A Comfortable Wife (8 page)

“Indeed. You can thank me by coming for a ride.”

“A ride?”

Philip caught her hand. Lifting his head, he scanned the scene. “Everything’s finished here, isn’t it?”

Casting about for relief, Antonia found none. “Perhaps the Punch and Judy—”

“Geoffrey’s got that in hand. I don’t think it would be wise for you to undermine his authority.”

Antonia’s jaw dropped. “I
wouldn’t
—” she began hotly.

“Good. Let’s go.” Philip started for the booth where he’d left his coat, towing her along, not caring who saw. His jaw set, he swiped up his coat but didn’t stop, tugging
Antonia up so he could trap her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Stunned, Antonia blinked free of the masculine web that held her. Her eyes narrowed. “I believe you’ve forgotten one point, my lord.”

Philip glanced frowningly down at her. “What?”

Antonia smiled sweetly. “I can’t ride in this dress.”

She shut her ears against his muttered curse. He abruptly changed direction; in seconds, they were through the side door and into the hall.

Philip halted at the foot of the stairs. “You’ve got five minutes,” he said, releasing her. “I’ll wait here.”

Antonia sent him a furiously disbelieving look. And watched his eyes slowly narrow.

With an exaggerated sniff, she tossed her head and headed up the stairs.

It took longer than five minutes to scramble into her habit but Philip was still waiting, pacing at the foot of the stairs, when she came down. He looked up, nodded, then waved her on.

Her chin defiantly high, Antonia sailed ahead.

The grooms had their horses ready; Philip must have sent word. He gripped her waist and tossed her up, then swung up to his chestnut’s back. He wheeled; Antonia fell in beside him. As usual, they rode before the wind, streaking across his fields.

Philip had decided where to stage their talk. Somewhere they would be assured of being pavate. Hardly in line with accepted precepts, but he was beyond such considerations. He led her deep into the Manor woods, to a cool glade where a stream widened into a pool.

He swung down and tethered Pegasus to a low-hanging branch. A jay shrilled. Sunshine dappled the grass, growing thick and lush by the water’s edge. Enclosed by old oaks, the glade was still and silent—entirely theirs.

Antonia frowned as Philip lifted her down; the catch in
her breath, the need to still her heart, no longer even registered. Her hand in his, he strode away from the horses, towards the pool. He was moving far too fast for her liking.

“What is it?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. She glanced up at his face. “Is something amiss?”

Abruptly, Philip halted. Jaw clenched, he swung to face her. “As to that, I’m not sure.”

His eyes, Antonia saw, were patterns of roiling grey. Throughout the day, his abrupt movements, his clipped accents, had undermined her confidence—now he was talking in riddles. Taking advantage of his slackened grasp, she pulled her hand from his. Standing her ground, she lifted her chin. “There’s something bothering you—that much is plain.”

“There is indeed,” he replied, his hands rising to his hips, his eyes boring into hers.

When she simply continued to stare at him, waiting, open challenge in her gaze, Philip muttered a curse. Tense as a bowstring, he glanced away, then abruptly turned back. Capturing her gaze, he caught her hand; he lifted it, deftly turned it and placed a kiss on her wrist, on the pulse point exposed by her glove.

And felt her reaction, the quick shiver she tried to suppress, stiffening against it. Her eyes widened but not with amazement. The rise and fall of the lace ruffle at her breast increased.

Philip’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Antonia. Am I seducing you—or are you seducing me?”

For an instant, Antonia was sure the world had spun. She blinked. “Seducing…?” Stunned, she stared at him.

“Seducing.” Ruthlessly, Philip held her gaze. “As in capitalising on the age-old attraction that sometimes flares between a man and a woman.”

Antonia strangled the impulse to repeat the word attraction—she could hardly deny its existence. She could feel it
shimmering between them. Dazed, she blinked again. What was he suggesting? “I…?”

“Don’t know what I’m talking about?” Philip supplied, catching her chin in one hand.

The cynicism in his tone stung. Antonia’s eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t know how to
begin
seducing you!”

“Know?” Philip pretended to consider the point while the tension that had held him all day wound tight. “I don’t suppose you would actually need to know how—you could do it by instinct alone.” Looking down at her, at her wide green-gold eyes, her softly curved lips, he felt the tumult inside him swell. The urge to surrender to it waxed strong—he who never permitted himself to be driven, compelled, coerced, frustrated, aggravated or obsessed.

“Whatever,” he said, his voice deepening, darkening. “You’ve succeeded.” If he took what was offered, would he know peace again? On the thought, he bent his head and set his lips to hers.

And felt, as he had known he would, her instantaneous response. It rose to his touch, to his caress, easily overriding her equally instinctive stiffening. Her unfettered reaction was balm to his bruised ego—at least she was, at this level, as helpless as he. Her lips softened; at his subtle urging, hesitant, beguiling, they parted under his.

Antonia felt the whirlpool rise and snatch her up, so strong she could only ride its tide. Her wits scattered, her senses stretched, heightened by excitement, eager, clamouring for experience. She felt his arms slide around her; as her limbs softened, they tightened and locked, crushing her to him.

Wanting more of his caress, she tilted her head and felt his lips firm. Driven, she pressed closer. The magic of his kiss had her firmly in thrall; tentatively, she returned it, revelling in the shocking intimacy, marvelling at the sensations crowding her mind. The seductive hardness of the muscles surrounding her, the tempting heat of his large
body—all were new discoveries; the slow crescendo building within her, the swelling tempo of her heart, were fascinating, novel perceptions.

His strength surrounded her, his kiss intoxicated her. The feel of him, the taste of him, overwhelmed and excited her. Dragging her hands from where they had been trapped against his chest, she wound them about his neck, returning his kiss with an ardent fervour she hadn’t known she possessed.

Philip groaned and crushed her even more tightly to him, her breasts firm and swollen against his chest. He let one hand roam over her hips, urging her against him, moulding her to him.

The whirlpool had caught him, too.

He was too experienced to let it pull them down. Nevertheless, dragging them both free of its turbulent power took all the strength he possessed. When he finally managed to raise his head, soothing her hungry lips with a gentle brush of his, they were both breathing raggedly.

Tense, his muscles locked tight, he waited for common sense to return and save them. Very slowly, Antonia’s lids rose. Mesmerised, he watched as her eyes were revealed, the gold flecks blazing, the green more deeply jewel-like than he had ever seen. Then darkness swam in, dulling the brilliance. Her breath caught; she caught her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes widening with what could only be alarm.

She stiffened in his arms.

Philip felt the panic grip her. “Don’t,” he said, in the instant before she started struggling.

To his relief, she stilled, a frightened bird locked in the cage of his arms, tense and quivering.

Holding her gaze, Philip dragged in a deep breath, his chest swelling, making him unwillingly aware of the softness pressed against it—and took a firm grip on the reins. “I’m not about to ravish you.”

She was an innocent; he had frightened her.

The expression in her wide, shadowed eyes was not one he could read but he thought he detected a hint of scepticism. Exasperation drove him to say, “Oh, I’m thinking about it.” Pressed to him as she was from shoulders to knees, she could hardly miss the evidence of his desire. “But I’m not about to do it—all right?”

His jaw ached, as did the rest of him; experience was not enough to hide his frustration. He concentrated on keeping still—he had no intention of moving until the dangerous moment had passed, until the compulsion driving them both had faded.

Antonia had no breath with which to answer. Her heart was still thudding in her ears. For a long moment, she simply held his gaze, wondering dazedly how much he could see. Had he noticed how unrestrained her ardour had been—how wantonly she had kissed him? Was the aching need still pulsing within her visible in her eyes?

She could only pray it wasn’t.

Stunned, staggered, shocked beyond measure, she felt heat rise to her cheeks. When he raised one brow, she recalled his question and forced herself to nod. Then blushed even more.

“We’ve got to go back.” Once more in control, Philip forced his arms from her and caught her hand.

“Back?” Before she could say more, Antonia found herself towed unceremoniously back to her horse. Recollections returning, her mind was awhirl. “But—”

With a muted snarl, Philip rounded on her, trapping her with her back against her horse. He towered over her, muscles locked, jaw clenched, his eyes a steely grey. “Antonia—do you
want
to be ravished here and now?”

She actively considered the question—then caught herself and blushed furiously. She felt like sinking. The effort it took to make herself shake her head was even more damning.

“Then we go back,” Philip said through clenched teeth. “Immediately.” He grasped her waist and tossed her up to her saddle, then pulled her reins free and threw them up to her. In seconds, he had Pegasus free and was mounting.

Without further words, he led the way back to the Manor.

As the miles sped past, Antonia’s memory cleared; by the time they reached the Manor, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glittering.

They pulled up in the stableyard, but no one came running. Philip glanced about, then remembered he had given the stablehands permission to visit the local inn in compensation for their sterling efforts in organising another of Antonia’s entertainments—pony rides for the younger children, with a series of low jumps in the nearest paddock for the older children to attempt. Smothering an oath, he dismounted. “We’ll have to take care of the horses ourselves.”

Her lips compressed, Antonia kicked free of her stirrups, slid down from her perch—and rounded on him.

“After accusing me of attempting to seduce you, you
expect
me to—?” Words failed her; her eyes blazed. With a smothered scream, she flung her reins at his head, swung on her heel and marched out of the yard.

S
educing
him? As if that was possible.

Smothering a snort, Antonia dragged her brush through her thick wavy hair. Sunshine streamed in through her bedchamber window; the morning breeze came with it, bringing the crisp tang of grass and dew-washed greenery. The day of the
fête
had dawned bright and clear; unable to sleep, she had risen and donned her sprig muslin, then sat down to tend her curls.

And consider how best to deal with her host.

She might have tried to make him notice her, she might have tried to make him see her as a potential wife. But to accuse her of
seducing
him?

“Hah!”
Frowning direfully at the mirror, she gritted her teeth and ruthlessly dealt with a tangle. She was
not
such a scheming female!

The very notion that a lady such as she, of severely restricted experience,
could
seduce a gentleman of his vast and, she had no doubt,
varied background,
was ludicrous. None of the seducing that had been done to date could be laid at
her
door.

She knew very well who had been seducing whom.

Those moments in the woods had opened her eyes; until then she had been too distracted by her reactions, too caught
up with suppressing them, to focus on what drew them forth. Now she knew.

The Lord only knew what she was going to do about it.

The hand holding her brush stilled; Antonia studied the face that looked back at her from her mirror, the trim figure displayed therein. It had never occurred to her that Philip, with all the accommodating ladies of the
ton
from whom to choose, would fix any real part of his interest on her

She had thought to be his wife but had envisaged he would feel nothing beyond mere affection for her—that and the lingering warmth of long-standing friendship. That was what she had expected, what she had steeled herself to accept—the position of a conventional wife.

His actions in the woods suggested she had miscalculated.

He wanted her—
desired
her. A delicious thrill ran through her. For an instant, she savoured it, then, frowning again, resumed her brushing. A serious problem had surfaced with his ardour—namely, hers. Or, more specifically, how, given a gentleman’s expectations of his wife, she was supposed to keep her feelings hidden or, at the very least, acceptably disguised.

The door opened; Nell walked in, stopping in amazement at the sight of her.

“Great heavens! And here I’d thought to wake you.”

Antonia brushed more vigorously. “There’s still a lot to do—I don’t wish to be rushed at the last.”

Nell snorted and came to take the brush. “Seemingly you’re not the only one. I just saw his lordship downstairs. Thought he must be going riding, but then I noticed he wasn’t in top boots. Very natty, he looked, I must say.”

“Indeed.” Clasping her hands in her lap, Antonia infused the word with the utmost disinterest. Philip had tried to speak with her last night, first in the drawing-room before dinner, when Geoffrey’s enthusiasm had saved her, then later, when she was pouring the tea. She had affected deaf
ness to his low-voiced “Antonia?” and handed him a brimming cup.

She was not about to forgive him, to let him close again, not until the panicky feelings inside subsided, not until she was again confident of carrying off their interaction with the assurance expected of a prospective wife.

“Dare say you’ll have your hands full today, acting as hostess in her ladyship’s stead.” Nell deftly wound the golden mass of Antonia’s hair into a tight bun, teasing tendrils free to wreathe about her ears and nape. “She told Trant she intends going no further than the terrace.”

Antonia shifted on the stool. “She’s getting too old to stand up to the crowds—I’m only glad I can help her in this way.”

“Aye—and his lordship, too. Can’t think that he’d appreciate having to face it all by himself.”

Antonia glanced searchingly at Nell but there was no evidence of intent in her maid’s homely features. “Naturally I’ll be on hand to aid his lordship in any way I can.”

A role she could hardly escape, having worked so diligently to earn it. Being at odds with Philip on today of all days was going to be simply impossible. They would have to make their peace before the guests arrived.

As soon as Nell pronounced her fit to face the day, Antonia headed downstairs. As she descended the last flight, her nemesis strolled into the hall. Looking up, he stopped at the foot of the stairs—and waited. Antonia paused, meeting his gaze. In the hall above, a door opened then slowly closed. Drawing in a steadying breath, Antonia continued her descent, her expression determinedly aloof.

Philip turned to face her, effectively blocking her way. As Nell had intimated, he was precise to a pin in a grey morning coat, his cravat tied in a simple but elegant knot. A subdued waistcoat, form-fitting breeches and glossy Hessians completed the outfit—perfect for a wealthy gentleman about to greet his neighbours. His movements, Antonia
noted, were once again lazy; his habitual air of languid indolence hung like a cloak about him. She stopped on the last step, her eyes level with his. “Good morning, my lord.” She kept her tone coolly polite.

Only his eyes, his grey gaze sharply intent as it met hers, gave evidence of yesterday’s turmoil.

“Good morning, Antonia.” Holding her gaze, Philip raised a brow. “Pax?”

Antonia narrowed her eyes. “You accused me of seducing you.”

“A momentary aberration.” Philip kept his eyes on hers. “I know you didn’t.” He had managed that all by himself.

She was, after all, an innocent; regardless of any scheme she and Henrietta had concocted, what had flared between them was more his doing than hers.

Antonia hesitated, studying his bland countenance.

Despite his determination to remain distant, Philip felt his lips twist. He reached for her hand. “Antonia—”

The sound of a heavy footstep had them both looking up.

“Henrietta.” Lips tightening, Philip caught Antonia’s gaze. “I need you as my hostess, Antonia.” His fingers tightened about hers. “I want you by my side.”

It took a moment for Antonia to subdue her response to his touch, his plea. Stiffly, she inclined her head; behind her, she could hear Henrietta on the landing. “You may count on me, my lord.” She kept her voice low. “I won’t let you down.”

Philip held her gaze. “And
I
won’t let
you
down.” For an instant, he held still, then, eyes glinting, swiftly raised her fingers to his lips. “I’ll even promise not to bite.”

As the day progressed, Antonia found herself grateful for the reassurance. Henrietta had elected to greet her visitors at the bottom of the terrace steps; Fenton was stationed at the front of the house, directing all arrivals around the corner to the south lawn.

After settling Henrietta by the balustrade, Antonia, her eye on Mrs Mimms, approaching like a galleon under full sail, two anaemic daughters in tow, murmured, “I’ll just go the rounds and check—”

“Nonsense, my dear.” Closing her crabbed fingers about Antonia’s wrist, Henrietta smiled up at her. “Your place is beside me.”

Antonia frowned. “There’s no need—”

“What say you, Ruthven?” Henrietta glanced at Philip, standing behind her, his gaze fixed on Mrs Mimms. “Don’t you think Antonia should stand by us?”

“Indubitably,” Philip stated. He shifted his gaze to Antonia, subtle challenge in his eyes. “How else, my dear, will we cope with Mrs Mimms—let alone the rest of them?”

She had, of course, to acquiesce; the result was predictable. Introduced by a beaming Henrietta as “My very dear niece—dare say you remember her—spent many summers here with us all. Don’t know how we could have managed this without her”, she found herself transfixed by Mrs Mimms’ basilisk stare.

“Indeed? Helping out?” Mrs Mimms cast a knowledgeable eye over the tables and booths scattered over the lawns and terrace. Her lips thinned as her gaze fell on Philip, already greeting the next guests. “I see.”

Those two bare words effectively summarized Mrs Mimms’ reading of the situation. Determined not to let it, or anything else, rattle her, Antonia smiled serenely. “I do hope you enjoy yourself.” With a gentle nod, she allowed her gaze to shift to Horatia and Honoria Mimms, both of whom had yet to drag their attention from Philip. Their protuberant eyes were fixed on his face in cloying adoration. “And your daughters, too, of course.”

Mrs Mimms glanced sharply at her offspring. “Come along, girls!” She frowned intimidatingly. “Stop dilly-
dallying!” With a swirl of her skirts, she led the way up the terrace steps.

Mrs Mimms was not alone among the local ladies in having seen in the Manor’s invitation a chance to press their daughters’ claims. That much was made clear as the guests flooded in. Antonia found herself the object of quite a few disconcerted stares. Many recalled her from her earlier visits; while most greeted her warmly, the matrons with unmarried daughters in tow were distinctly more reserved.

Lady Archibald was characteristically forthright in her surprise. “Damnation! Thought you’d disappeared. Or at least were safely wed!”

Antonia struggled to hide her grin. It was impossible to take offence; her ladyship, while hardly the soul of tact, possessed an indefatigably kind heart. She watched as her ladyship, frowning, looked down on the mousy young lady hugging her shadow, her gaze, like all the other young ladies’ gazes seemed to be, fixed on Philip. Lady Archibald humphed. “Come along, Emily. No point in making sheep’s eyes in
that
direction.”

Antonia made a point of shaking hands with Emily, to soften that trenchant remark. But the girl appeared not to have heeded it, continuing to cast shy but glowing glances at Philip.

After directing her ladyship and Emily to the terrace, Antonia turned to greet the next guest, in doing so, she met Philip’s eye.

She had never before seen such an expression of aggravated exasperation on his face. It was a fight to keep her lips in the prescribed gentle smile; her jaw ached for a full five minutes. Thereafter, she studiously avoided his gaze whenever smitten young ladies stood before them.

The novelty of the event had ensured a large turnout. All their neighbours had accepted, rolling up the drive in chaises and carriages, many open so the occupants could bask in the bright sunshine. Philip’s tenants came in carts
or on foot, lifting their caps or dropping shy curtsies as they passed the reception line on their way to join the congregation on the lawn.

Amongst the last to arrive was the party from the Grange, some miles beyond the village. Sir Miles and Lady Castleton were new to the district since Antonia’s last visit; she studied them as they approached, her ladyship strolling in the lead, an aloof expression on her lovely face, a slim, dark-haired young lady in her wake.

“My dear Ruthven!” With a dramatic gesture, Lady Castleton presented her hand. A statuesque brunette, fashionably pale, she was elegantly gowned in figured muslin, her face set in lines of studied boredom. “What a novel—quite
exhausting
—idea!” A cloud of heady perfume engulfed the reception party. Her ladyship’s gaze shifted to Henrietta. “I don’t know how you could bear to handle all this, my dear. You must be positively prostrated. So naughty of Ruthven to expect it of you.”

“Nonsense, Selina!” Henrietta frowned and straightened her shoulders. “If you must know, having a major gathering was
my
idea—Ruthven was merely good enough to humour me.”

“Indeed,” Philip drawled, releasing her ladyship’s hand after the most perfunctory shake. He turned to Sir Miles. “I can confirm that it was not my will that gave rise to today’s entertainment.”

Sir Miles, bluffly genial, was a stark contrast to his wife. Chuckling, he pumped Philip’s hand. “No need to tell me that! Not a man here doesn’t know what it’s like.”

“As you say.” Philip’s smile remained easy as he nodded to the girl who stood between Sir Miles and his wife. “Miss Castleton.”

“Good afternoon, my lord.” Boldly, Miss Castleton presented her hand with the same dramatic flair as her mother. She accompanied it with an openly inviting, distinctly brazen look. Not as tall as Antonia, she was possessed of a
full figure, more revealed than concealed by her fine muslin gown.

Philip glanced at her hand as if mildly surprised to find it hanging before him. He clasped it but fleetingly, his gaze, blank, shifting to Lady Castleton, then Antonia as he half-turned.

“Haven’t introduced you to my niece.” Henrietta gestured to Antonia, adroitly deflecting attention from Miss Castleton, who promptly pouted. “Miss Mannering.”

With a calm smile, Antonia held out her hand.

Lady Castleton’s sharp, black-eyed gaze travelled over her; an arrested expression flitted over her pale face. “Ah,” she said, smiling but not with her eyes. Briefly touching Antonia’s fingers, she looked down at Henrietta. “It’s reassuring to see that you’ve found someone to act as companion at last.”