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She turned sharply and headed out into the dark of the garden. Two could play a waiting game.
‘You can be a fool, Sophia Ravel,’ she muttered to herself, stepping into another puddle. Her intricate hairstyle of small looped braids combined with curls tumbled down about her shoulders. ‘Would Cynthia have done this for you? Or would she have found an excuse at the last moment? How could you have forgotten the pencil incident at school!’
Sophie gritted her teeth. It was too late to worry about what-might-have-been.
Behind her, she heard the sound of Sir Vincent’s heavy breathing. ‘I will find you. I know you are in the garden. I do so like games of hide and go seek, Miss Ravel.’
In the gloom of a May evening in Newcastle, she could see his black outline. She was going to lose, and lose badly.
She pivoted and ran blindly back towards the house and bumped straight into a well-muscled chest.
‘Where are you going?’ a deep rich baritone said as strong arms put her away from the unyielding chest. ‘Are you running away from the ball? Has midnight struck already?’
Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. All might not be lost. Silently she offered up a prayer that this man would be a friend rather than a foe.
‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘You must help me. For the love of God, you must save me or else I shall be ruined.’
Richard Crawford, Viscount Bingfield, regarded the dishevelled blonde woman in his arms. The last thing he wanted or needed was to save some Cinderella-in-distress. But what choice did he have? He could hardly turn his back on her, not after he’d heard her ragged plea.
‘If it is in my power, I will help.’
Her trembling stopped. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘I do. Are you some escaping Cinderella, fearful of missing her fairy godmother’s deadline?’
‘Hardly that.’ Her hand tried to pin one of her braids up, but only succeeded in loosening more of the blonde curls. ‘I’m not running away from the ball. I am running towards it.’
‘Towards the ball? That dress?’ Even in the gloom, Richard could see the rips and tears. A twig stuck to the top frill of her blouse. He pointed and hoped she was aware of the scandal which she was about to be engulfed in.
‘I loved this dress.’ Her hand brushed away the twig. ‘Really loved and adored it. It is irreparable.’
Her lavender scent rose around him. All his instincts told him to crush her to him and hold her until her shaking stopped, but that would be less than wise. The last thing he needed was to be engulfed in a scandal and for his father to realise he was in Newcastle rather than in London. His father, the Marquess of Hallington, was in ill health. In fact, he had only now begun to recover from the last fit at the end of April. With each passing week, his father seemed to slip more and more into a jealous rage against his mother and the scandal in which she had engulfed the family, even though those events had occurred many years ago.
Richard knew he shouldn’t have come to Newcastle, but equally he knew he had to vet the man who had captured his half-sister’s affections. His mother was untrustworthy on this matter and he had also taken the opportunity to once again sort out his mother’s finances.
He forced his arms to let the young woman go and put her from him. ‘Tell me quietly and quickly what you need and I will see what I can do about it.’
‘I need to go back to the ball.’
‘Looking like that? Brushing away one twig won’t mend the ripped lace. You must know what will happen to you. Shall I call a carriage?’
Her hand instinctively tried to smooth her rumpled ball dress. ‘Very well, then. I need to get back into the house and go to the ladies’ withdrawing room where I can repair the damage. I do have my leaving arrangements in order.’
‘It should be simple a matter to walk straight back.’
‘Not so simple.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Someone is after me. He is determined to ruin me.’
Richard regarded the woman. The back of his neck pricked. He should walk away now. ‘It is hard to ruin someone who does not wish to be ruined. Practically impossible.’
She gave a half-shrug. ‘I was foolish and failed to consider the possibility. I fear we have not been introduced, but you must accept my assurance that I am normally considered to be extremely reliable and sensible in such matters.’
‘Viscount Bingfield.’ He inclined his head. ‘And I am most definitely received everywhere.’
‘I will take your word for it.’ Her voice dripped with ice cold.
‘Miss Ravel. Miss Ravel. Where are you? I will find you. You can’t hide for ever. And then you will see what happens to women who try to cross me!’
Richard’s jaw clenched. There was no mistaking the grating voice of Putney! The man was a bounder and a cad of the first order. He’d detested the man ever since that first term at Eton where Putney had put his hand up the maid’s skirt and lied about it, causing the poor girl to be dismissed. Richard had sneaked out to see if she was all right and then the newspaper stories started. Then there was Oxford and the tragedy of Mary. Again he could not prove Putney had a hand in it, but he had encountered Putney in the street the day before he’d been called in front of the Master. Even now he could remember the furtive smile Putney gave.
‘Are you trying to hide from Sir Vincent Putney, Miss Ravel?’
She gave a quick nod of her head. ‘I wish to return to the ball and avoid a scandal. I’ve done nothing wrong. That is all, Lord Bingfield. Once back under the chandeliers, all this will cease to be anything but a bad dream.’
‘In that state? Scandal will reverberate throughout the land. Your name will be on everyone’s lips as they attempt to work out how this happened and believe the worst.’
She glanced down and fluffed out her skirt. ‘A few repairs need to be made. I slipped in the dark. Twice. I barely know the man. I was helping a friend out and matters failed to go as planned.’
‘Indeed.’
‘I was helping a friend elope.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘My friend was engaged to Sir Vincent, but desired to end the relationship against her father’s wishes. She loved an American. I merely facilitated the elopement. It went like clockwork except …’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Quick, Sir Vincent is coming. I need to get away from him.’
Richard reacted instinctively. He swung her back into the shadows, up against the hedge and stood between Miss Ravel and the light.
‘Follow my lead and keep silent,’ he murmured against her lavender-scented hair. ‘We don’t have time.’
‘Your lead?’ she asked, attempting to peer around him. Her skirts brushed his leg. ‘Should I trust you?’
‘Do you have a choice?’ He took a glimpse down at Miss Ravel, seeing her clearly for the first time.
Her lips hovered tantalisingly few inches beneath his. Her worried eyes looked up into his, trusting him to get this right and protect her. Truly Cinderella after the ball, missing a slipper and in need of a prince.
Richard resisted the urge to crush her to him. Another time and another place he would have given in to temptation, but this closeness was far from a prelude to seduction, it was instead a means to prevent Miss Ravel’s ruin.
‘With any luck Putney will walk on without even noticing anything beyond a man and a woman in the shadows. He will expect to find you alone. Foolproof.’
Footsteps resounded behind them. Every nerve went on alert. Silently he prayed this action would be enough.
Miss Ravel stiffened and shrank back further against the hedge. The heavy footsteps went on past. The nervous energy drained out of Richard’s shoulders. They had done it! Miss Ravel would be safe. All that was needed was for him to step back.
His feet refused to move. Instead he lifted his hand and traced the outline of her jaw. Her skin quivered underneath the tips of his fingers and her lips parted, inviting him.
‘Dear Richard, imagine! You should be in the ballroom, rather than in the garden,’ a heart-sinkingly familiar woman’s voice said. ‘I shall have to tell your father that we met. He was asking after you at lunch last week. I had understood you were in London. Does he know you journeyed to Newcastle?’
Richard knew that things had suddenly become much worse. The most fearsome of his aunts had arrived.
He gave Miss Ravel an apologetic look and swung around.
‘Aunt Parthenope, what an unexpected pleasure.’ Richard made a slight bow. ‘I would have called on you earlier today if I’d known you, too, were in Newcastle. I would have thought you’d be in London for the start of the Season.’
‘The Season does not properly begin until after Queen Charlotte’s ball. Plenty of time remains to sort out the hanger-ons and no hopers from the cream of this year’s débutantes.’ His aunt gave a loud sniff. ‘You should have known that I always come to Newcastle at this time of year. I have done for years—to visit your grandmother’s grave on the anniversary of her death. In any case, the train makes travel so convenient these days. It takes less than a day. Imagine—when I was a girl, it took more than a week by post carriage.’
‘We truly do live in an age of miracles, Aunt,’ Richard murmured, wondering if his mother was aware of his aunt’s habit and why she hadn’t warned him of the possibility.
‘Why are you out in the garden, Richard?’
‘Crowded ballrooms can cause claustrophobia. I wanted a breath of fresh air.’ He moved towards his aunt and started to lead her away from where Miss Ravel stood, hidden in the shadows, touching his fingers to his lips before he turned away. Immediately Miss Ravel shrank back against the hedge.
‘You know how it is, Aunt,’ he said in an expansive tone. ‘One minute, one is waltzing and the next, one needs to be away from the crowd. You have often remarked on how crowded these balls are, not like the days when you were a young girl.’
Sophie hardly dared to breathe. She could see what Lord Bingfield was about to do—lead his aunt and her party away and leave her to make her own way back to the house. It was far too late for regrets. She had to hope that Lord Bingfield’s scheme would work.
‘And this is why you were out in the garden, Nephew? A sudden and inexplicable need for fresh air? Do not seek to flannel me. Your father did explain about his ultimatum to you at luncheon. While I might not agree with it on principle, I should remind you, he is a man of his word.’
Sophie pursed her lips and wondered what ultimatum Lord Bingfield’s father had issued. One of two things—women or gambling debts. Possibly both. Why would the man she begged for help have to turn out to be a dishonourable rake, rather than the honourable person she’d hoped? Her luck was truly out tonight.
‘My father has no bearing on this matter, Aunt.’ Lord Bingfield waved an impatient hand. ‘I know what he said and he must do as he sees fit. I make my own way in the world.’
‘You were always a reckless youth, Richard.’
‘We should return to the ballroom, Aunt,’ Lord Bingfield said, starting forwards and grasping his aunt’s elbow so that she was turned away from Sophie. ‘I find I am quite refreshed after a short turn. You must tell me all the news. How does my father fare? Does his latest pig show promise?’
Sophie flattened 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 was unaware you were acquainted with my nephew. That is all, Miss Ravel. I must do more to further our acquaintance,’ Lady Parthenope said.
‘Come, come, Aunt.’ Lord Bingfield put his hand on his aunt’s sleeve. ‘Do I need to send you a note every time I meet a suitable unmarried lady? Every time I wish to make a proposal of a sensitive nature to said lady? If that is to be the way of the world, I want no part of it.’
‘It would be helpful, Richard.’ The elderly woman gave a sniff. ‘Your father was very tedious at our luncheon.’
