An Ideal Husband? (13 page)

She hugged the paintbox to her chest. ‘I will think about it, but your suggestion to paint the wax fruit is a good one. My stepmother has a silver bowl which will work admirably. Nothing too complicated to begin with.’

‘I am counting the hours.’ His mouth quirked upwards at her expression. Her cheeks burnt. ‘Until the theatre. It is your decision if you
need a model. Know that I am a willing volunteer, if required.’

‘And I will let you know if you are ever required.’

‘We understand each other.’ He took the box from her nerveless fingers and placed it on the table. ‘Don’t worry, I shall show myself out. You get on with your painting.’

Sophie stood in the middle of the sitting room, staring at the paints for a long time. Why did Richard Crawford have to turn out to be kind? He was right. He wasn’t like Sebastian at all. He was infinitely more dangerous.

‘T
here you see, all done.’ Sophie held up the still life of wax fruit in a silver bowl for Richard’s inspection a few days later. Her eager expression lit the room with its glow.

He’d done the right thing coming here, instead of going to the club or sitting and fuming about his mother’s spending habits. Somehow being with Sophie made all of this morning’s annoyances fade into insignificance.

He took the painting from her and their fingertips brushed. A warm pulse shot up his arm. Demonstrating to Sophie that he was far removed from Cawburn was getting harder and harder when all he wanted to do was to take her into his arms and kiss her.

Rather than having his desire for her diminish
through seeing her, it had grown. But more than that he looked forward to pitting his wits against her and talking to her about things which had nothing to do with his family or the other demands on his time. When he was with her, everything faded into insignificance.

‘You are very talented.’ Richard concentrated on the painting and regained control of his body. Sophie was not the sort of woman one seduced; she was the sort of woman one married. ‘That painting is more than a simple bowl of fruit. It looks good enough to eat. And I love how the shapes complement each other.’

‘It is fine, but the apple gave me trouble. The red proved harder to get right than I thought it would.’

Sophie moved closer to him and their shoulders accidentally touched. Richard kept his body rigid.

‘I could never do something like that. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.’

‘I had a strict drawing mistress. Do you know how many different colours a simple shadow can be? They are not dabs of black paint.’

He shook his head. Even now, Sophie wanted to belittle her accomplishments. ‘It is more than simple-rote, schoolgirl painting. There is something indefinable here. You must learn how to
take a compliment, Sophie, or I shall be forced to pay you them until you do.’

Her eyes danced. ‘How do you take a compliment?’

‘You say thank you and don’t attempt to deflect it or apologise for it or make it seem less than it is. All it takes is a thank you and nothing more.’

He put the painting down. Sophie needed to have her confidence grow. He could only keep making excuses to his mother about the need to ensure Hannah’s engagement for so long, before awkward questions would be asked, and Richard knew he wasn’t ready to share Sophie with his family. His relationship with Sophie had no bearing on his relationship with his mother or sister.

‘I shall try to remember that.’ Sophie gave a mocking curtsy. ‘Thank you for the compliment about the painting.’

‘Shall we practise to make sure you understand the concept? Your blue dress looks exceptionally charming today, Miss Ravel.’

‘This is hardly necessary. I do know how to take a compliment.’

‘I used to think your eyes were the colour of sapphires, like your ring, but now I see the colour depends on your mood. Midnight blue
when you are angry right through the blue of a summer’s day when you are happy.’

‘You are being foolish. Cease this blather immediately.’

He took a step closer. ‘I intend to keep paying you compliments until you show me that you know how to take them. I prefer your hair like this when it makes little ringlets of its own accord.’

Sophie wet her suddenly aching lips. Her entire being trembled. Where did he intend taking this game? Her dreams had been full of him lately but ever since the carriage ride, he had made no attempt to kiss her.

‘Thank you,’ she gasped out as he took another step closer, so close her skirt brushed his leg. Another step, and she’d be in his arms. What was worse, she wanted to be in his arms. She wanted to taste his lips again and see if they matched her memory of them.

‘At last my fiancée shows some sense.’ His eyes danced with a thousand different lights. ‘Shall I continue?’

‘No.’

He inclined his head and stepped backwards. ‘I bow to your no and stop immediately.’

A tiny bubble of amazement burst through her. He’d obeyed her no. She hated that she
wished she’d urged him to continue. She put her hand to her mouth, exploring the way it faintly tingled as if he had indeed kissed her. The trouble with Richard was that she liked him far too much.

To cover her confusion, she grabbed the painting and held it out.

‘You may have the painting if you like it. I painted it with you in mind.’

He tilted his head and she caught a sudden flaring in his eyes. ‘It is kind of you. I will treasure it. I don’t think anyone has ever done something like that for me before.’

‘A thank you for the paints and for getting me started on painting again.’ Sophie clasped her hands together and hoped he’d think the redness of her cheeks was from the fire, rather than the awkwardness she suddenly felt. ‘I hope you don’t consider it too forward.’

‘Forward?’ His eyes widened. ‘Perish the thought. I’m very touched and honoured.’

‘It is funny how you don’t realise you missed something until it comes back into your life and suddenly your life takes on a new meaning.’

He stilled. ‘Have you decided to start painting people again?’

Sophie put a hand on her stomach to stop the butterflies. Somehow she knew she had to get
the answer right. Because if she got it wrong, he’d go and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

‘I have only ever done pen-and-ink drawings, but some day, I will start using oils for painting portraits. I promise.’

‘I live in hope, then.’

Sophie let out a breath. She had passed the test.

He reached for the painting and his fingers brushed hers, almost a caress. A little touch which could have been accidental, but she chose to consider it deliberate. ‘You will go with me tomorrow to the cricket? The match is an important one.’

‘I look forward to it.’ Sophie held her body utterly still.

‘Out with it, Sophie. What is wrong?’

‘How could you tell that something was wrong?’

‘You always develop a little frown between your brows. And you have glanced at the desk ten times since I arrived. What is on that desk?’

He had noticed that! Sophie forced her features to relax. She walked over to the little desk she used for correspondence and withdrew the letter which had arrived in this morning’s post.

‘I have had a letter from my solicitors. You
agreed to my terms for the settlement. No quibbling!’

‘Your terms were the same as I wish for any bride.’ He lifted an eyebrow as if daring her to say differently. ‘I thought you would have made them much more onerous and demanded a massive allowance or something outrageous. Having complete control over your own money makes common sense.’

‘My stepmother would have questioned it, particularly after I made the claim of undying devotion at the Assembly Rooms. She did look over the request I sent to the solicitors to make sure my interests were well looked after.’

He lowered his voice. ‘When do you plan to tell her about it?’

Sophie chose to assume he meant the letter about the settlement, rather than the bigger question of their false engagement. Her stepmother simply would not understand. And she would not understand why Sophie had to keep on seeing Richard and how precious these moments were becoming to her. She’d start on about a blossoming romance and what a shame it was that Sophie had not agreed to a true engagement when she was asked, instead of being mealy-mouthed.

‘About the settlement being agreed?’ Sophie
tapped the letter against her hand. ‘I had to show her the letter.’

‘And is she insisting on that engagement party now the settlement is finalised?’

‘She has agreed to wait until Robert and Henri return. Robert should look over the settlement first was my excuse. My stepmother thinks I’m overly cautious. You know how she adores you and the fact you agreed so readily to the settlement has only enhanced your standing. She refuses to hear a word against you.’

‘Why did you tell her you wanted to wait?’

Sophie turned away from his burning eyes. If she looked at him, she’d be tempted to blurt out the truth. She enjoyed his company and wanted to prolong the time they spent together, but she knew it had to end. There wasn’t a future for them. They were strangers, not friends and certainly not lovers.

She wasn’t going back to the romantic fool who faced utter ruin. And she was determined to marry for love, real and lasting love rather than a fleeting illusion of romance. Lasting love happened quietly, not this sudden bolt of lightning longing she’d experienced in connection with Richard. It reminded her too much of how she’d felt with Sebastian—unsettled and unbalanced.
Surely if it was love, she’d feel complete and whole?

She put the letter back on the desk. Her hand trembled. It was far too soon to think about love in connection with Richard.

‘I had to tell her something, otherwise she’d have been penning invitations this morning rather than going out visiting. Needing Robert’s and Henri’s blessing seemed like a sensible excuse.’

He tapped his fingers together and his lips pursed. ‘When are the Montemorcys expected to return?’

‘In the early part of June, no later than the eighteenth. Lady Forbisher always has a ball to celebrate Wellington’s victory at Waterloo and then there is the Stagshaw Fair on the fourth of July. Henri helps with the planning of that. We had a letter from Henri yesterday.’ She kept her head up. ‘The timing should be perfect. All the commotion will have died down. Our parting will go unremarked.’

‘We shall have to hope that Montemorcy sees some reason to object, then,’ he murmured.

‘I’m sure he will,’ Sophie assured him. ‘Robert is quite protective. He was the one who saw through Sebastian straight away. And Henri is
brilliant at matchmaking. She is sure to find a reason why we wouldn’t suit if Robert doesn’t.’

The words tasted like ash in Sophie’s mouth. She wanted Richard to deny it was a good idea and that he intended to remain in Newcastle for the summer with her—in fact, that against all expectation he wanted to marry her.

‘It is good to know how long we have left. Early June after Montemorcy arrives back and sees the terms. After he has withheld his consent, we part. Amicably.’ His lips became a thin white line. ‘It is what happens in these cases.’

A pang went through Sophie. He was right. ‘It is the most sensible thing. And it has happened to other people. Our parting will hardly be remarked on. I promise you.’

‘And if it is? How will you weather the storm?’

‘I’ll go to Corbridge with Henri and Robert to ride out any lingering tittle-tattle. I won’t be judged there.’ Sophie kept her head up. It would be the perfect place to recover from the ache she felt now that the date had been decided.

His eyes became inscrutable. ‘Early June, then. It is good to know so I can make plans … for my return to London.’

Sophie brushed away the great empty hollow
which opened inside of her at the thought of never seeing him again. ‘But we have until then.’

The dimple in the corner of his mouth deepened. ‘Yes, we have until then. Best not waste any time, Sophie.’

Richard stood on the pavement and looked back at the brown-brick house. The day which had seemed bright and cheerful when he went in had become gloomy and overcast, matching his mood. The first few splashes of rain fell on his hat and frock-coat. Richard ignored them.

He had an ending date for his friendship with Sophie. Early June. Somewhere deep inside him, he had known that this was going to have to end. Only he wasn’t ready. The very prospect of not being able to spend time with Sophie filled him with horror.

He had no wish to be judged unworthy by some former guardian. The man could not even take care of Sophie properly. Richard wanted to know Sophie would be looked after as she deserved to be. Her so-called friends had not even seen that she did much better when she was painting.

There was no hope for it. In order to keep Sophie safe, he’d have to marry her.

He groaned as he remembered what she had
said when she refused his earlier proposal. Sophie wanted to marry for love and love was the one thing he couldn’t offer. Love only led to heartache.

‘I will find a way to marry you, Sophie Ravel, but I will not mouth lies.’

Was she truly ready to say goodbye for ever to Richard?

Sophie bit the top of her thumb and tried to concentrate on the cricket match unfolding in front of her. Richard was batting and doing a sterling job of knocking the ball all over the ground after their team had had a disastrous start. The cricketing whites suited his figure. She noticed many admiring glances from the other ladies as he strode out to occupy the crease.

Today was far worse than yesterday. Yesterday, she’d known it would happen some day in the future. Today was the start of the march towards when Robert returned and she parted from Richard for ever. Each moment with Richard seemed to take on an added intensity. It was as if some secret part of her wanted to store every second she had with him so she could remember them later.

Perhaps today, after the match when he
dropped her off, she would risk lifting her face up to him and seeing if his kisses were as exciting as her memory of them. She’d use the excuse of him winning the match. With the number of runs he’d scored, he was today’s hero and heroes did deserve their rewards.

‘Are you enjoying the match, miss?’ a well-dressed woman about her age asked, bringing Sophie back to the game which was unfolding in front of her. Richard had just hit the ball for four more runs.

Sophie frowned. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman’s exotic features, but Sophie felt certain they had never met before. She rarely forgot the shape of a face or the eyes. It would come to her in a little while where she knew the woman from.

‘Yes, very much. And it is Miss Ravel, Sophie Ravel.’

The woman regarded the cricket bat which lay at Sophie’s feet. ‘Are you going to play?’

‘My fiancé is batting now and I go in after if necessary. I haven’t played since my school days so I hope I can bat well if I have to go in. It would be dreadful to make a mess of it as our team stands a chance of winning. But there is every chance I won’t have to go in. Only ten more runs. Lord Bingfield did promise he’d arrange
things so that I would not have to go in. And it appears he has.’