her back against the hedge. The prickles dug into her bodice. Silently she bid them to go.
‘And your charming companion? Or do you wish to continue blathering fustian nonsense, thinking I would overlook her?’ Lord Bingfield’s aunt gave her nephew a rap on the sleeve with her fan. ‘You do not fool me one little bit, Richard. I know how this game is played.’
‘Charming companion?’
‘You do know her name, I hope, Nephew. You were standing far too close to her to be complete strangers. However, with you, nothing surprises me.’
Sophie’s heart sank as Lord Bingfield’s aunt confirmed her growing fear. Lord Bingfield was not safe in carriages or indeed anywhere.
‘Aunt, you wrong me dreadfully,’ Lord Bingfield protested. ‘Name one instance where I have behaved dishonourably.’
‘I do declare it’s Miss Ravel.’ Sir Vincent loomed out of the darkness. In the gloom, Sophie could make out his smug grin. Her misery was complete. He intended to cause mischief, serious mischief, and she had inadvertently given him the opportunity, wrapped and tied up with a bow like a parcel. ‘I am surprised that a woman such as yourself is out here in the night air, Miss Ravel, with a man such as the notorious Lord Bingfield. What will your guardian say?’
‘My stepmother is aware of where I am and who I am with.’ Sophie kept her chin up. It was the truth. Her stepmother knew Sophie was at the ball, not her precise location and she had approved of the company. Her stepmother trusted her. She refused to allow Sir Vincent to imply that something untoward had happened. But it was poor luck that Lord Bingfield seemed to have a less-than-illustrious reputation himself.
‘You’re Miss Ravel? Sophie Ravel? The heiress who came out over four years ago?’ Lord Bingfield’s aunt squawked. ‘It would appear, Richard, that you have taken your father’s words to heart after all. Impressive.’
‘Everything, I assure you, is quite appropriate, Aunt,’ Lord Bingfield said. ‘It would be wrong of me to allow a lady such as Miss Ravel to wander about the garden on her own. Who knows the sort of ruffian she might encounter?’
He gave Sir Vincent a hard look. Sophie’s heart did a little flip. Unsuitable or not, Lord Bingfield shared her opinion of Sir Vincent. He was the only person standing between her and utter ruin.
‘It was your chivalry coming to the fore, Nephew,’ Lord Bingfield’s aunt pronounced. ‘All is now clear. I had feared you had decided to take after your mother’s side of the family.’
A muscle jumped in Lord Bingfield’s cheek and his hand clenched in a fist.
‘I believe Miss Ravel wishes to return to the ball, now that this little misunderstanding has been cleared up,’ he said in glacial tones.
‘Has it?’ Sir Vincent asked in a weasel-like tone. ‘You were in a close embrace! Did you see it, Lady Parthenope? It was quite clear from where I stood. And I know what a stickler you are for propriety and how everyone at Almack’s looks to your judgement.’
‘You were standing rather close to my nephew, Miss Ravel,’ Lord Bingfield’s aunt pronounced. ‘Young ladies need to be wary of their reputations at all times.’
‘Your attire is a little more dishevelled than a simple turn about the garden would suggest. How did you manage to tear your dress?’ Sir Vincent continued with a smirk.
Sophie winced. Lord Bingfield’s aunt would be someone of importance. Seeds of doubt and suspicions, that was what Sir Vincent intended. Little by little until she had no reputation left.
Her stomach churned. There was no way she could explain the current state of her attire away. She gave Lord Bingfield a pleading look as she searched her brain for a good excuse.
‘I do take offence at having Miss Ravel’s attire discussed in such intimate terms, Putney,’ Lord Bingfield said, stepping between her and Sir Vincent. His stance looked more like a pugilist preparing to enter the ring than a man at a ball.
Sophie released a breath. Despite her earlier fear, Lord Bingfield had kept his promise. He was protecting her.
‘Why?’ Sir Vincent stuck out his chest. ‘I merely state what everyone will be thinking when they spot Miss Ravel.’
Lord Bingfield cleared his throat. ‘Miss Ravel is doing me the honour of considering my proposal and, until she has time, discretion is the best option. You did not see anything untoward and I would refrain from mentioning something you might live to regret.’
Chapter Two
Lord Bingfield’s words circled through her brain. A proposal! What sort of proposal did Lord Bingfield have in mind? Sophie’s reticule slipped from her grasp and she made a last-second lunge to rescue it before it tumbled to the ground. At the same instant, Lord Bingfield reached down and caught it. Their fingers touched and a faint tremor went through her. He gave a slight nod and she remembered his earlier words—whatever happens, follow my lead.
She stood up and clutched the reticule to her chest. She had little choice. It was either go along with Lord Bingfield’s scheme or face certain ruin at Sir Vincent’s hands. She had to go against her hard-learnt habit and trust an acknowledged rake. All she had to do was ensure she refrained from making any rash promises to him. Easy if she maintained her poise and dignity.
‘A proposal? Do tell, Nephew.’ His formidable aunt rapped her fan against her hand. ‘I am all ears.’
‘It was the sort of proposal that I have longed to hear ever since I first encountered your nephew,’ Sophie said in a loud voice. ‘You do not know how happy it made me to hear his words. Perhaps it was a little rushed, but the location was so romantic. My heart simply soared.’
She glanced over at Lord Bingfield and saw that his eyes were dancing. They were as one on this plan. Her heart thudded.
‘Are you going to give him your answer?’
‘I think such a proposal merits careful consideration. Often a young woman has been led into folly by making too hasty a judgement one way or the other,’ Sophie retorted. A sense of thrilling excitement swept through her. For the first time in a long time, she felt as though she was living rather than merely existing, trying to be good and attempting to maintain a poised cold dignity in all her dealings with men. The realisation shocked her.
‘I am grateful that you are giving my proposal any consideration in light of my past,’ Lord Bingfield said.
Sophie tilted her chin upwards. ‘I have learnt that one’s past is never a guarantee of one’s future.’
‘You appear to be a highly sensible young lady, Miss Ravel, despite being out in the garden alone with my nephew,’ Lady Parthenope pronounced. ‘A word to the wise—even if you are overcome with heat, it is always best to keep your chaperon in sight. To do otherwise is to invoke comment. However, on this happy occasion I must forgive the tiniest lapse of judgement.’
Relief swept through Sophie. Lady Parthenope was practically purring her approval. Her reputation might survive.
‘I know your nephew has honourable intentions, your ladyship,’ Sophie said firmly, fixing Lord Bingfield with her eye.
‘I
