slightly disconcerting that she had hoped he would be. She shouldn’t want any connection with him, but she did. She trod down heavier than she should have and narrowly missed his foot. It was only Richard’s skill as a dancer which kept them upright. The heat in Sophie’s cheeks increased.
‘We went to the theatre. It was an amusing comedy that my stepmother was desperate to see. I cried off the launch ball because I had twisted my ankle at the shipyard. Is it important?’
‘For where we met? Yes.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. Sophie hurriedly glanced away. ‘I’d have hardly liked to have met you in a shipyard or on a railway platform. The theatre is a splendid choice. Plenty of time to spy people from a box and arrange a meeting. I take it you are adept at fan language despite your pretensions towards formidability?’
He was going to imply she had arranged a meeting with her fan. Typically arrogant. Sophie started to pull away, but his hand tightened on her waist, holding her against his body.
‘Why is this necessary?’ she asked.
‘I must have had a reason to come to Newcastle to see you and see if the spark we both felt was something more. And your stepmother most blatantly had not met me before.’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Our meeting yesterday was hardly a chance one. You were enchanted by my persistence and overcome with desire. I had completely rearranged my life to be with you and you were utterly captivated. The press always do love a romance.’
Sophie concentrated on taking the next few steps, rather than considering the desire part of his statement. She hated that a tiny part of her wanted to believe in the tale which he had spun. She wanted to believe that he would rearrange his life for her. ‘It does make sense. As a personal rule, I dislike being enchanted about anything. I have learnt, Lord Bingfield, that it is best to examine faults thoroughly.’
He gave a bark of laughter. Several people turned to stare at them. ‘You might wish to pretend you are practical, but you possess the soul of a romantic, Miss Ravel. I see straight through you. You long to be swept off your feet. Otherwise why assist in an elopement?’
‘I much prefer being practical to starry-eyed. I gave up endangering my heart years ago.’
‘You are unlike any woman I have met.’
‘I hope that is a good thing. I like the idea of being an individual.’
‘Never doubt that! You, Sophie Ravel, are a one-off. You have even given me a hankering to test your theory about seasickness with a voyage to the West Indies, but only if you were with me.’
‘That won’t happen.’
‘A pity. A sea voyage with you could have been intriguing.’ A dimple played in the corner of his mouth. ‘You won’t even consider a trip across the Channel? You and I together? You could hold my hand.’
Sophie glanced down. It would be so easy to allow herself to slip a bit more under his spell. She gave her head a shake and tried to remember all the reasons why he 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.
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.’
