LITMIR.BIZ

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was not a good prospect for marriage. ‘Liverpool and the theatre in late March is where we met. Stop trying to cloud the issue with talks of voyages which will never happen. I want to save my reputation, not throw it away by giving in to the determined seduction of a man like you.’

      ‘Relax.’ His breath caressed her ear. ‘You see, everything is sorted. You don’t have to worry about a thing. All you have to do is to enjoy the waltz. Nothing will happen on a dance floor. I gave you my promise.’

      His hand firmly pressed against her back and she became more aware than ever of the way he moved.

      It was only a dance, but Sophie could feel her self-control ebbing away. With each step, she seemed to be more encased in a dream bubble of romance which she wanted desperately to believe in.

      It wasn’t real. She had made a mistake like this before, confusing the excitement of being noticed by someone who was older and more experienced than she was with real romance. She knew she wanted her romance real and true, like Robert and Henri shared, something which had grown over time rather than hitting her suddenly. What she felt for Richard Crawford was far too sudden to be real and substantial. It was another illusion and this time she refused to be taken in.

      Sophie concentrated on taking another step, rather than looking him in the face. She had to hope that his scheme worked quickly, otherwise Sophie knew all of her resolutions would be for nothing—she’d start believing in the romance. And she knew precisely where that led—straight to her barricading herself in a room at some rundown coaching inn.

      What was worse, this time, this time there would be no expectation of marriage. It would only be an affair as she had refused his proper offer of marriage and he would never ask her again. On that point, she knew he’d keep his word.

Chapter Five

      The cool night air bathed Sophie’s flushed face as she stood out on one of the little balconies which fronted the Assembly Rooms’ first floor. After the waltz finished, Richard had abandoned her in search of refreshment, but Sophie knew everyone had seen their little display of being besotted with each other.

      The trouble was she knew that she could not keep it up. It would be far too easy to slip into the habit of dancing with him and being held far too closely. Her body still thrummed with awareness of how he’d placed his hand on the small of her back and how his fingers had curled about hers.

      Richard Crawford was precisely the sort of man she could easily lose her heart to, but he had one fatal flaw—he was unsafe in carriages and she’d be wrong to forget that. She recited the vows she had made in that inn bedroom; only they seemed to be of little substance.

      Sophie pressed her hand to her forehead. When he left her, Richard whispered in her ear that they would dance a polka later. And every fibre of her being looked forward to it. It was wrong of her. This was a temporary arrangement, not something that was going to last the rest of her life.

      A marriage needed to be more than physical desire. Sophie firmed her mouth. She’d been right to refuse his reluctant proposal. She wanted a steady love borne of friendship, rather than will-o’-the-wisp desire masquerading as something more.

      ‘Enjoying making a spectacle of yourself?’ The overly oily voice grated over her nerves and the stench of Madagascar hair oil washed over her. Sir Vincent had discovered her refuge.

      Sophie counted to ten and composed her features before she turned. She wished Richard had confided his plan to expose Sir Vincent, but he hadn’t. The next few minutes were up to her. Richard would simply have to go along with whatever happened. ‘Sir Vincent. Imagine encountering you here. I had not thought to see you again so soon.’

      ‘Lord Bingfield won’t marry you. You are simply making my job easier. I wonder where your recklessness will next take you. It is amazing that you have enjoyed such a spotless reputation until now.’

      Sophie deliberately widened her eyes and adopted her best naïve débutante voice. ‘Why wouldn’t Lord Bingfield marry me? He has offered to protect me.’

      ‘He is not the marrying sort.’ Sir Vincent shook his ponderous head. ‘Other ladies have deluded themselves in the past and been terribly disappointed. Can you risk being more exposed in the press? They are already highly intrigued by you. I do hope you have no secrets in your past.’

      ‘Did you supply today’s item of tittle-tattle?’

      He gave a slight cough and adopted a pious expression. ‘People will speculate and I was unable to resist confirming what I knew. Unlike some, the press trust me.’

      Sophie rolled her eyes heavenwards and struggled to keep her temper. ‘Will the press speculate? That does surprise me no end. Gossip is endemic in Newcastle and always has been, Sir Vincent. It is such a shame when it proves to be false or people spread malicious rumours. It is amazing how quickly the gutter press can turn on one of their trusted sources.’

      ‘Your friend’s parents inform me that their daughter was caught on the road to Edinburgh and they hope hourly for her safe return.’ He blew on his nails. ‘But I have gone against the idea. Who wants an unwilling bride? Perhaps one of their other daughters will suit.’

      Sophie gulped hard. ‘You mean to have one of Cynthia’s sisters?’

      ‘Yes, one of them might be suitable as Lady Putney. There again, they all might bear the taint of their eldest sister’s conduct. What a pity you assisted in ruining another person’s life. Possibly several young persons’ lives. You must seriously reflect on your behaviour, Miss Ravel. Someone must stop you before you ruin anyone else’s life.’

      Sophie’s stomach clenched. It was a deliberate lie. She had received Cynthia’s postcard in the second post. The couple had made it to Carlisle without mishap. She would not put it past Mr Johnson to offer one of his other daughters, but she doubted that he would enforce it, not after Cynthia had made her dramatic bid for freedom. Mr and Mrs Johnson did love their children.

      ‘Do you enjoy theatricals, Sir Vincent?’ Sophie asked, making sure her voice flowed like honey. Her insides churned, but she refused to give way to panic. Somewhere in that crowded ballroom was Richard Crawford and he had behaved perfectly correctly. He refused to be used by this man. The thought gave her confidence. ‘Plays and the like?’

      ‘Not overly.’ He gave a smug smile. ‘Sometimes the actresses are worth watching, but I only go to the theatre to be seen. The true spectacle happens in the stalls.’

      ‘A pity. You would have made the exact prototype of a pantomime villain.’ Sophie clenched her fan tighter and sought to control her temper. This time she would walk away and not lose her head or panic. She would find Richard and demand they carry their engagement a step further—only an announcement in the papers would end the speculation.

      Even Sir Vincent in his arrogance must know where that particular line of polite society was drawn. Sophie’s head spun. That was it. She had to find a way of getting him to cross that line in full view of everyone. Expose him and his pathetic attempts at blackmail. And she had to do it now.

      Behind Sir Vincent, she could see the crowds of people standing on the edge of the ballroom. A few steps into the room and this conversation would be overheard. Sophie’s stomach clenched. She didn’t have time to wait for Richard to appear. Long ago, she’d given up on any errant knights coming to her rescue. She would have to execute the entire operation herself.

      Sophie judged the distance. Too much in the open and he’d never react. Too far into the balcony and no one would hear or react. It had to be just right. Without giving herself time to think, she edged towards the ballroom.

      ‘You dare to insult me!’ Sir Vincent took a step towards her, blocking her exit and obviously intent on forcing her more fully on to the balcony.

      ‘Why would I do that?’ Sophie’s mind raced and she attempted to remember the way he had lost

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