An Ideal Husband? by Michelle Styles Page B

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 wasanother 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.

Chapter Five
    T he 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 hehad 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 encounteringyou 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