A Comfortable Wife

Philip's snort was drowned by the summoning of the violins.

'Ah!' Eyes brightening, Hugo turned to Antonia. 'My dance, I believe, Miss Mannering?'

Antonia smiled and gave him her hand. Hugo deftly cleared a path onto the dance floor; while they waited for the rest of the company to find places in the sets, Antonia turned to him. 'I overheard your comment on the Bishop of Worcester. Was it recently you entertained His Grace?''

'Just the other night.' Hugo grimaced. 'Deuced awkward, but I had to do it-he's m'godfather, you know. He'd received a summons from his sister, Lady Griswald, to some musical affair. Old man's tone deaf-virtually ordered me to rescue him.'

Antonia's eyes widened. 'I see.' She managed a weak smile. She'd returned from Lady Griswald's to find Philip absent; that night had been the first on which she'd declined her nightcap.

'At last!' Hugo held out his hand as the music for the cotillion began.

Antonia had danced countless cotillions in recent weeks; habit, she was certain, was all that kept her twirling in the right direction. A horrible suspicion had taken root in her mind; as it grew, a sinking sensation swelled inside her. She was relieved when, at the cotillion's end, Hugo returned her to Philip's side. Unfortunately, a gavotte with Lord Dewhurst followed virtually immediately. Raising her from her final curtsy, his lordship guided her around the room. After passing some time in idle, on her part disjointed, conversation, they finally came up with Philip; her heart sank when she saw the steely look in his eyes.

Reclaiming Antonia's hand, Philip settled it on his sleeve then caught Lord Dewhurst's eye. 'I believe, Dewhurst, that our hostess is searching for you.'

'Heh?' Jerked from contemplation of Antonia's smile, Lord Dewhurst focused on Philip's face. His expression turned to one of dismay. 'Don't say that. Dash it all-this is what comes of letting on I'm on the look-out for a wife.' Openly chagrined, he confided to Antonia, 'If her ladyship's after me, it'll mean she's got some protegee that she wants me to look over. I'll have to take refuge in the card-room.'

His features impassive, Philip scanned the crowds. 'If her ladyship's on the prowl, I wouldn't waste any time.'

Lord Dewhurst sighed and bowed over Antonia's hand. 'Dashed shame. But no doubt we'll meet at the next ball, Miss Mannering.' With a hopeful smile, he straightened. 'I'll look forward to furthering our acquaintance.'

Antonia smiled with what grace she could muster; his lordship turned away, his eyes on her to the last. Lord Marbury stepped in, keen to engage her attention.

Philip gritted his teeth.

Tonight, strolling the rooms, his favoured method for disposing of unwanted encumbrances, was out of the question; Lady Caldecott had outdone herself with a vengeance. There was barely room to stand; the dance floor would be impossibly crowded.

Not that the idea of waltzing with Antonia at excusably close quarters was bothering him. Quite the opposite. But the crowding left him with few options to thin out her court.

He was contemplating a few novel possibilities when the musicians returned and set bow to string. Sternly suppressing a surge of anticipation, he turned to Antonia. “The first waltz. My dance, I believe, my dear.'

'Indeed, my lord.' Straightening her spine, Antonia inwardly cursed the fluster that threatened. Her smile over-bright, she gave Philip her hand. 'I rely on you to lead me through this maze.'

With the merest inclination of his head, he led her to where couples were jostling for space on the floor. Tense as she was, the overcrowding claimed all of Antonia's attention; it was only when they were processing freely, albeit in distinctly circumscribed circles, that she relaxed enough to think. Only to have her senses rush in; a most peculiar panic gripped her.

Philip was holding her very close, a fact necessitated by the proximity of the surrounding couples. As realization sank in, Antonia felt her breath catch, felt the familiar vice close about her chest. Held against him, the shift and sway of their bodies as they revolved through the dance was a dizzying distraction, a potent inducement to set her wits free and let her senses slide into a world of sensation. Her gaze wide, unseeing, she stiffened, struggling to shackle her wits, to keep her face, her posture, free of any hint of the drugging effect of the dance, of her awareness of Philip.

She felt him glance down at her. She looked up, only to discover his lips mere inches away; her gaze, beyond her control, focused on them. They twisted wryly. 'Relax. You're stiff as a poker.'

The comment, spoken in a tone that was clearly private, only made her stiffen further. Forcing her gaze upwards, she met his gaze. She watched a frown gather in his eyes.

She had no idea how to explain, how to describe the panic mushrooming within her. This was the first waltz of the Little Season, her first public waltz with him-and any second she was going to stumble.

Instinctively, Philip gathered her closer, his hand at her waist reassuringly caressing her spine as he guided her into a turn.

Like a brand, the heat of his hand seared Antonia, exciting skin not accustomed to his touch. At the same moment, his thigh parted hers in the turn, hard muscle impressing itself against her softer flesh.

Her breath caught on a stifled gasp; her feet missed a step.

Philip caught her to him, preventing her stumble. Frowning, very aware of her distress, he deftly stepped clear of the circle of dancers rounding the end of the room. Smoothly releasing Antonia, he took her hand and ushered her before him towards the doors standing open to the terrace, his shoulders effectively screening her from any interested stares. Pale, she cast a wide-eyed glance up at him; he met it with a superficial smile. 'This crowd is impossible-a little fresh air will clear your head.'

Antonia hoped it would. She felt dreadful; her head had started to throb. She felt immeasurably grateful when Philip propelled her irresistibly out of the door.

The cool night air hit her like a slap; she stopped dead. 'Wait! We can't-'

'There's nothing the least improper in our being out here.' Philip's accents, warningly clipped, came from directly behind her. 'We are, after all, hardly private.'

Glancing about, Antonia discovered he was right. The terrace was a wide, stone-flagged extension of the ballroom floor; other couples, like them, had sought refuge on its uncluttered expanse. There were sufficient others present, strolling and chatting in groups, to nullify any question of impropriety. None, however, were close enough to overhear their conversation.

'Now.' Capturing Antonia's attention by the simple expedient of putting one finger under her chin and turning her face to him, Philip raised a commanding brow. 'What's wrong?''

Antonia met his gaze, then lifted her chin free of his finger. Her stomach had knotted tight. 'I… simply had trouble with the waltz.'

Philip couldn't help himself. 'Strange. I was under the impression you considered yourself something of an expert-certainly in no need of further lessons.' The morning after Lady Griswald's musical soiree, she had failed to appear in the ballroom. Geoffrey, too, had not shown; when questioned in suitably nonchalant vein, Geoffrey had let fall that his sister had somewhat waspishly informed him that she had learned quite enough.

Antonia risked a glance from beneath her lashes, then, tilting her chin, fixed her gaze on the gardens. 'I did not feel it right to take so much of your time. You've been very generous-I did not wish you to feel duty-bound.'

Philip managed not to growl. “I never saw teaching you to waltz as a duty.' A pleasant distraction, yes-one he had missed. 'And it's quite obvious you need further lessons.' The startled glance she threw him was some small consolation. 'We'll start again tomorrow. But aside from all that, I'm a great deal more than seven, you know.'

Startled by the change in his tone, Antonia glanced up; Philip trapped her gaze. 'I've taught you well enough and you learn like a sponge-it wasn't the steps of the waltz that brought you undone.' His gaze sharpened. 'What was it? Has anyone done anything to upset you?'

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