A Comfortable Wife

Antonia grimaced. “Lady Castleton and Miss Castleton. They were full of his praises, so Henrietta said.'

Philip's expression turned cynical. 'The Castleton ladies appear to have a definite predilection for toads. Sir Miles has my sympathy.'

Antonia wrinkled her nose. 'I did wonder how they had stood him.' She shuddered expressively. 'He was decidedly slimy.'

Philip's smile was fleeting, quickly superseded by a frown. He glanced at Geoffrey, busy with the keys, then captured Antonia's eye. 'Kindly understand you have no cause whatever, henceforth, to have any dealings with toads, fish, or any other amphibian or reptilian species.' He held her gaze steadily. “Do I make myself clear?''

Antonia stared at him. 'But what if-?'

'There are no circumstances I can imagine that would make acquaintance nor even contact with such persons necessary.' His gaze fixed on her face, Philip steered them through a turn. 'Henceforth, should you be approached by any such persons, I would take it kindly if you referred them to me.' He paused, his imagination playing with the possibilities. 'No-let me rephrase that.' His jaw hardened; again he trapped Antonia's gaze. 'Should any such approach you, I will expect you to refer them to me.'

'Indeed?'

'Indeed. In fact,' Philip continued, spurred on by memories of her wilful confidence, “if you do not call any such incidents to my notice, I will not be held accountable for my reactions.'

'Philip-he was only a dancing master.'

He frowned at her, noting the affectionate laughter lurking in her eyes. The sight soothed the aggressive compulsion gripping him. 'It's not the dancing master I'm worried about,' he acidly informed her. 'Incidentally, you're waltzing quite creditably.'

Antonia's eyes flew wide; she nearly missed her step but Philip's arm tightened, holding her steady. 'So I am,' she said, distinctly breathless. She lowered her gaze to his shoulder. Distracted by his conversation, she had not been directing her limbs at all. Of their own volition, they had followed his assured lead; as the music flowed, they continued to do so. Freed, her mind opened to the sensations of the dance, to the subtle play of her skirts about her legs, to the hardness of his thighs as they brushed hers through the turns.

The seductive swirl of the music was mirrored in their movements; the smooth swoop and sway was a sensual delight. Philip's hand at her waist was firm, his touch confident as he guided her where he willed. Tentatively, she shifted the fingers of her right hand and felt his clasp tighten possessively.

Quelling a shiver of pure awareness, Antonia had a fleeting, distinctly scarifying vision of waltzing like this, held captive in Philip's arms, under the long noses of the ton. How on earth would she manage with every nerve-ending afire? Appalled, she banished the vision-she did not need to deal with that potential calamity today. Today, she was here, waltzing with Philip, with none-not even Geoffrey, too busy at the piano-to watch. Today, she could enjoy herself.

Unexpectedly, she felt a sense of warmth and triumph steal through her. A soft smile curved her lips. Raising her head, she let her gaze touch Philip's. 'I have to admit that your…technique is a great improvement over Maestro Vincente's.'

Philip humphed.

'That aside,' she smoothly continued, 'I had meant to thank you for your gift-the reticule.' Today's gift-the latest in a long line. Ever since he had given her the parasol, no day had passed without some small token appearing in her room-a pair of gloves to match the parasol, a big bunch of satin ribbon in the same shade, a fashionable new bonnet, a pair of exquisite half-boots. This morning, a small beaded reticule she had admired in a Bond Street window had found its way to her dresser. 'It goes perfectly with my new gold silk-I'll carry it tonight to the Quartermains.'

Philip studied her smile, pleased yet exasperated, too. 'Mere trumpery, as I said, but if it finds favour in your eyes, then I'll rest content.' For now. He was irritatingly aware that, could he behave as he wished, he would shower her with jewels, furs and all manner of expensive tokens of an affection he was prepared to admit was very real. But while she wished their liaison to remain unacknowledged, trumpery was all he could afford. He was finding the restriction unexpectedly irksome.

The piece they had been waltzing to drew to its conclusion. 'That's it!' Geoffrey declared. 'All very well for you,' he said, as both Antonia and Philip glanced his way. 'But my fingers are cramping.'

Philip grinned. Reluctantly releasing Antonia, he caught her hand, drawing her with him as he strolled towards the pianoforte. “What time did you start? Half past eleven?''

Flexing his fingers, Geoffrey nodded.

'Very well-we'll meet again tomorrow at the same time.'

Geoffrey nodded again; it was Antonia who protested. 'Tomorrow?'

Turning, Philip raised her hand and placed a quick, proprietorial kiss on her knuckles. 'Indeed.' He raised a brow at her. 'You can hardly imagine you're an expert already?'

'No-oo.' Looking up into his eyes, Antonia hesitated.

Here in his ballroom, they'd be essentially alone; she was increasingly confident of behaving appropriately while they were private. And practice was surely needed to strengthen her defences against the evening when she would waltz with him in public, in a crowded ballroom under the glare of the chandeliers. Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded. 'No doubt you're right.'

The look Philip sent her made her arch her brows haughtily.

Antonia lifted her chin. 'Until tomorrow at eleven-thirty, my lord.'

Later that afternoon, Antonia with Geoffrey in tow again crossed the path of Catriona Dalling and the Marquess of Hammersley.

Together with Henrietta, they had taken advantage of the bright autumnal sunshine and driven forth in the Ruthven barouche to see and be seen in the Park. Tempted by the clemency of the weather, they had left Henrietta in the barouche, chatting to Lady Osbaldestone, and descended to join the numerous couples fashionably strolling the lawns. They were halfway down the Serpentine Walk when they came upon Miss Dalling and the Marquess.

Heads together, voices lowered, the pair broke off what appeared to be frantic plotting to greet Antonia and Geoffrey. Shaking hands, Miss Dalling declared, 'Fate has clearly sent you to us, for we stand greatly in need of support.'

'Oh?' Geoffrey's eyes lit.

'Why do you need support, Miss Dalling?' Antonia felt rather more reticent over leaping to Miss Dalling's conclusions.

'Please call me Catriona,' Miss Dalling said, smiling radiantly. 'I truly believe we were meant to be friends.'

Antonia could not help responding with a smile. 'Very well-and you must call me Antonia. But why do you need aid?'

'My mama.' Ambrose, who had already exchanged names with Geoffrey, looked dejected. 'She's arrived in town, deadly keen to see the knot tied.'

'More than keen,' Catriona decried. 'Positively insistent! What with Aunt Ticehurst on one side and the Marchioness on the other, we're being hounded into marriage! We were just deciding what to do when you came up.'

'Nothing too drastic, I hope. You would not wish to bring any scandal down upon your head.'

'Indeed not.' Catriona shook her head so vigorously her dark ringlets danced. 'Any breath of scandal would avail us nought, for they would simply use that to force our hands. No-whatever we do must be done in such a way that there's no possibility Aunt Ticehurst and Ambrose's mama can use it against us.'

'So what do you plan to do?' Geoffrey asked.

Catriona's brow clouded. 'I don't know.' For an instant, her lips quivered, then she blinked and lifted her chin. 'That's why I've decided to send for Henry.'

'Henry?'

'Henry Fortescue, my intended.' Catriona's lips firmed. 'He'll know what to do.'

'A capital idea, I think.' Ambrose looked hopefully at Geoffrey.

'But there's one problem.' Catriona frowned. 'I cannot write a letter to Henry for Aunt Ticehurst keeps a very close watch on me. We're not even out of her sight here-she's in her brougham, watching from the carriageway. I