Read Online An Ideal Husband? by Michelle Styles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michelle Styles
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I have ever wanted for you is to be happy.’
A tiny prickle of fear went through Sophie. What if they didn’t succeed in trapping Sir Vincent? She pushed it away. They had to win. ‘And if I can’t do that within society?’
‘Your father worked his entire life to ensure his daughter would be gentry. You won’t dishonour your father’s memory.’
‘Trust me, please. I am all grown up. I’ve survived three seasons since Lord Cawburn without incident.’
‘It is what makes this situation so strange. I don’t understand how you could have met a mansuch as Lord Bingfield without me knowing.’ Her stepmother stepped back. ‘There, pretty as a picture. I do wish your father had lived to see you triumphant and in love.’
Sophie straightened her blouse. With her favourite pair of earrings, and the cream ball gown with cascades of lace, she was armed for battle.
Sir Vincent was not going to get away with his scheme and he wasn’t going to be allowed to wreck anyone else’s life. She simply had to figure out how to feed him information which would incriminate him before she did truly become besotted with Richard Crawford. She had to remember that above all things she had to keep her heart safe. Men who were
not safe in carriages
were best handled at arm’s length, rather than offering up her lips at the earliest opportunity. Boundaries were required and it was up to her to set them.
She reached for her tortoise-shell fan and ignored the way her lips ached in memory of that kiss. Kissing complicated matters. They might be posing as an engaged couple, but it did not mean he had any finer feelings or regard for her. She was a means to an end.
One last glance in the mirror told her everything she needed to know. The dress was passable, but she looked far too excited. And she wasexcited, excited about the possibility of beating Sir Vincent, rather than seeing Richard Crawford.
‘Shall we go? I feel capable of achieving great things tonight.’
Richard drew in his breath as Sophie walked down the stairs. Tonight she was the perfect epitome of a redoubtable ice princess rather than a woman in distress. Her blonde hair was immaculate and the bodice of her ball dress skimmed the tops of her breasts. A single pearl nestled in the hollow of her throat. But for all her finery, he could see the nerves underneath—the slight hesitation on the last step, the pinched way she held her mouth and the way she clutched her gloves until her knuckles shone white. Sophie was less certain about tonight’s piece of playacting than she wanted to be.
He had a great longing to throw her over his shoulder, and take her somewhere where he could protect her. But tonight was necessary for more than one reason. Not only would he demonstrate to Putney that seeking revenge on Sophie in this manner was doomed to failure, but he would also provide the perfect excuse for any visit to Newcastle. His father would understand the need to pursue an heiress far betterthan Richard’s need to be part of his mother and sister’s life.
‘You look exquisite,’ he said when Sophie reached the bottom of the stairs.
‘It is last Season’s dress and the sleeves didn’t alter as well I wanted them to, but I like the shape of the skirt too much.’
‘You sew your own clothes?’ Richard struggled to think of a woman of his acquaintance who would admit it. The last one was probably Mary. His mind moved firmly away from that memory. He was not going to start liking Sophie Ravel. He only became friends with women after he no longer desired them. To allow a woman into his heart and his whole life was to invite her to abandon him. It was not going to happen to him as it had happened to his father. He was the one who left first, before his heart became involved.
‘Only alterations. I want perfection and my stepmother ensured my accomplishments included both fine sewing and the making of clothes.’ Her smile lit the hallway. ‘One has to be practical. A
A tiny prickle of fear went through Sophie. What if they didn’t succeed in trapping Sir Vincent? She pushed it away. They had to win. ‘And if I can’t do that within society?’
‘Your father worked his entire life to ensure his daughter would be gentry. You won’t dishonour your father’s memory.’
‘Trust me, please. I am all grown up. I’ve survived three seasons since Lord Cawburn without incident.’
‘It is what makes this situation so strange. I don’t understand how you could have met a mansuch as Lord Bingfield without me knowing.’ Her stepmother stepped back. ‘There, pretty as a picture. I do wish your father had lived to see you triumphant and in love.’
Sophie straightened her blouse. With her favourite pair of earrings, and the cream ball gown with cascades of lace, she was armed for battle.
Sir Vincent was not going to get away with his scheme and he wasn’t going to be allowed to wreck anyone else’s life. She simply had to figure out how to feed him information which would incriminate him before she did truly become besotted with Richard Crawford. She had to remember that above all things she had to keep her heart safe. Men who were
not safe in carriages
were best handled at arm’s length, rather than offering up her lips at the earliest opportunity. Boundaries were required and it was up to her to set them.
She reached for her tortoise-shell fan and ignored the way her lips ached in memory of that kiss. Kissing complicated matters. They might be posing as an engaged couple, but it did not mean he had any finer feelings or regard for her. She was a means to an end.
One last glance in the mirror told her everything she needed to know. The dress was passable, but she looked far too excited. And she wasexcited, excited about the possibility of beating Sir Vincent, rather than seeing Richard Crawford.
‘Shall we go? I feel capable of achieving great things tonight.’
Richard drew in his breath as Sophie walked down the stairs. Tonight she was the perfect epitome of a redoubtable ice princess rather than a woman in distress. Her blonde hair was immaculate and the bodice of her ball dress skimmed the tops of her breasts. A single pearl nestled in the hollow of her throat. But for all her finery, he could see the nerves underneath—the slight hesitation on the last step, the pinched way she held her mouth and the way she clutched her gloves until her knuckles shone white. Sophie was less certain about tonight’s piece of playacting than she wanted to be.
He had a great longing to throw her over his shoulder, and take her somewhere where he could protect her. But tonight was necessary for more than one reason. Not only would he demonstrate to Putney that seeking revenge on Sophie in this manner was doomed to failure, but he would also provide the perfect excuse for any visit to Newcastle. His father would understand the need to pursue an heiress far betterthan Richard’s need to be part of his mother and sister’s life.
‘You look exquisite,’ he said when Sophie reached the bottom of the stairs.
‘It is last Season’s dress and the sleeves didn’t alter as well I wanted them to, but I like the shape of the skirt too much.’
‘You sew your own clothes?’ Richard struggled to think of a woman of his acquaintance who would admit it. The last one was probably Mary. His mind moved firmly away from that memory. He was not going to start liking Sophie Ravel. He only became friends with women after he no longer desired them. To allow a woman into his heart and his whole life was to invite her to abandon him. It was not going to happen to him as it had happened to his father. He was the one who left first, before his heart became involved.
‘Only alterations. I want perfection and my stepmother ensured my accomplishments included both fine sewing and the making of clothes.’ Her smile lit the hallway. ‘One has to be practical. A
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