfuge had to be used. Two parts of his life kept separate.

      ‘What do the papers have to do with it?’ he asked.

      ‘Myers, the Newcastle Courant for your master, if you please.’

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