A Comfortable Wife

Chapter Nine

At noon the next day, Philip returned to his home after breakfasting with friends at a coffee house in Jermyn Street. His expression unruffled, his disposition one of calm expectation, he entered the cool dimness of his hall.

Carring rolled forward to relieve him of his greatcoat and cane.

Philip resettled his sleeves. “Is Miss Mannering about?''

"Indeed, m'lord." Caning fixed his gaze on the wall beyond Philip's right shoulder. "Miss Mannering is presently in the ballroom receiving instruction from the dancing master. Maestro Vincente."

Philip studied his major-domo's eloquently blank expression. "The ballroom?"

Carring inclined his head.

The ballroom lay beyond the drawing-room. The familiar chords of a waltz reached Philip's ears as he neared the door. Like all his doors, it opened noiselessly; crossing the threshold, he swiftly scanned the room.

The curtains had been drawn back along one side; sunlight spilled in wide beams across the floor. Geoffrey sat at the piano at the far end, industriously providing the music, frowning as he squinted at the music sheets. In the centre of the polished parquetry, Antonia, distinctly stiff, revolved awkwardly in the arms of a middle-aged man Philip unhesitatingly classed as an ageing roué.

Maestro Vincente showed little evidence of Italian blood. Short and rotund, he sported a florid, suspiciously English complexion. He was wearing a brown tie-wig and a bottle-green coat of similarly ancient vintage; his spindle shanks were clad in knitted hose. Most damning of all, Maestro Vincente possessed a distinctly lecherous eye.

Philip strode forward, letting his boot-heels ring on the boards. The music abruptly halted. Antonia looked up; Philip saw the relief in her eyes. His jaw hardened. "I fear there has been a misunderstanding."

Maestro Vincente's eyes started. He hurriedly released Antonia. "A misunderstanding?" His high-pitched voice rendered the exclamation a squeak. "No, no. I was hired, dear sir, I assure you."

Halting by Antonia's side, Philip looked down on the hapless maestro. "In that case, I regret to inform you that your services are no longer required." Without looking at the door, he raised his voice. "Carring?"

"M'lord?"

"Maestro Vincente is leaving." "Indeed, m'lord."

"But…really! I must insist…!" Hands outspread, Maestro Vincente appealed to Philip.

Philip ignored him; gripping Antonia's elbow, he guided her down the room.

"If you'll just come this way, sir?" Carring's heavy tones left no room for argument. As always, he had the final word, efficiently ushering the deflated maestro out of the room.

The door shut; Antonia stared at Philip. "Why did you do that?"

Halting by the piano, Philip raised a supercilious brow. "He was hardly a proper person to instruct you in anything."

“Precisely what I said,'' Geoffrey interjected.

Antonia ignored her brother. She fixed Philip with an exasperated look. “Be that as it may, how, pray tell, am I now supposed to learn to waltz? In case it's escaped your notice, these days, every young lady must be able to waltz. The ton will expect it of-" Abruptly, she broke off. She glanced at Geoffrey, then continued, "Of me."

Philip nodded. "Indeed. So, having dismissed your appointed instructor, it would seem only fair that I take his place."

Antonia's eyes widened. "But-"

Exuberant chords drowned out her protest. Before she could marshal her wits, they were effectively scattered as Philip drew her into his arms.

"I assure you I'm every bit as competent as Maestro Vincente."

Antonia threw him a speaking look.

Philip met it with an improbably humble expression. "I've been waltzing around the ton's ballrooms for…let me see." He frowned, then raised his brows. "More years than I can recall."

Antonia humphed and straightened her spine. As usual, she felt breathless; as he effortlessly steered her into the first gliding steps, a definite giddiness took hold. She wasn't at all sure this was a good idea but the challenge in his grey eyes made demurring unthinkable. Tilting her chin, she tried to concentrate on where he was headed.

"Relax." Philip looked down at her. "Stop thinking and you'll follow my lead easily enough." When she looked her uncertainty, he raised one brow. "I'll even forgive you should you scuff my Hessians."

Antonia widened her eyes at him. "Given you've just high-handedly dismissed my dancing master, who came with quite remarkable recommendations I'll have you know, then I should think you must accept whatever consequences follow." As she capped the haughty comment with a toss of her curls, Antonia was struck by the oddity of the situation. Philip's intervention had been an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment reaction, unquestionably out of character. She cast a glance up at him-he was frowning.

He caught her eye. "Who recommended Maestro Vincente?"

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 was just telling Ambrose he'll have to write for me."

"Ah…" Ambrose shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "No one more eager than I to be free of this coil." He looked pleadingly at Catriona. "But you can see, can't you, that it's not really the thing? Me writing to your intended telling him to come and see you?"

Catriona's expression turned mulish. "I don't see-"

"By Jove, yes!" Geoffrey looked horror-struck. "Dashed awkward."

"Precisely." Ambrose nodded rapidly. "Won't do-the poor fellow won't know what's afoot."

Antonia managed to keep her lips straight. "Indeed, Catriona, I do feel that any note would be better coming from you."

Catriona sighed. "But that's the problem-how can we manage it?"

No one had an answer. At Antonia's suggestion, they strolled the path, all racking their brains for a solution.

"The museum!" Geoffrey halted; the others swung to face him. Eyes alight, he grinned at them. "I read somewhere that they have desks at the museum for scholars- you bring paper and pen and they provide the desk and inkwell for a small fee."

Catriona beamed. "We can go there tomorrow-" She broke off; her smile faded. "No, we can't. Aunt Ticehurst would insist on coming too."

Geoffrey glanced at Antonia. "Perhaps…?"

Antonia read his look and inwardly sighed. Shifting her gaze to the scenery, she considered. “Not tomorrow-that would appear too precipitous. But perhaps we could arrange to make a party to visit the museum the day after tomorrow? I understand Lord Elgin's marbles are a sight not to be missed."

She looked at Catriona in time to be dazzled by the transformation her words had wrought. Smiling, Catriona was the most radiantly beautiful girl.

"Oh, Miss Mannering-I mean, Antonia!" Catriona caught Antonia's hand and clasped it warmly. "I will be your dearest friend for life! That's a brilliant suggestion."

Geoffrey humphed.

"If we present the thing right," Ambrose mused. "They'll be sure to approve." He turned to Catriona. "If we make it sound like I invited you and then asked Miss Mannering and Geoffrey to make up the party, it will allay their suspicions."

"Indeed, yes! Nothing could be better." Buoyed with purpose, Catriona flashed both Antonia and Geoffrey another stunning smile. “As I said, fate clearly intended us to meet. Nothing could have been more fortuitous!''

Two days later, Philip strolled across Grosvenor Square, basking in the afternoon sunshine. Swinging his cane as he walked, he noted that the leaves still clinging to the trees were golden and brown. They had completely changed colour since his return to London, their altered hue a record of the passage of time. To his mind, somewhat unexpectedly, that time had been well spent.

Their first days, admittedly, had been a trifle strained, but once Antonia had found her feet, their interactions had run smoothly. The Little Season would commence tomorrow evening; the round of balls and parties would till the coming weeks. Given Antonia would be introduced as Henrietta's niece, no one would remark on his presence by her side. No eyebrows would be raised when he waltzed with her. A subtle smile curved his lips. Even more to his liking was what would happen every night when they returned to Ruthven House. He had been at pains to establish their nightly routine. At the end of every day, they would repair to his library, comfortable and at ease, she to drink her milk and favour him with her observations, he to sip his brandy and watch the firelight gild her face.

As he climbed the steep steps to his door, Philip realised he was smiling unrestrainedly. Abruptly sobering, he schooled his features to their usual impassive mien. Carring opened the door, bowing deeply before relieving him of his gloves and cane.

Philip glanced at the hall mirror, then frowned and straightened one fold of his cravat. Satisfied, he opened his lips.

"I believe Miss Mannering and Master Geoffrey have gone to the museum, m'lord."

Philip shut his lips. Turning, he shot Carring a narrow-eyed glance, then headed for the library.

The museum? Philip wandered about the library, ultimately halting before his desk to idly flip through his mail. He glanced at the stack of invitations piled on the desk but felt no burning desire to examine them. What to do with the afternoon? He could go to Manton's and hunt up some congenial company. Grimacing, he remained where he was. Long minutes passed as he stared unseeing out of the window, fingers tapping on the polished mahogany. Then his jaw firmed. Turning on his heel, he headed back into the hall.

Carring was waiting by the front door, Philip's gloves and cane held ready in his hands.

Philip cast him a withering look, accepted both gloves and cane, then strode out.

He reached the museum to find it unexpectedly crowded; it took him some time to locate his stepmother's niece. It was Geoffrey he found first, deep in examination of a group of artifacts purported to be Stone Age relics. Geoffrey's absorption was so intense Philip had to clap him on the shoulder to get his attention.

Blinking, Geoffrey focused on Philip's face, then smiled absentmmdedly. "Didn't expect to see you here. Antonia's over there." He pointed to the next room, a large alcove beyond one of the display cases, then promptly returned to the relics.

Exasperation growing, Philip left him to them and pushed through into the next room.

Only to discover his stepmother's niece surrounded by no fewer than five gentlemen.

Antonia looked up to see Philip bearing down upon her. She smiled warmly. "Good day, my lord."

"Good afternoon, my dear."

As his fingers closed, tightly, about hers, Antonia registered the change from languid indolence to clipped abruptness. Rapidly whipping her wits to order, she turned a suddenly wary gaze on her companions. "Ah-I believe I have mentioned Sir Frederick Smallwood, my lord."

Philip nodded stiffly in reply to Sir Frederick's bow. "Smallwood."

Disregarding the menace underlying his tone, Antonia doggedly introduced every last one of her court. “Mr Carruthers was about to favour us with the tale of the discovery of the stone implements displayed over there." Antonia smiled encouragingly at Mr Carruthers.

A student of antiquities, Mr Carruthers promptly launched into his dissertation. As his tale unfolded, encompassing numerous tangents, all described in glowing detail, Antonia felt Philip shift impatiently. When Mr Dashwood asked a question, which led to a lively discussion involving all the other gentlemen, Philip leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "You can't be so bored you consider this amusement?"

Antonia threw him a warning glance. "It's an improvement over staring at the relics."

"The trick is to keep strolling." Philip caught her hand and placed it on his sleeve. "That way, you don't end up collecting so much extraneous baggage."

His hand closed over hers, his intention plain; Antonia held firm. "No!" she hissed. "I can't leave here-I'm waiting for someone."

Philip's eyes locked on hers. The arrested look in them made Antonia's heart skip a beat. "Oh?" he said. One brown brow slowly arched. "Who?"

Antonia cast a distracted glance at her companions; their discussion was slowly winding down. "I'll explain it all later-but we have to stay here." With that, she gave her attention to Sir Frederick.

"Tell me, my dear Miss Mannering." Sir Frederick smiled engagingly. "What do you say to the age of these gold cups?'' He gestured to a large display in the centre of the room. "Are we really to believe such workmanship dates from before Christ?''

Philip raised his eyes to the ceiling. Resisting the urge to simply haul Antonia away, he clenched his jaw and endured fifteen minutes of the most utterly inane discussions. Having very little to do with younger gentlemen, he had never before suffered any similar experience. By the time Antonia abruptly straightened, he was ready to admit that young ladies of the ton might have a cross to bear he had not hitherto appreciated.

Scanning the room, his gaze passed over a stunningly pretty girl strolling forward on the arm of a pasty-faced youth. Failing to discover any likely candidate for Antonia's attention he was rescanning their surroundings when Antonia broke off her conversation. "Ah-here's Miss Dalling."

Miss Dalling and her companion were well known to the other gentlemen; introduced, Philip exchanged greetings. He did not need Antonia's swift glance to realize it was Miss Dalling and the Marquess for whom she'd been waiting. Her reasons, however, remained a mystery.

Miss Dalling turned wide lavender-blue eyes upon the assembled company. "All these old things are quite fascinating, are they not?"

While Catriona chattered animatedly, Antonia, somewhat distractedly, considered her court. When she had planned this excursion, she had imagined strolling quietly about the displays on Geoffrey's arm while Catriona with Ambrose in attendance composed her missive. But no sooner had she set foot in the museum than gentlemen had appeared as if sprouting from the woodwork, all intent on passing the time by her side. Luckily, Mr Broadside and Sir Eric Malley had had previous engagements which had forced them to leave; that still left her with five unexpected cavaliers to dismiss.

She had not the first idea how to accomplish the deed.

"Perhaps," she said, smiling meaningfully at Catriona, "we should stroll about the rooms?"

"Oh, yes! I expect I should take particular note of some of the displays." Eyes twinkling, Catriona took Ambrose's arm. Antonia surmised the summons to Henry Fortescue had been successfully inscribed and handed into Ambrose's care.

Her hand on Philip's sleeve, Antonia smiled upon her court. "Gentlemen, I thank you for your company. Perchance we'll meet tonight?"

"Yes, indeed-but no need to break up the party." Sir Frederick gestured expansively.

"No-indeed no," came from Mr Dashwood. "Haven't actually looked at anything in the museum for years-only too pleased to take a squint around."

"I'll come too-just in case you need some information on the artifacts." Mr Carruthers nodded benignly.

Antonia's answering smile was weak. When they strolled from the room, all five gentlemen ambled in their wake. As they wended their way between the display cases, she bit her lip-then slanted a glance up at Philip. He met it with an expression she was coming to know well-pure cynicism combined with insufferable male superiority. He arched a distinctly supercilious brow at her. Antonia narrowed her eyes at him, then, head high, shifted her gaze forward.

Philip hid his smile. He saw Geoffrey and shot him a glance sharp enough to bring him to heel. When they reached the centre of the main room, he halted and pulled out his watch. Consulting it, he grimaced. "I'm afraid, my dear, that we've run out of time. If you want your surprise, we'll have to leave now."

Antonia stared at him, her lips forming a silent "Oh".

"Surprise?" Geoffrey asked.

"The surprise I promised you all," Philip glibly replied. "Remember?"

Geoffrey met his gaze. "Oh! That surprise."

"Indeed." Smoothly taming to Antonia's trailing court, Philip raised a languid brow. "I'm afraid, gentlemen, that you'll have to excuse us."

"Oh-yes. Naturally!"

"Until next time, Miss Mannering. Miss Dalling."

To Antonia's inward disgust, amid a host of similar phrases, her five encumbrances obediently took themselves off. As the last bowed and withdrew, she glanced up at Philip, only to see his jaw firm.

"I suggest we get moving immediately." Before any of them could question his intent, he had them all outside, Catriona and Ambrose included. A hackney was waiting at the kerb; Philip hailed it and bundled Catriona, Ambrose and Geoffrey aboard. Shutting the door on them, he slapped the side. "Gunters."

The jarvey nodded and clicked his reins. The old coach lumbered away.

Left standing on the pavement, distinctly bemused, Antonia stared at Philip. “What about us?''

Exasperated, he looked down at her. "Do we have to follow?"

Antonia stiffened. "Yes!"

Philip narrowed his eyes at her but she refused to retreat. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he called up another hackney.

"Now," he said, the instant the hackney's door shut upon them. "You can explain what Miss Dalling and the Marquess are about."

Antonia was perfectly willing to do so; by the time the hackney drew up outside Gunters, Philip was considering retreating himself. Unfortunately, the sight that met his eyes as he glanced out of the hackney window rendered that course of action impossible.

"Good God!" he said, sitting forward and reaching for the handle. "The silly clunches are standing outside."

Predictably, Catriona Dalling had started to attract an audience. Gritting his teeth, Philip handed Antonia down, then deftly extricated Miss Dalling and, feeling very like a sheepdog with his sheep, ushered his little group into the shop.

It was hardly a venue at which he was well known. Nevertheless, the waitress took one look at him and immediately found a discreet booth big enough to accommodate the whole party. By the time he sank onto the bench beside Antonia, Philip found he was actually looking forward to an ice.

The waitress took their orders; the ices arrived before they had well caught their breaths. Catriona, Ambrose and Geoffrey attacked theirs in style; Philip and Antonia were rather more circumspect.

Catriona finished first and patted her lips with her napkin. "Ambrose will post my letter tomorrow," she informed the table at large. "I know Henry will come post-haste to the rescue-just like the true knight he is." She clasped her napkin to her bosom and affected a romantically distant gaze. Then she sighed. "He'll know exactly what to do for the best. Everything will be right as a trivet once he arrives."

When she and Ambrose fell to discussing their respective guardians' likely plans, Philip caught Antonia's eye. "I can only hope," he murmured, "that Mr Fortescue is up to handling Miss Dalling's dramatic flights. Don't ever think I'm not grateful for your lack of histrionic tendencies."

Antonia blinked, then smiled and looked down at her ice. As she took another mouthful, her smile grew. She had wondered if Philip would prove at all susceptible to Catriona's undeniable beauty. Apparently not. His comment, indeed, suggested quite otherwise; she couldn't help feeling pleased.

Watching her, Philip narrowed his eyes, astute enough to guess what lay behind her smug smile. He attacked his ice, inwardly humphing at the implied slight to his taste. To any with experience, certainly any of his ilk, Miss Dalling's mere prettiness could not hold a candle to Antonia's mature beauty. The heiress might be a handful in her own way but she was very definitely not the same sort of handful his bride-to-be obviously was. He glanced at Antonia, then, all but automatically, scanned the room.

Four gentlemen rapidly averted their eyes. Philip's expression hardened. At the museum, all five gentlemen had had Antonia in their sights, a fact that had not escaped him.

Shifting in his seat, Philip let his gaze rest on her face.

She felt it; turning, she briefly studied his eyes, then lifted a brow. "I think perhaps it's time we left. We have Lady Griswald's musical soiree this evening."

As they left the shop, Philip found himself wondering who would be at Lady Griswald's tonight. Antonia shook his arm.

"Catriona and Ambrose are leaving."

Philip duly took his leave of the pair, who intended visiting Hatchard's before returning to Ticehurst House. With Antonia on his arm and Geoffrey ambling behind, Philip headed in the opposite direction. Absorbed with thoroughly unwelcome considerations, he stared, unseeing, straight ahead.

Antonia cast a puzzled glance up at him. She opened her lips to comment on his brown study, simultaneously following his gaze. Her words froze on her lips.

Ten yards ahead stood two ladies, both exquisitely gowned and coiffed. Both were ogling Philip shamelessly.

She might have been raised in Yorkshire but Antonia knew immediately exactly what sort of ladies the two were. She stiffened; her eyes flashed. She was about to bestow a chillingly haughty glance when she caught herself up-and glanced at Philip.

In the same instant, Philip refocused and saw the two Cyprians. Absentminded still, he idly took stock of their wares, then felt Antonia's gaze. He glanced down at her, just in time to see her lids veil her eyes. She stiffened and pointedly looked away, every line infused with haughty condemnation.

Philip opened his mouth-eyes narrowing, he bit back his words. He had, he reminded himself, no need to excuse himself over something she should not, by rights, even have noticed. He halted. "We'll take a cab."

He hailed a passing hackney. The three of them climbed in; Antonia sat beside him, cloaked in chilly dignity. Philip stared out of the window, his lips a thin line. He had had to put up with her being ogled all afternoon, let alone what might happen tonight. She had no right to take umbrage just because two ladybirds had cast their eyes his way.

By the time the hackney turned into Grosvenor Square, he had, somewhat grudgingly, calmed. Her sensitivity might irritate but her intelligence was, to him, one of her attractions. It was, he supposed, unreasonable to expect her to be ignorant on specific topics-such as his past history or potential inclinations.

The hackney pulled up; he let Geoffrey jump down, then descended leisurely and helped Antonia to the pavement, affecting indifference when she refused to meet his eyes. He tossed a half-crown to the jarvey then, studiously urbane, escorted her in, pausing in the hall to hand his cane to Carring.

"So," he said, coming up with her as she removed her bonnet. "You're bound for Lady Griswald's tonight?*'

Still avoiding his gaze, Antonia nodded. "A musical soiree, as I said. Hordes of innocently reticent young ladies pressed to entertain the company with their musical talents." Looking down, she unbuttoned her gloves. "Not, I believe, your cup of tea."

Her words stung; ruthlessly, Philip clamped down on his reaction, shocked by its strength. His polite mask firmly in place, he waited, patiently, beside her-and let the silence stretch.

Eventually, she glanced up at him, haughty wariness in her eyes.

Trapping her gaze, he smiled-charmingly. "I hope you enjoy yourself, my dear."

Briefly, her eyes scanned his, then, stiffly, she inclined her head. "I hope your evening is equally enjoyable, my lord."

With that she glided away; regally erect, she climbed the stairs.

Philip watched her ascend, then turned to his library, his smile converting to a wry grimace. He was too old a hand to try to melt her ice; he'd wait for the thaw.