A Comfortable Wife

Blissfully content, she sighed.

Philip's hand shifted; long fingers stroked her breast.

Antonia's eyes flew wide. 'Oh!' Jerked back to reality, her stunned mind registered her position, reclining on the chaise with Philip beside her, one hand cupping her breast. 'I…' She faltered to a stop, her dazed wits struggling to recall just what had transpired. What had she said? Done? 'Oh, heavens!' Sunk in embarrassment, Antonia closed her eyes. Mortification swept her. 'I'm so sorry, Philip.'

Bemused, Philip nuzzled her ear. 'Why sorry?' Bending his head, he touched his lips to the pulse beating wildly in her throat. 'If anyone should be making apologies, it is I.' He looked down to where her breast filled his hand. 'But I've no intention of doing so. I wouldn't hold your breath in expectation of the event.'

Antonia promptly drew in a deep breath; lips lifting, Philip bent his head.

'Philip!' Antonia's eyes flew open again; this time she was even more shocked. Her indrawn breath was trapped in her chest; her fingers tangled in Philip's hair as he continued his shocking caress. She was suddenly very glad of the chaise; if they'd been standing, she was quite sure she would have swooned. As his lips, his tongue, continued their play, her wits whirled. “Good God.''

Hearing the weakness in her voice, Philip drew back, softly chuckling. 'There's no need to be so shocked.' He considered the evidence of her agitation, the rapid rise and fall of her bare breasts, with a certain masculine satisfaction. Looking up, he met her befuddled gaze. “We are, after all, going to be married shortly. Thereafter, we'll be doing precisely this rather often.'

Antonia's lips formed a silent 'O'.

Philip felt the tremor that rippled through her. Puzzled, he looked into her eyes, only to discover the most peculiar expression-surely it couldn't be anguish?-darkening the hazel depths. He frowned. 'What is it?'

She didn't reply. Instead, her eyes glazed as, of their own volition, his fingers caressed the rosy nipple that had been the focus of his attentions thus far. He forced his fingers to stillness but could not bring himself to withdraw his hand from the soft fullness of her breast. Bending his head, he touched his lips to her temple. 'You trust me, remember? So tell me.'

Her gaze slowly focusing, Antonia blinked up at him. She parted her lips, then had to moisten them before she could speak. Speech, explanations, were imperative-before events got completely out of hand. 'I… That is…' With an effort, she drew in a deep breath. 'When you kiss me passionately-' She broke off, blushing vividly.

Philip felt the heat spread through the skin beneath his fingers; he fought to keep them still.

Antonia swallowed, battling the vice about her chest, struggling to steady her voice. 'When you touch me.' Her hand rose flutteringly to touch his. She looked down, then abruptly hauled her gaze up and dragged in a shattering breath. 'I can't control how I respond,' she rushed on. 'I feel…' Her eyes darkeriing, she sought his; briefly, her tongue touched her lips. 'Quite wanton.'

Desire surged; Philip fought to shackle it. Before he could respond, Antonia continued, her eyes locked on his, 'Such unseemly behaviour will give you a disgust of me.' Her gaze fell. 'I know it's no way for a lady to behave.'

The agonised sincerity in her eyes, in her voice, slew any impulse to levity. Philip recognized the dictum to which she alluded, to which she apparently expected to be forced to subscribe. He had long ago concluded that that particular stricture was primarily responsible for making so many married ladies such easy prey for rakes-men who encouraged rather than suppressed their passions. That his wife might, through such reasoning, fall victim to his peers was not a situation he was prepared to countenance. His lips thinned. 'At the risk of shocking you further, I've a confession to make.'

Dazed hazel eyes met his.

Reluctantly, Philip withdrew his hand from its warm haven and let the halves of her bodice fall shut. 'Naturally, I hesitate to make a point of the matter, but I would hardly bear the reputation I do if women's passions-or passionate women-disgusted me.' Gazing into her eyes, he added, 'Indeed, I can assure you the very opposite is the case.'

She continued to look uncertain. His eyes on hers, Philip raised a worldly brow. 'It's a well-known fact gentlemen such as I tend to marry late. We wait, hoping to find a lady who responds in the ways we've learned to value-one whose passions are honest and direct, whose delight is natural and unfeigned.' He hesitated, then went on, his voice deepening, 'You know what I am, what I've been-I see no purpose in any fashionable deceit. Given that background, can you possibly imagine I would be satisfied with mild passions-with the tepid response of a merely complaisant wife-when I know of the fire that flows through your veins?'

His eyes were dark, clouded grey; Antonia struggled to suppress the shudder of awareness his words provoked. Befuddled, uncertain as to whether she should be scandalised or in alt, she shook her head.

Ignoring the tension building within him, Philip continued, 'I want you to be wild and wanton, at least in private.' His lips twisted into a provocative smile. 'I happen to like you that way.' Antonia stiffened; he quickly added, his tone tending acerbic, 'And I assure you it's perfectly acceptable for a wife to be wild and wanton with her husband.'

Antonia threw him a sceptical look.

Philip lifted one hand and tapped her nose with one finger. 'I promise I'm not bamming you for my own, nefarious ends.' He fought to lighten his tone. 'Within the ton, there are two sides to any successful marriage-the social and the private. Given the evidence of their Graces of Eversleigh, as well as Jack and Sophie Lester, not to mention Harry and Lucinda-all of whom you have yet to meet but whose marriages I, for one, envy-there's no gainsaying the fact that-' He paused, caught by the tide of his own eloquence. 'Marriages based on…' Philip hesitated, then continued, 'Deep mutual attraction have a great deal to recommend them.'

He looked down and met Antonia's searching gaze.

'I thought you wanted a comfortable wife-one who would not make any…' Antonia blushed again. Irritated, she lifted her chin. 'Any demands on your time.'

Philip smiled, the gesture strained. “You mean one who would not be a constant distraction?' With one tug, he pulled the ribbon from her hair. The heavy mass cascaded down, scattering pins on the cushions. His smile tightened as he plunged one hand into the golden wave. “Who would not leave me daydreaming of how she will look, how she will feel, when I have her naked beneath my hands?' His eyes on the golden curls, he spread his fingers, then drew them through the thick mane, laying it across Antonia's shoulder. Then he trapped her gaze in his. 'Is that what you thought I wanted?'

Wide-eyed, barely able to breathe, Antonia nodded.

Philip's gaze dropped, fastening on her lips. 'Then you were wrong.'

His head lowered, his lips found hers. He kissed her and kept kissing her, whirling her back into the mesmerising world of desire and delight, commanding her senses and her responses, murmuring encouragements in gravelly tones whenever her preconceived notions threatened to intrude.

The logs he had earlier placed on the fire were glowing embers when he finally lifted his head. Satisfied with Antonia's regretful sigh, he drew back.

Wits still adrift, her senses swimming, Antonia heard him murmur, 'Lady mine.'

'I hadn't thought to see so many here today.' One hand on her bonnet, anchoring it against the stiff breeze, Antonia looked ahead to where the usual congestion of carriages constricted the main avenue of the Park.

Beside her on the box-seat of his phaeton, Philip smothered a snort. 'Nothing less than a deluge will serve to keep them away. Mere threats-' his glance took in the lowering clouds scudding across the leaden sky '-have no power to intimidate the grande dames of the ton.'

'Obviously.' Sinking her fingers into the swansdown lining of her new muff, Antonia returned the gracious nods of the matrons they passed, her smile serenely confident. Inwardly, she remained amazed at her assurance, at the steady, unruffled beat of her heart.

After last night, and their interlude following Lady Darcy-d'Lisle's ball, she had expected to feel distinctly raffled when next she set eyes on Philip. Instead, unexpectedly meeting over the breakfast table, they had fallen into their usual friendly banter; there had been nothing in their interaction to unnerve her. Not even the gleam that occasionally lit his eyes, and the understanding she detected behind it, had served to disrupt the deep happiness that had laid hold of her.

Her fingers gently flexed; Antonia glanced down at her muff. Philip's latest present. She eyed it consideringly,