A Comfortable Wife

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 last eight years?''

Antonia's eyes flashed. 'And which of us, my lord, has any previous experience of our current relation- ship?'

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.

At 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.

Just 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