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the last vestige of self-control, he raised his head and put her from him. He drew a ragged breath and resisted the overwhelming urge to take one more taste.

      She looked up at him with uncomprehending eyes as her chest heaved. And he knew what he was destined to dream about tonight—Sophie naked in his arms. This was desire and nothing more. His shoulders relaxed. He understood desire.

      Once he’d solved the puzzle of her, it would fade. He touched her cheek, enjoying its petal softness.

      She looped a strand of hair about one shell-like ear, making a pretence of icy fortitude. ‘What … what was that about?’

      ‘There, that is how I say goodnight to my fiancée.’ He inclined his head. ‘Remember that the next time you wish to make an accusation about my habits, or believe yourself unworthy. You are my fiancée and I refuse to expose you to ridicule.’

Chapter Six

      The last place Sophie wanted to be was at her stepmother’s At Home. Crowded At Homes generally made her feel as though she was some exotic beast on show for the masses and this week was worse than usual.

      She had lost track of the number of people who just happened to call, most with congratulations about the engagement. And those who had not bothered to read today’s editions were soon apprised of the fact by others in the room. As she had predicted, ‘The Redoubtable captures the Rake’ was the lead item.

      Everyone wanted to meet the prospective bridegroom and hear the thrilling tale of a whirlwind romance which had turned into the engagement of the Season, if not the year!

      Richard had been right. Their engagement was now an established fact. She couldn’t cancel it without seeming flighty or, worse still, a liar. She was well and truly trapped in a scheme of her own making. Worse, he had not put in an appearance.

      She found herself watching the door and the clock, but the minutes were slipping by. The At Home would end without an appearance from him.

      She wanted to run and hide and not face the humiliation of his non-show, but she felt guilty for even thinking of the idea. A Ravel always met her social obligations. The fact had been drilled into her at a young age when she’d hidden behind a curtain rather than meet one of her father’s business associates. So she smiled and asked after various children and elderly relatives and hoped no one else noticed that Richard wasn’t there and she had declined to give a time or date for the engagement party which her stepmother loudly proclaimed would be happening soon.

      Sophie forcibly turned her gaze from the front door, tilted her head and graciously enquired after a neighbour’s son who was cutting his first tooth. If she concentrated on other people, then maybe she’d forget the deepening hole inside and all the doubts and what ifs.

      ‘Lady Parthenope will be arriving momentarily,’ her stepmother’s latest butler declared in an overly theatrical fashion. ‘Her carriage has been spotted.’

      Her stepmother went red with pleasure. Sophie excused herself and hurried over to her stepmother, putting her hand on her stepmother’s sleeve. ‘Is there some reason that Lady Parthenope has come to call? I wasn’t aware you are intimates.’

      ‘I sent her a note, dear, after you refused to allow me to go to her tea,’ her stepmother explained with the sort of smile which could light up a thousand ballrooms. ‘It seemed the right thing to do. She is dear Bingfield’s only female relation in the neighbourhood. I wanted her advice on the engagement party. I do hope she gives me a moment to compose myself before she finally appears. I declared I’m all at sixes and sevens. It is worse than waiting for the Queen.’

      ‘Her advice on the engagement party?’ Sophie put her hand on her stepmother’s sleeve. Composing herself for Lady Parthenope would have to wait. She needed to know precisely the full horror of what her stepmother had done.

      ‘It needs to be an event of glittering magnitude. There again, perhaps the aristocracy do things differently. I do want to be guided, my dear, and Henri is away in Europe. People have expectations.’

      ‘You have written to Henri!’ Sophie’s heart sank. She had hoped to present the entire episode as an amusing anecdote when Henri and Robert returned with their two young children, but her stepmother had closed that door.

      ‘I thought she’d want to know.’ Mrs Ravel peered around her and motioned to the footman to move several tables and chairs. ‘I do think it bad of Lord Bingfield not to call. I had wanted a chance to quiz him about it as well. After all, it will be his engagement party, too.’

      ‘You sent Lord Bingfield a note about the party?’ The complete horror of what her stepmother had done penetrated Sophie’s brain. Any engagement party would make things worse. They would have to be there as a couple in love. She might even start depending on him to be there. But she had no idea of how to stop it. Her stepmother’s juggernaut would flatten everything in its path.

      ‘First thing this morning while you were showing your new maid your clothes. Is there any reason I shouldn’t? Sophie, have you entirely forgotten your manners?’ Her stepmother waved a hand. ‘And invitations have been arriving all morning along with an unsigned postcard from Liverpool. You and Lord Bingfield will be much in demand, I am happy to say, but where is he? It is most vexing.’

      ‘Lord Bingfield will call when he has the time.’ Sophie concentrated on the teacup. Cynthia arriving in Liverpool was the best news she had had all day. She had to remember that Cynthia’s love was true. She and her intended had known each other for months before they eloped. Sophie knew she had to hang on to the thought, rather than dreaming about Richard and his goodnight kiss. Desire did not make a love match. Desire did not mean she actually liked him. It didn’t mean she disliked him, either, a little voice whispered.

      She narrowed her eyes. ‘How many others did you happen to ask for advice about this engagement party?’

      Her stepmother counted on her fingers. ‘Fourteen, maybe seventeen. It depends on who you count. Miss Smith and her sister were visiting Mrs Butterworth when I happened to mention the engagement yesterday. They were the ones who suggested a party. It is not as if I am spreading lies, Sophie. You are going to marry Viscount Bingfield and will eventually be a marchioness.’

      ‘An engagement has been agreed,’ Sophie corrected. ‘There is a difference. You know how many engagements were broken last year.’

      ‘Hornswoggle. Last night anyone with half an eye could see how entranced you were with each other when you waltzed. And then your declaration after Lord Bingfield punched that dreadful toad Sir Vincent Putney. It made my heart thrill. Romance truly does live. Your father would be fit to burst.’

      ‘You shouldn’t have done it, Stepmother, without consulting me.’

      ‘Mrs Butterworth was overly proud last year when her eldest daughter married a baronet. You being married to a viscount will be just the sort of setdown she needs. You will take precedence. My stepdaughter, one of the higher-ranking peers, just as your father always dreamt.’

      ‘But I would have preferred to have been consulted about this party first. You have no idea whether Lord Bingfield wants a party or not.’

      ‘It is why I want to speak to him.’ Her stepmother patted Sophie’s hand. ‘People always speculate. In any case, most of the people here I didn’t mention the party to, but everyone is asking about it.’

      ‘I wonder why that is.’

      ‘It will have to be a glittering affair. Your father did love a good party. Imagine if Lord Hallington attended. A living marquess in this house!’

      ‘We haven’t agreed on the settlement yet.’ Sophie lifted her cup to her lips. This entire affair seemed to have taken a life of its own. She had to begin to sow seeds of doubt or her stepmother would take to her bed for weeks when Richard and she broke it off. And what better place with all these people

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