An Ideal Husband? (21 page)

‘Shall I be naked?’

‘Richard!’

His eyes danced and he ran a hand down her flank. ‘I keep forgetting how truly innocent you are, Sophie. Only if you desire it. Otherwise, I shall sit very still, dressed in my best hat, coat
and trousers while you paint. The very proper husband for my Lady Bingfield to paint.’

Truly innocent. Sophie’s heart gave a little pang. She should never forget how experienced he was. He was used to women who knew how to do all sorts of things. The cruel words Sebastian had shouted through the keyhole circled around her brain—
Men tire of innocence very quickly
. How could she ever hope to hold Richard, if she remained innocent? How could she hope to keep him from being bored? She wanted to use the desire to bring finer feelings to the marriage. She had to show him that she was worthy of taking her place beside him, so that he wouldn’t regret his impulsive act of honour.

‘Sophie? You appear awfully serious? Is something wrong? You have forgiven me, haven’t you? I won’t allow you to wake up without me again. I promise. I had no idea that it would upset you so.’

She pushed her doubts away. In Richard’s arms, everything was perfect. ‘Nothing is wrong. How could it be with you here?’

T
he sooner they left Newcastle, the better, Richard decided three days later. The last thing he wanted was for Sophie to encounter his mother. Rather than getting better and reconciled to the marriage and asking to meet Sophie, his mother had written to his aunt, requesting the report on Sophie.

Richard had considered something was truly wrong with her when she sent a cryptic note and so he had hurried over there this morning, only to be greeted with a litany of Sophie’s imagined faults.

With Sophie attempting to create a wardrobe fit for a viscountess before they left for the wedding trip and generally showing nervousness, the last thing she needed was his mother picking
petty fault. He wanted to throttle his aunt, but knew he ultimately was to blame for goading her that day.

He refused to allow anyone to hurt Sophie or twist her into something she wasn’t. He wanted the passionate woman, not the mask she’d shown to the world when they’d first met. But there was no point in explaining this to his mother. Instead he had made his excuses and left.

Richard marched into his rooms with his aunt’s poison burning a hole in his pocket. He would write his aunt an uncompromising and long-overdue missive about
her
behaviour and afterwards he’d consign the so-called verdict to the fire. Sophie need not worry what his family thought of her.

He stopped, confronted with the delectable sight of Sophie in her robe.

‘What are you doing back here, Sophie?’ Richard tilted his head, searching for signs of distress. ‘I thought you had fittings for your new wardrobe all morning and were then going to have lunch with your stepmother.’

‘I came back earlier from my stepmother’s.’ Sophie waved an airy hand. ‘There was little point in me staying. My stepmother agreed with me. A woman’s place is with her husband when they are first married, rather than gossiping.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so? Did you happen to see my father? Has he decided when he is leaving?’

‘Next week. The tickets are all booked.’ Sophie gave a little twirl, allowing her robe to slip a little. She had to hope her scheme was working and that Richard did have a little regard for her beyond desiring her in bed. But everywhere she turned these days, it seemed people conspired to make her feel awkward and as if she was a disappointment. She wanted to be the perfect bride. She wanted to show Richard that his trust in her was not misplaced. ‘I have given the servants the afternoon off.’

His glance became appreciative rather than the glower he’d worn when he first came in. ‘Is there any reason why?’

‘I thought I could paint you. Get started on the portrait. It might not be an Alpine meadow, but I thought the bed would do.’

Dark passion flared in his eyes. ‘You want to paint my portrait now? What has brought this on?’

‘Now!’ Sophie put her hands on her hips. If he went, she’d never regain the courage. She had everything planned in her mind. She’d seduce him and then she’d explain about the dinner party she’d planned. She knew having a dinner
party before they had done the rounds of the At Homes wasn’t strictly speaking the done thing, but she wanted to show Richard and his father that she was a capable hostess. ‘Myers said that there wasn’t anything you had to be doing. I laid careful plans, Richard.’

He pressed his lips together and then his face cleared. A wicked glint came into his eyes, warming her. And she breathed a sigh of relief. This was going to be easier than she’d feared. ‘Never let it be said that I don’t do what my lady requests, particularly when it is prettily put. Do you want me in my coat and hat for this portrait of yours?’

‘I would like you to sit over there on the bed.’ Sophie’s limbs trembled. He was doing as she asked. She walked over to the easel and picked up a brush.

‘You want me seated, not reclining.’

‘Whichever way is more comfortable. But you need to keep still. Don’t move a muscle. I want to capture you. When it is finished, I want to hang it over our drawing-room mantelpiece. Today I want to do a preliminary study and see if you can withstand the rigours of sitting.’

The dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. ‘I assume you will insist on entertaining the worthy.’

‘Precisely. I’ve no wish to shock.’

Sophie drew a rough charcoal sketch of Richard’s head and shoulders. She did intend to paint his portrait eventually. It would give her a chance to get to know him better, but this afternoon was about more than simply painting. It was about showing Richard that she could be inventive in their love-making.

‘And you intend to paint all afternoon?’ he asked after a few moments’ silence in which she sketched the outline and gave a rough indication of how his hands ought to go.

‘Is there some problem with this?’

‘My nose is starting to itch. How am I supposed to scratch if you don’t want me to move?’

Sophie smiled and reached for her brush. The request she had been waiting for. She walked over to where he sat. ‘I believe I have a solution.’

She leant forwards and stroked his nose with the brush. ‘All better?’

He gave a slight nod rather than reacting as she expected. ‘Trying not to move as my wife ordered.’

She pursed her lips. This might take longer than she thought unless … She allowed her robe to slip as she started to turn away. His hand caught her sleeve.

‘Where are you going? Other parts of me itch.’

‘Do they?’

He nodded. ‘All over. It is deuced uncomfortable being a model. You should have told me when I volunteered.’

‘Then I shall have to see to them.’

‘With your brush?’ His voice held a husky note.

‘I use it when I am painting and don’t want to get paint on my nose.’ Sophie used the brush to caress his cheeks and forehead. ‘You see. Nice and soft.’

His eyes closed. ‘More, please. Remember you told me not to move. I’ve no intention of spoiling your … portrait.’

Her hands worked at his neckcloth and discarded it. She gently stroked down the strong column of his throat, before working on his collar and the collar studs.

His coat proved a bit more problematic to remove. And he kept true to his word and didn’t move a muscle, allowing her to undo the buttons and pull off the sleeves.

With a sinking heart, she saw his shirt sleeves were fastened with intricate cufflinks. Richard’s clothing was every bit as fiddly as her own.

‘Next time I paint you, I think I shall have to
take your advice and have you in fewer clothes. I can always paint the clothes in later.’

‘I am taking your instructions to heart, but I do have the most terrible itch.’ A faint smile touched his lips. ‘You are not drawing now.’

Sophie drew her brush along his collar bone. ‘You know how this game is played.’

‘I’m a good guesser.’ He pulled her against his chest. ‘Is it all right for me to move now? Truly?’

She gave a nod. ‘It is safe. I reached a stopping point on the portrait.’

‘I promise to be the most obliging of models, but it is best to do a little at a time. It saves on the itching …’ He took off his shirt and vest, leaving his skin gleaming golden. She put out a hand and touched the warm muscle.

He fell back on the bed so that she straddled him. His hands reached up and cupped her breasts. His thumb slowly rubbed her nipple, making it become a hardened point. Sophie gasped. He bucked upwards and his arousal teased her.

‘What are you wearing under this robe?’

‘Nothing,’ Sophie admitted. ‘I wanted to see how it would be for painting.’

‘A novel approach—having the artist undressed and the model clothed.’

‘I can be unconventional as well as conventional.’ She brushed her lips against his mouth.

‘Have I ever complained, Sophie?’ He caught her face between his hands.

Sophie bit her lip. He had not complained, but she felt him slipping away from her.

Rather than answering him, she concentrated on the next stage. Her hands went to his trousers and undid them, allowing his erection to spring free. Without waiting, Sophie opened her legs wider and positioned herself. She moved her hips back and forth, feeling the engorged tip of him rub her as the ache grew within her and then, very slowly, she lowered herself down on him, calling the rhythm for once.

Much later, Richard lay with a sleeping Sophie curled beside him. With a gentle hand, he smoothed a lock of blonde hair from her face.

Sophie had the unerring knack of knowing what he needed without him even having to tell her. With her curled into his side, he could almost allow himself the luxury of believing that he could protect her and keep her safe. That he would have chosen this marriage if she knew everything about him.

He watched her stir and realised his feelings for her had grown, rather than diminished. But
the only reason she was in his bed and his life was that he’d used her desire for virtue. Sometimes it felt as though he was waiting for the whole house of cards to fall.

‘Mmmm,’ she murmured, giving a stretch. ‘That was pleasant.’

‘Pleasant?’

‘Wonderful. It may take me an awfully long time to get that particular portrait done.’

‘I’m happy to pose whenever you like.’ Richard sobered. ‘You said my father has set a date for leaving.’

‘A week on Monday. He has booked his train ticket.’ Sophie raised herself up on her elbow. ‘We are going to give a dinner party, Richard, on the Sunday. For your father, my stepmother, Robert and Henri. I have sent the invitations. I was sure you wouldn’t mind. Robert and Henri arrive back two days before your father leaves. It seemed opportune. My stepmother and your father agreed readily.’

Richard went cold. He wasn’t ready to meet Sophie’s former guardian and his wife. He wanted to have more time to bind Sophie to him, rather than encountering the two people who would find fault with him. ‘Shouldn’t you have asked me before you sought assurance from my father and your stepmother?’

Her nose wrinkled. ‘The letter from Henri arrived while your father was at my stepmother’s. It seemed like too happy of a coincidence not to organise a dinner party. I am sure my stepmother will be happy to host the party if you don’t feel we have room here.’

Richard ran his hands through his hair. Dinner parties with his father were to be endured, particularly when his father decided he could comment on the food with impunity. He could see the disaster unfolding before his eyes. His father behaving badly, Sophie in tears and these friends of Sophie’s judging him. He shuddered. ‘Sophie, a word of advice—if you want something big, ask a man before you ask his father.’

‘I did mention giving a dinner party for Henri and Robert this morning.’

‘You did?’ Richard searched his memory. This morning he had been distracted by his mother’s latest note about her finances and her request to see him immediately. ‘The only thing you asked me about was another new dress. You always look well turned out, Sophie, and you are spending your own money.’

‘Before that. The dress is for the dinner party.’

Richard rubbed his eye. The dull ache in his head returned. ‘I don’t recall, but I believe you.’

‘Then it is a no.’ Her lips turned down. ‘I’d hoped.’

He flopped back against the pillows. It was wrong of him. He wanted to keep what passed between Sophie and him private. This was their kingdom. Dinner parties and At Homes belonged to a life after they returned from the wedding trip, when he could be sure of her. But Sophie was right. His father needed a proper send off. He could endure the Montemorcys, knowing that once his father was gone, he would have Sophie to himself for weeks on end and no family to bother him.

He turned over on top of Sophie and caught her wrists, putting them above her head. ‘You wrong me.’ He nipped her chin. ‘It is a yes. Have your dinner party. Buy your gown.’

She kissed him back. Enthusiastically. ‘I knew you’d understand.’

‘Is everything under control?’ Richard asked on the morning of the dinner party.

Sophie looked up from measuring the place settings. ‘Everything is fine. I have borrowed my stepmother’s cook and the menu is all agreed. Jane and Myers are dealing with the flowers.’

‘Why the ruler?’

‘A trick Henri taught me.’ She set the ruler
down. Since the afternoon she had started painting Richard, something had changed between them. She had to hope that he understood how important it was that this dinner party went smoothly. She wanted to demonstrate to Robert and her stepmother that she was now an adult. Her dinner party would positively radiate virtue. They would see that despite the hastiness of the marriage, she was happy. And she was happy … most of the time.

‘Surely Myers can do that.’

‘It is best to do things myself if I want perfection.’

‘Perfection isn’t always possible.’

‘With planning it can be achieved.’ She nodded towards where two long red candles stood in brass candlesticks. ‘I love how the red and the brass go together. Candlelight is far more pleasant for a party of this nature than gas.’

‘I shall leave you to the last-minute preparations, then, as you have things well in hand.’ He picked up his hat and gloves.

‘Are you going out? The party is going to start in a few hours. I thought … I thought you might want to go over the choices for port.’

‘There are a few things I need to complete before we go on our wedding trip. They shouldn’t take long. Myers can solve any question with
the wine. It is one of the reasons I hired him as my valet.’

Sophie pasted on a fake smile. It was there again, that withdrawing. Her stepmother had warned her—men don’t like to hear about domestic bother. ‘Of course, how foolish of me not to have thought Myers would know.’

‘I will be back before the party starts. We will greet your guests together.’

Sophie sat watching the final splutter of the last red candle. The remains of the disaster were clearly evident.

Five plates with food—barely touched, and one plate without anything—spotlessly clean.

Richard, despite his easy assurance, had not returned in time for the start of the dinner party or its conclusion. A boy had delivered a note halfway through from Richard explaining they should start and that he’d been unavoidably delayed. He had no idea when he’d return, but he hoped it would be shortly.