A Comfortable Wife (33 page)

She blinked. “That was Geoffrey’s and Catriona’s escapade, not mine.”

Philip’s eyes narrowed. “No more Mannering logic—I’ve heard quite enough for one night.”

A log crashed in the grate, sending up a shower of sparks; with a muttered curse, Philip reluctantly released Antonia and bent to resettle the logs. Antonia glided a few steps away, out of his immediate reach. He straightened and set aside the firetongs; his eyes narrowed when he saw where she was. “I was referring to your appropriation of my phaeton.”

Antonia took due note of the glint in his eye. “You did offer to let me drive it.” An armchair stood conveniently before the hearth; she drifted around it.

“I offered to let you take the reins in town, on a Macadamised surface, with me on the box-seat beside you—
not
on a deserted country lane in the dead of night with the road obscured by shadows!” Philip stalked after her; catching her wide gaze, he transfixed her with a distinctly strait look. “See what I mean about wise?” He made the comment through set teeth. “
This
is what loving you does to me. I used to be calm, collected, the embodiment of gentlemanly
savoir-faire,
unruffled, unflappable—
always
in control!”

With one shove, he sent the chair sliding from between them. Eyes flaring wide, Antonia took a step back—Philip caught her by the elbows and pulled her hard against him. “
This
is what loving you does to me.”

On the words, he kissed her—parting her lips, possessing her senses, demanding, commanding, letting passion have its say. He felt her sink against him, felt her surrender to the power that held them both, held them fast in its silken web, a web stronger than any man would willingly admit. Drawing back, he spoke against her lips. “Damn it—you could have been
killed.
I would have gone mad.”

“Would you?” The words came on a breathy whisper.

Philip groaned. “Completely.” He kissed her again, revelling in the feel of her as she pressed against him, soft
warm curves fitting snugly against his much harder form, promising all manner of prospective delights. He felt desire, warm and unrestrained, rise strongly within her. Satisfied, he drew back, unable to resist dropping kisses on her eyelids and forehead.

“You’re lucky the others were here when I caught up with you.” His voice had deepened to a raspy growl. “I spent the last two miles thinking about putting you over my knee and ensuring you wouldn’t sit any box-seat for at least the next month.”

Adrift on a sea of happiness with no horizon in sight, Antonia sighed happily. “You wouldn’t.”

“Probably not,” Philip temporised. “But it was a comforting thought at the time.”

A gentle smile on her lips, Antonia drew his head back to hers and kissed him. “I promise to behave in future. I take leave to remind you this outing wasn’t my idea.”

“Hmm.” Lifting his head, Philip studied her face. “Be that as it may, I plan on using this transgression of yours—your flight into the night—to call an abrupt halt to this peculiar hiatus of ours.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed.” His lips curved. “I’ve something of a reputation for extracting the greatest benefit from unexpected situations.”

Antonia looked her question.

Philip wondered if she knew how innocent she looked. His smile twisted then fled; gently taking her face between his hands, he gazed deeply into her gold-green eyes. “I need you, my love. Despite the fact you’ll turn me—my life, my emotions—upside down, I want no other.” He smiled faintly. “You imagined yourself as my comfortable wife—that was impossible from the outset and I knew it.” His lips twisted wryly. “It simply took me a while to acknowledge the inevitable.”

His expression sobering, he held her gaze steadily. He
spoke slowly, intently, his voice deep and low. “But all that’s behind us—our future together starts here, now. We’re already married in our hearts—married in all ways bar two. I propose we rectify that situation forthwith. We’ll spend the night here—” Philip’s hands shook slightly; he willed them still, unaware his gaze had darkened dramatically. The planes of his face hardened as he searched Antonia’s eyes. “Don’t ask me to let you go tonight. I’ve waited for weeks to make you mine.”

He was confounded by her smile, a bewitching, beguiling, very gentle siren’s smile. “I’ve been waiting—” Antonia declared, her voice soft, serene, her eyes meeting his directly. “I think for years—for you to do just that.”

Desire bucked; Philip dragged in a shuddering breath. Very conscious of his limitations, he directed a warning glance at her. “If you could refrain from doing anything
too
encouraging, I’d be grateful.”

She shot him a mischievous glance—Philip saw the teasing glint he loved in her eyes. The sight made him groan—just the thought of what it might mean if she brought her usual, questing mind to bear in that arena too, threatened his already overtried control.

Antonia stretched up; shifting his hands to her waist, Philip held her back. “We’ll go directly to town tomorrow, given we have my phaeton. We’ll stop at Ruthven House so you can change and pick up anything you want, then go straight on to the Manor. We can be married in a few days.” He paused to draw breath, then forced himself to add, “Or wait the usual three weeks—whichever you prefer.”

Antonia studied his face, his eyes, then raised one brow in open speculation. “I think I’ll reserve my decision—until tomorrow.” She smiled, and pressed closer. “Tonight, after all, might influence my conclusion.”

Philip closed his eyes and groaned. “Is that an invitation or a threat?”

“Both.”

Antonia reached up, twining her arms about his neck, stretching up to kiss him, letting her lips, her body, make her promises, purposely inviting, then inciting him to take all she had—all she was.

He did, kissing her until she was breathless, witless, filled with an unnameable longing, before tumbling her into the billows of the bed. Slowly, leisurely, he divested her of her clothes. Passion burned freely within her; she felt neither the chill of the air nor any lingering restraint.

Inevitable, he had termed it; as she lay back against the pillows and waited for him to join her, Antonia felt the rightness, the unquestionable truth, of his words. This had been destined to be. From the first.

Then he returned to her, taking her in his arms, wrapping her in a cocoon of warm desire, sating her senses with delight. The night spun about them, a wild kaleidoscope of stars and suns set spinning by passion’s hand.

He held her tight, guiding her through the whirling of their senses, holding her steady, safe in his arms. He conducted her through a landscape she had never known existed, guiding her unerringly through each deepening layer of intimacy until they came together, as it was always meant to be, the ease of old friendship and long-standing love investing each caress with a significance far greater than its physical form.

Later, wrapped in the warm haven of his arms, settled against the heat of him, delicious languor in every limb, she felt his lips at her temple. The words he murmured were so low, she only just caught them.

“Tonight, tomorrow—and forever.”

The note of finality in his voice set the seal on her happiness. Buoyed on its swell, Antonia slept.

Philip woke the next morning to the distracting sensation of a warm, curvaceous, silk-encased form snuggled into his side. As the silk in question was his wife-to-be’s skin, his
reaction was instantaneous. He glanced at her—but all he could see was a mass of golden curls fanned out on the pillow. Raising his brows, he considered his next move—and recalled a few loose ends. Carefully, he eased from the bed.

Dressing quickly, he left Antonia slumbering while he went downstairs.

He returned twenty minutes later, having dispatched the Countess’s gig along with various missives, some rather longer than others, back to Ticehurst Place, only to discover Antonia still hidden beneath the covers. With a rakish grin, Philip shrugged out of his coat.

He was pulling off his shirt when he heard rustling from the bed. Looking up, he watched as Antonia blinked awake. She saw him; her lips curved in a sleepy, sated, gloriously happy smile.

Philip felt his lips curve in automatic response. Dropping the shirt on a chair, he walked to the side of the bed, his hands at his waistband.

It took a moment for Antonia’s mind to clear enough to realise his clothes were coming off, rather than going on. “What are you doing?” With an effort, she tugged her gaze all the way up to his face.

His smile made her toes curl. “I thought,” he said, raising a brow in the way only he could, “that I should attend to our unfinished business without delay.”

Her mind still dimmed by the aftereffects of the long night, Antonia could not divine what he meant. “I thought,” she said, trying to frown as he lifted the covers and slid in beside her, “that we’d concluded things quite satisfactorily.” Nagging uncertainty made her add, “Didn’t we?”

His laugh was as devilish as his look.

“Indubitably.” Philip rolled her into his arms, settling her against him. “However, as we have a little time, I thought it might be wise to grasp the opportunity to…” His
lips trailed down her throat. “Get in a little extra persuasion—just to help you make up your mind.”

“My mind?” Antonia wasn’t sure it was functioning at all. “On what matter?” Her memory tended to stall, fixed on certain memorable moments of the previous evening, all the rest merging into a less interesting background haze.

“On whether we should marry sooner—” Philip bent his head to place a kiss on one pert nipple “—or later.” He transferred his attention to its twin, hiding a smug grin when Antonia shifted restlessly against him.

“Ah…” Antonia tried very hard to think. “I don’t believe I’ve yet made up my mind.” As his hands fastened on her soft flesh, she was suddenly very sure of her answer. Moistening her lips, she glanced down and found Philip’s eyes. “Maybe you’d better persuade me a bit more?”

Philip’s eyes gleamed. “That, my love, is precisely my intention.”

They returned to Ruthven House late that afternoon. Carring opened the door; Philip smiled, openly smug, when he saw his major-domo blink. A blink from Carring was the equivalent of an openmouthed stare from less controlled mortals.

With a laughing smile, Antonia hurried upstairs, as eager as he to be on their way home—to the Manor, where they both belonged. Her smile hadn’t faded all morning—he’d enjoyed every minute of the time he had invested putting it on her face.

His own smile reflected his satisfaction as he stood in his hall and watched her disappear up the stairs.

“And the wedding, my lord—if I might make so bold as to enquire?”

Philip glanced at Carring. “Miss Mannering and I have reached a mutual understanding. We’ll be married as soon as can be arranged.”

Carring’s smile held a reciprocating smugness Philip wasn’t at all sure he understood.

“Very good, my lord,” Carring intoned. “Might I request to be apprised of the date on which the nuptials will be celebrated?”

Philip fought a frown. “Why?”

“With your permission, my lord, I’d like to close the house on that day—so the staff can travel to the Manor to be on hand to tender their wishes to you and your lady.”

Philip raised his brows. “If they wish it, by all means.”

“Rest assured, my lord, we will certainly be there.” Magisterially ponderous, Carring headed for the baize door. “Indeed, I have long looked forward to throwing rice at your wedding.”

The baize door swung closed before Philip could think of a suitable reply. Eyes narrowed, he glared at the door—and wondered how good Carring’s aim might be.

Antonia’s breathless return distracted him; he forgot the matter entirely—until the moment, three days hence, when, with Antonia radiant on his arm, he left the safety of the door of the local church to brave a positive hail of rice.

One particular handful hit him on the back of his head; the grains quickly slid down beneath the folds of his cravat.

Philip swore beneath his breath. He wriggled his shoulders to no avail. Glancing back, he searched the crowd—and located Carring, a wide grin on his face.

An answering grin transformed Philip’s face. The carriage, bedecked with flowers, stood before them. He pulled Antonia to him; to the cheers of their well-wishers, he kissed her soundly, then lifted her up to the carriage.

Carring, as always, had had the last word; as he followed his wife into the carriage, Philip decided he didn’t care in the least.

He glanced at Antonia, gloriously happy as she waved to their friends.

She was the wife he wanted, the wife he needed—not
the comfortable wife she had thought to be but one to keep him on his toes.

Smiling proudly, Philip settled back against the squabs, his gaze firmly fixed on his wife.

His thirty-fifth year would be one he’d remember; he was, he discovered, looking forward, not just to the next, but to all the rest of his life.