Read The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable Wife\A Lady by Day Online
Authors: Stephanie Laurens,Alison Delaine
Tags: #Fiction, #Retail, #Romance
The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable Wife\A Lady by Day (29 page)
“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.
* * *
P
HILIP
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.”
* * *
T
HEY
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.
* * * * *
A Lady By Day
CHAPTER ONE
“L
A
, J
OSEPHINE
, I’
VE
heard the most
extraordinary
news!” Honoria’s voice rang out in Josephine’s dressing room with only two hours left to dress for the evening’s ball, and Josephine, Countess of Mareck, knew exactly what fascinating news her friend was about to impart. “Sir
Noah Rutledge
has returned to London—but surely you’ve heard.”
That news. Oh, yes. She’d heard. Instead of continuing to visit aggravation on her from the Mediterranean, Sir Noah had apparently decided to come to London and aggrieve her in person.
Josephine studied the gowns carefully set out on her bed. “Hold up the dark blue again please, Mary.” The dark blue had never been a favorite. Perhaps it was finally time to admit the mistake and retire it.
“Josephine, I won’t stand for you feigning disinterest.” Honoria moved in beside her. “I was just on my way to visit Lady Allen—poor thing turned her ankle this afternoon and can’t attend tonight—and I thought surely you would be able to give me some details about Sir Noah’s visit with which to entertain the poor soul.” She pursed her lips at the gown Mary held. “You aren’t finally going to wear
that,
are you?”
“I ought to wear it at least once.”
“Oh, fie. Where is that delicious gold taffeta? After all the trouble you went through with the fitting, I haven’t seen you wear it even one time, yet now you’re considering
this.
If I wasn’t in such a hurry to see Lady Allen, I would
demand
that you find that gold taffeta.”
“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help about Sir Noah. I knew nothing of his visit until today.” A fact that was beyond vexing. He’d given her no warning, no time to plan.
“Mr. Woodbridge said nothing of it?”
“Not a word.” Most likely because Josephine had been answering Sir Noah’s letters to Elias Woodbridge herself. Well, in a manner of speaking. The signatures all read
Joseph Bentley.
And now it was a good guess Sir Noah had grown tired of communicating with his cousin Elias by proxy.
“Well, that isn’t helpful at all,” Honoria fussed. “How is anyone supposed to discuss Sir Noah if those who know the most about him do not share what they know?”
How indeed?
Honoria frowned suddenly at the floor, the chair, the love seat by the window. “Where is darling Bentley?”
“In the girls’ rooms. They positively dote on him, and he has abandoned me completely.”
“Ha. Only wait until they find husbands, and the poor little turncoat will return to beg your affection once more.” Honoria fingered the dark blue gown. “Whatever made you choose a color like this? With your auburn hair?”
Josephine stared at the fabric blankly. Sir Noah, here. In London. And now that he was, she would not be able to keep him and his pernicious business plans away from Elias for very long. It was imperative to thwart him until she could decide exactly how to make sure that his business proposal would fail to pique Elias’s interest.
A new shipyard venture in Turkey. At Elias’s age. In his condition. With his listless frame of mind.
It was outrageous. Sir Noah hadn’t been the one here, in London, looking in on Elias, talking to doctors, watching a decline that seemed impossible to prevent. But Sir Noah certainly did think, according to his letters, that Elias should abandon the London shipyard that represented his life’s work and travel to Turkey.
“You aren’t even listening,” Honoria said, and turned to face her. “Josephine, I’m terribly worried about you.”
“Because I might wear the blue?”
“Don’t be obtuse. I won’t stand for it. Because you aren’t trying, when I know very well you could find happiness if you would only put the smallest amount of effort into it. Lord Tidewell will be there tonight.”
“Who’s to say he doesn’t care for blue?”
“Josephine.”
“Very well. I shall wear the bronze.” She gestured for Mary to set the gown back with the others. “That will be all, Mary. Thank you. I shall be ready to dress in an hour.”
“It isn’t right that the only male company you keep is with your uncle, dear though Mr. Woodbridge is. It isn’t natural. I don’t mean you should consider marriage, but for heaven’s sake—you had that lover in Paris. I don’t know why you couldn’t take one now.”
“For one thing, we’re not in Paris.” For another, the brief affair had been nothing more than an attempt to distract herself. It had kept her from hiring a coach and returning to Gibraltar, so in that sense it had been a spectacular success.
“People have affairs in London.”
“You are a fount of enlightenment, Honoria. Perhaps, once I have found suitable husbands for both my nieces and a physician who can restore Elias’s strength—” and a man of business to take her place working for Elias, as well as a solution that would send Sir Noah back to the Mediterranean alone, and permanently “—I shall turn my attention to romance.”
“Of course,” Honoria mused, ignoring her completely, “now you’ll have Sir Noah’s company, as well.” Her eyes brightened with possibilities. “Lady Devon said she saw Sir Noah outside Lord Poole’s house—she’s got a direct view from her window, you know—and she vowed he was the most striking figure of a man she’s seen in years.
Years.
Only imagine what that could signify.”
“Coming from Lady Devon, I should think it means he has two arms and two legs.”
“La, Josephine, you are too contrary! I should think it means a good deal more than that. I’ll say this... Sir Noah may only be a knight, but he is rich as Croesus, and he is something new. I daresay he’ll offer a bit of exotic spice to our humdrum existence.”
Josephine made herself laugh, even as she wondered whether there was anything she could have done differently—or that
Joseph Bentley
could have done differently, rather—to avoid Sir Noah’s coming to London in person. “Such high expectations for a mere mortal.”
“Is he? Mortal?” Honoria’s eyes flashed with mischief. “To hear Lady Devon tell it, I rather think not.”
* * *
B
UT
S
IR
N
OAH
was
mortal, and two hours later as Josephine and the girls bustled through the entrance hall on their way to the coach, she nearly collided with him on her way out the door.
“Good heavens.” She jumped back, looked up, and there was a heartbeat when she couldn’t breathe. His eyes were that blue. It didn’t matter that she’d never seen him before, that he hadn’t introduced himself—she knew immediately who he was.
“Pardon me, madam,” he said quickly. “Do forgive me.” He offered a bow, and it was all she could do not to stare. He looked as if he’d just disembarked from a ship, which, of course, he very recently had. It was dark outside, but the chandeliers illuminated a face kissed deeply by the Mediterranean sun and cut with lines that creased the corners of his eyes and mouth. His burnished-gold hair was streaked with blond and cropped, yet long enough to testify to his scorn of a wig at sea. He stood with that wide-legged stance that could identify a seaman from a hundred yards.
He was the Mediterranean itself, come wildly to life on her doorstep.
“Sir Noah Rutledge,” he said now. Those blue eyes glanced over her, leaving sparks on her skin. “Please pardon my intrusion, but I was told there is a Mr. Joseph Bentley at this address.”
She debated the wisdom of letting him think her a complete stranger, but decided it would only make her look foolish when he learned that she wasn’t. “How do you do, Sir Noah? What a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I am Lady Mareck, Elias Woodbridge’s niece by marriage.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Lettie, Pauline, do hurry—the carriage is waiting.” And then, “I’m afraid there’s nobody by that name here,” she said. “There must be a mistake.”
There was a small ruckus behind them, followed by an outraged shriek from Lettie. “Auntie Josephine, Bentley just tore a bit of lace from my gown!”
Josephine turned just in time to see Pauline snatch the strip of lace from Bentley’s mouth. “Mary, could you bring a pin?” Josephine called. “Quickly, please.” Bentley darted toward Josephine in a frenzy of excitement. “Edgar, could you please—” But Sir Noah was already bending down to scoop Bentley into his arms, where Bentley became a wiggly bit of silver fluff with a pink tongue, desperately trying to lick Sir Noah’s chin.
“We are just on our way out, as you can see,” she told him. “I assume you’re in town to see your cousin?”
“Yes.” Thick, strong fingers ruffled Bentley’s fur and expertly kept that small, furry face at a safe distance from Sir Noah’s own very—oh, yes,
very—
handsome one. “It’s been a long time—too long,” he said. “There’s much I’d like to discuss with him.” Of course there was. And he would have the opportunity to discuss exactly none of it until she’d had a chance to speak with Elias about his sudden arrival. “Although I understand he’s been feeling poorly,” he added.
She saw now that the back of his hand had been tattooed with a geometric Ottoman design. She forced herself not to stare.
“I’m afraid Elias
has
been feeling a bit worse than usual these past few days.” Which Sir Noah already knew because she’d told him as much in the note she’d sent him earlier today.
Or rather, the letter “Joseph Bentley” had sent him in response to a note Sir Noah had sent to Elias. It was a miracle she’d been at Elias’s house to intercept it.
Edgar reached to take Bentley from Sir Noah. “Pardon me, sir.”
“Bentley, you naughty dog!” Lettie scolded from the bottom of the staircase, where Mary was pinning the torn lace, and Josephine felt a twinge of unease. Hopefully, Sir Noah would not make the connection.
When Josephine returned her attention to Sir Noah, she found his unnerving gaze resting somewhere between her chin and her bosom.
“Elias’s health is always unpredictable,” she told him a bit more sternly than she might have, and his gaze lifted to meet hers once again, which didn’t help things because his eyes were a shade of blue she hadn’t seen since overlooking the sea at Gibraltar. “It is a very distressing situation.”
This
was fast becoming equally distressing. “I can never be certain myself when I might find him asleep—” just to reinforce what she’d said in the note about Elias’s sleeping patterns “—but thankfully his staff is adept at having meals ready during any window of opportunity. When he’s of a mind to take food, naturally.” That might have been a bit of an exaggeration.
“Good God.” His lips tightened and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Dare I ask the prognosis?”
“There’s no need for that.” She hadn’t anticipated this level of concern. “His condition is serious—you mustn’t misunderstand—but it has been for quite some time. I don’t expect any sudden changes. But you may have difficulty catching him awake when you call.” Perhaps expectation of failure would keep him away a bit longer.
“Indeed. I ran into exactly that issue this morning, and again this afternoon.” She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. “In the meantime, I’d hoped to find his man of business. Joseph... Bentley.”
“Of course. Have you inquired at the shipyard?”
“It was the shipyard manager who gave me this address.”
Had he. And after being under the strictest instructions not to give the address to anyone under any circumstances.
A sharp bite of anger had her making an effort to keep her lips fixed in a pleasant smile. “A simple mix-up, I’m sure. He must have given it to you by mistake. I do spend a good deal of time with Mr. Woodbridge—perhaps they keep my address in case of an emergency.”
“Perhaps they do at that.”
“I’m ready, Aunt Josephine,” Lettie called.
No, she did not like the way he was looking at her at all.
“I shan’t keep you,” he said, and bowed again. “A pleasure, Lady Mareck. And a pleasure to meet... Bentley.”
The corner of his lip curved a little as he turned away, and her muscles tensed. She had a terrible feeling that her alter ego had just been discovered.