The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable Wife\A Lady by Day (19 page)

His second question and the tension behind it convinced Antonia prevarication would not be wise. She hesitated, then drew in a strengthening breath and, her gaze unfocused, admitted, “I find I have great difficulty keeping a proper distance.”

Philip frowned. “The distance between us was perfectly proper. I’m far too old a hand to step over the line during the first waltz of the season.”

Antonia threw him an exasperated look. “
That
’s not what I meant.”

Philip looked down at her. “Then what
did
you mean?”

Antonia glared. “You know perfectly well what I mean. And it’s not at all helpful to tease me about it.” Her voice caught; swinging around, she quickly crossed to the balustrade.

Eyes narrowing, Philip watched her, then followed at a more leisurely pace. When he stopped beside her, she was staring into the darkness, her hands clasped tightly before her. “I vaguely recall having this conversation before. While I’m naturally flattered that you persist in thinking me omniscient, I must confess that what you apparently find obvious is very frequently far from obvious to me.”

She hesitated, then slowly turned to face him.

Antonia met his gaze with one of her very direct looks. What she saw in his eyes reassured her. “I—” She broke off, frowning, then, lifting her head, swung to face the gardens. “I find the...sensations of waltzing with you so distracting that I... In short, I cannot be sure I will not commit some indiscretion.”

Tilting his head, Philip studied her face. “While waltzing?”

Her gaze on the shadows, Antonia nodded.

A slow smile broke across Philip’s face. Then he recalled that he did not always read her aright. “I take it,” he said, carefully composing his features, “that you would not feel...compelled to indiscretion while waltzing with anyone else?”

Antonia frowned at him. “Of course not.” She studied his face. “I had thought I could cope but...” She gestured vaguely.

Philip caught her hand; he waited until she met his eyes before raising it to his lips. He paused, studying her wide eyes, aware of the slim fingers resting in his, aware of the demon too close to his surface. “Geoffrey said you had told him he could trust my advice unreservedly.” He raised a brow. “Will you, too, place your trust in me?”

Uncertainty darkened her eyes; Philip allowed his impatience to show. “I have, as I believe you know, been waltzing through the
ton’
s ballrooms for rather many years.”

“I know.” Antonia felt breathless. They were, she was perfectly certain, no longer talking about mere waltzing. “But...”

Philip held her gaze; again he lifted her hand, gently brushing his lips across her fingertips, well aware of the reaction she struggled to hide. “Believe me.” His voice deepened. “I won’t let you falter.” He waited, watching her, willing her, then lifted one brow. “Trust me?”

The moment that followed stretched, fragile as spun glass, timeless as eternity. Antonia felt each beat of her heart, felt the shallowness of each breath. “You know I do.”

“Then close your eyes. It’s time for your next lesson.”

Antonia hesitated, then complied.

“Imagine we’re in the ballroom at Ruthven House.”

She felt Philip’s arm slide about her, felt his hold on her fingers shift.

“Geoffrey is supplying the music.”

She frowned. “I can hear violins.”

“He’s brought some friends to help him.”

The clipped accents made her lips twitch. Philip raised her hand; his arm tightened about her.

Antonia baulked. “Philip—!”

“Trust me.”

A second later she was waltzing.

“Keep your eyes closed. Remember, we’re in Ruthven House—there’s no one else about.”

Antonia knew very well where they were; the cool night air shifted over her bare shoulders, a light breeze played with her skirts. But Philip’s arm held her steady; with her eyes closed, she had no alternative but to relax and follow his strong lead. She heard muted chatter and laughter; the musicians were still scraping away. He held her close. As they whirled and twirled, the sensations that had earlier assailed her rose up, heightened by her earlier sensitivity. Detached, distanced from worry, she could not find it in her to fight them; instead, her senses stretched, luxuriating in the moment.

Watching her face, Philip saw her lips lift; his own curved knowingly. He drank in the sight of her face, then said, “Open your eyes.”

Antonia did, blinking as her eyes adjusted. She took in Philip’s arrogantly satisfied expression, then glanced past his shoulder—and gasped.

They were no longer the only ones waltzing on the terrace. As they revolved, she turned her head this way and that, amazed at the collection of fashionable couples now whirling in the starlight.

“It appears we’ve started a new trend.”

“Indeed.”

Seconds later, the music slowed. Philip whirled them to a flourishing halt, touching Antonia’s hand to his lips. “Believe me—there’s nothing in your behaviour to give you cause to blush.”

Antonia met his gaze; a frown slowly gathered in her eyes. “While I concede that your experience might be extensive, I’m not at all certain you’re an appropriate judge of such matters.”

Philip narrowed his eyes. “Antonia, which of us has been buried in the wilds to the north for the past eight years?”

Antonia’s eyes flashed. “And which of us, my lord, has any previous experience of our current relationship?”

Philip held her gaze steadily. “Rest assured, my dear, that should you commit any indiscretion, however minor, I will be the first to bring it to your notice.”

Antonia raised a haughty brow. “Unfortunately, it’s your definition of ‘indiscretion’ that I question.”

“Indeed? Then you’ll undoubtedly be relieved to know that to be a fully-fledged member of the fraternity to which I belong, an exquisitely detailed understanding of indiscretions, in all their varied forms, is mandatory.” Philip placed her hand on his sleeve, then calmly raised his brows at her.

Stumped, Antonia cast him a distinctly mulish glance.

With a pointed smile, Philip turned her towards the ballroom. “You may trust me to guide you through the shoals of the
ton,
Antonia.”

She glanced at his face, her gaze familiar and open. As they neared the ballroom, she regally inclined her head. “Very well. I will place my reliance on you, my lord.”

His satisfaction hidden behind his usual impassive mask, Philip steered her into the throng.

* * *

A
T
ELEVEN
O
’
CLOCK
the next morning, Philip descended the stairs, very definitely in charity with the world. It was an effort to keep from whistling; he had to keep his mind from dwelling on their interlude in the library the night before in order to keep a smug smile from his face.

Carring appeared from the nether regions; Philip had often wondered if his major-domo possessed some peculiar facility which alerted him to his impending appearance in the hall.

“I’m lunching at Limmer’s, then I expect we’ll go on to Brooks.”

“And then to the Park?”

Philip shot Carring a severe glance. “Possibly.” He paused to check his cravat in the hall mirror; a fragment of the past night’s activities, when Antonia’s fingers had become entangled in the starched folds about his throat, drifted through his mind. “Incidentally, where did the
chaise
that matches the chairs in the library go?”

“If you recall, my lord, we removed it to the back parlour after you declared that it cluttered up the library to no good purpose.”

“Ah, yes.” Satisfied with the drape of the linen folds about his neck, Philip resettled his collar. “You may move it back to the library.”

“You require more comfortable seating, my lord?”

Philip glanced up and located Carring’s face in the mirror. Unless he was grossly mistaken, his major-domo was struggling to hide a grin. Philip narrowed his eyes. “Just move the damned
chaise,
Carring.”

“Immediately, my lord.”

Philip did not glance back as he went out of his door, positive that if he did, he would see Carring grinning knowingly.

* * *

J
UST
TO
PROVE
Carring wrong, he returned to Ruthven House later in the afternoon—but only to pick up his phaeton.

Antonia was strolling in the Park with Geoffrey, Catriona and Ambrose, when they heard Geoffrey hailed from the carriageway. Turning, she saw Philip waving from the box-seat of the most elegant high-perch phaeton she had yet set eyes upon. Both Geoffrey and Ambrose needed no urging to cross the lawns to the carriageway.

“I say! What a bang-up set of blood and bone!” Ambrose eyed Philip’s greys with fervid admiration.

Geoffrey turned big eyes on his mentor. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll let me take this rig out, even without the greys?”

Philip, who had been gazing at Antonia, a picture in soft sprigged muslin, her face shaded by the brim of the bonnet he had bought her, shifted his gaze briefly to Geoffrey’s face. “None.”

Geoffrey grimaced. “That’s what I thought.”

“Did you want Geoffrey for some reason?” Antonia had spared only a passing glance for Philip’s carriage; his horses she knew well.

“Actually,” Philip said, his gaze once more on her face, “It was you I came to see. I wondered if you’d care for a turn about the Park?”

Antonia’s heart leapt; the subtle challenge in his eyes gave her pause. High-perches were notoriously unstable, safe only in the hands of experienced drivers. She had no concern on that score but gaining the seat, a full six feet above the carriageway, was a different matter.

“What a positively
thrilling
invitation.” Standing beside Antonia, Catriona looked glowingly up at Philip, her gaze innocent yet knowing. “You’ll be the envy of every lady present.”

Antonia looked up at Philip. “I would gladly go with you, my lord. Yet I greatly fear...” She gestured at the high step.

“A problem very easily solved.” Philip tied off the reins. “Geoffrey—hold their heads.”

Geoffrey hurried to the greys’ heads; Ambrose followed. Before Antonia fully grasped his intent, Philip jumped down, drew her forward, then lifted her high.

Antonia bit back a squeal—and frantically clung to the side of the high seat. His expression mild, his eyes laughing, Philip followed her up; Antonia quickly but carefully shuffled along the precariously tilting seat. To her relief, Philip’s weight once he sat seemed to stabilise the flimsy contraption.

“Relax.” He flicked her a glance as he took up the reins. “I seem to be advising you to do that rather often these days.” He sent her another teasing glance. “I wonder why?”

“Because,” Antonia tersely replied, “you are forever giving me cause to panic.”

Philip laughed as he set the greys in motion. “Never fear—I give you my word I won’t upend you in the middle of the Park. Aside from any other consideration, just think of the damage it would do to my reputation.”

“I’m fast coming to think,” Antonia returned, holding fast to the railings edging the seat, “that this reputation of yours is all a hum, invented by you as a convenient excuse.”

That riposte earned her a distinctly unnerving look.

Before he could think of a comment to go with it, she asked, “Are you sure I’m not breaking any rules in being driven in such a dangerous equipage?”

“Quite sure,” Philip replied, his tones distinctly dry. “If anyone is breaking any rules here, ’tis I.”

Antonia widened her eyes at him. “You?”

“Indeed. And seeing I have bent my heretofore inviolable rules and taken you up in the Park, I think it’s only fair that
you
should entertain
me,
thus leaving me free to devote all my skills to keeping us upright.”

Hiding a smile, Antonia put her nose in the air. “I’m not at all sure it’s proper for me to run on like some ill-bred gabblemonger.”

“Heaven forbid!” Philip dispensed with his town drawl entirely. “Just put my mind at rest and tell me what you four were planning.”

Giving up the fight to contain her delight, Antonia smiled dazzlingly, startling a youthful gentleman driving in the opposite direction.

“Cow-handed clunch!” Philip deftly avoided the ensuing melee. “Now cut line. Remember, I’ve made myself responsible for your brother.”

“Very well.” Settling more comfortably beside him, shielded from the light wind by his shoulder, Antonia related the latest developments. “Mr Fortescue has not yet shown his face, but as I gather he must come up from Somerset, I don’t believe we can hold that against him.”

Philip shook his head. “He may be a true knight but he obviously lacks a ghostly steed. Or should that be an errant charger?”

“Mr Fortescue, I gather, is a model of decorum.”

“Good lord!” Philip shot her a disbelieving glance. “And Miss Dalling wishes to marry him?”

“Most definitely.” Antonia paused, then diffidently added, “Actually, while I originally thought some of Miss Dalling’s tales might owe more to her imagination than to fact, the latest involve Ambrose as well and he is undeniably not given to flights of fancy.”

“By which you mean he’s a slow-top.” Philip glanced down at her. “But what are these latest exploits?”

“Not so much exploits as experiences. It seems the Countess of Ticehurst and the Marchioness have taken to engineering interludes when Catriona and Ambrose are left alone.”

Philip raised his brows. “I see.”

“Catriona and Ambrose are both trying quite desperately to ensure there’s nothing improper that can be used to force their consent, but the situation is daily becoming more difficult.”

Philip was silent for some minutes, then said, “It’s hard to see what they can do, short of Mr Fortescue coming to the rescue. Even then, given Miss Dalling is under age, the situation’s likely to be messy.”

“Indeed. I raised that very point, but Catriona’s convinced all will be well once Mr Fortescue arrives.”

Philip raised his brows. “Which event, I suppose, we should all devoutly pray for.” He cast a glance at Antonia’s pensive face. “Having dispensed with that subject, perhaps we can move to some more interesting topic?”