A Comfortable Wife

Chapter Fourteen

Operating under strict instructions, Antonia said nothing to Catriona regarding her impending salvation. "Her dramatic talents hardly lend themselves to concealment," Philip had drily observed. "The Countess will take one look at her and our goose will be cooked."

Hence, when she took her seat at the luncheon table, Catriona was still in the grip of morose despair. Slipping into the chair beside Philip's, Antonia shot him a reproving glance.

He met it with bland imperturbability, then, turning, addressed the Countess.

The meal passed much as its predecessor, with one notable exception. The previous evening, the conversation had been dominated by the Countess and the Marchioness. Today, Philip set himself to engage, then artfully divert their attention. Applying herself to her meal, Antonia wondered if their ladyships would see the danger therein.

"Indeed." Philip leaned back in his chair, gesturing languidly in response to a comment by the Marchioness on the immaturity of young gentlemen. "It's my contention that until the age of thirty-four, gentlemen understand very little of the real forces extant in the ton-the forces, indeed, that will shape their lives."

Antonia choked; glancing up, she caught Henrietta's eye-they both quickly looked elsewhere.

"Quite so." The Countess nodded grimly, her gaze on Ambrose. "Until they have reached the age of wisdom, it behoves them to take all heed of the advice of their elders."

"Indubitably." Across the table, Philip met Henrietta's gaze. He smiled urbanely, a smile his stepmother was unlikely to misconstrue. "So helpful, when others point out the reality of things."

"I can only say I wish more gentlemen had your insight, Ruthven." With that, the Marchioness embarked on a succession of anecdotes illustrating the varied horrors that had befallen young gentlemen lacking such discernment.

By the time the platters were empty, Ambrose was sulking while Catriona had sunk even deeper into gloom. Only Geoffrey, Antonia noticed, appeared oblivious of Philip's defection. She concluded her brother was either too fly to the time of day to believe any such thing, or was already appraised of Philip's plan.

The latter seemed most likely when the Countess leaned forward to demand, "Now-what are your plans for the afternoon?''

"Mr Mannering," Philip replied, "is for his books, I believe?" His gaze rested on Geoffrey, who nodded equably. Philip turned to the Countess. “We discussed the point you made regarding his presence here, rather than at Oxford, and concluded a few hours study each day would be a sound investment against the time when he goes up."

The Countess glowed. "I'm very glad you saw fit to take my advice."

Philip inclined his head. “As for the rest, Miss Mannering and I are for the gardens. They appear quite extensive- a pity to waste this weather indoors. I wondered if the Marquess and Miss Dalling would like to accompany us?"

"I'm sure they would." The Marchioness nodded approvingly, her compelling gaze fixed on her hapless son.

Ambrose hid a grimace, then glanced at Catriona, mute, beside him. "Perhaps…"

"Of course! Just the thing!" The Countess weighed in to stamp her seal on the plan. "Catriona will be thrilled to accompany you."

When everyone looked her way, Catriona nodded dully.

Ten minutes later, they left the house by the morning-room windows and headed into the rose gardens. Strolling on Philip's arm, Antonia studied Catriona and Ambrose, drifting aimlessly ahead, feet trailing, shoulders slumped.

"So-what did you think of my superlative strategy?"

Glancing up, she met Philip's eye. "It was, quite definitely, the most sickeningly cloying exhibition of humbug I have ever witnessed."

Philip looked ahead. "There were a few grains of truth concealed amidst the dross."

Antonia snorted. "Flummery, pure flummery, from start to finish. I'm surprised it didn't stick in your throat."

"I have to admit the whole was rather too sweet for my liking, but their ladyships lapped it up, which was, after all, my purpose."

"Ah, yes-your purpose." Antonia longed to ask, point-blank, what that was. It was not, after all, Catriona and Ambrose's problem which had brought him here.

The thought focused her mind on what lay, ignored yet unresolved, between them. As they strolled in the sunlight, largely without words, she had ample time to consider the possibilities and the actualities-and whether she could convert the former to the latter.

Beneath her fingers, she could feel the strength in Philip's arm; as their shoulders brushed, awareness of him enveloped her. Like a well-remembered scent laid down in her memories, he was part of her at some deep, uncomprehended level. And just like such a scent, she longed to capture and hold him, his attention, his affection, precisely as laid down in her mind.

"There you are!"

They halted; turning, they saw Geoffrey striding towards them. "You've been with your books barely an hour," Antonia exclaimed.

"Time enough." Grinning, Geoffrey joined them in the middle of the formal garden. "The three grande dames are snoring fit to shake the rafters."

"Good." Philip shifted his gaze to Catriona as she and Ambrose, alerted by Geoffrey's appearance, joined them. "It's time, I believe, that we headed for the shrubbery."

"The shrubbery?" Ambrose frowned. "Why there?"

"So that Miss Dalling can meet with Mr Fortescue and help him with his plan to apply to Lady Copely for aid."

"Henry?" Catriona's eyes blazed. "He's here?" Her die-away dismals dropped from her like a cloak; eyes sparkling, colour flowing into her cheeks, she positively vibrated with suppressed energy. "Where?"

Gesturing towards the shrubbery, Philip raised a cynical brow. "We'll meet him shortly. However, remembering your aunt's servitors-namely the gardener over there-" with a nonchalant wave he indicated a man on a ladder clipping a weeping cherry "-I suggest you restrain your transports until we're in more shielded surrounds."

Catriona, all but dancing with impatience, led the way.

Following more sedately on Philip's arm, Antonia humphed. “You would be hard-pressed to believe that only this morning she was on the brink of a decline."

Entering the shrubbery, screened from prying eyes by the high clipped hedges, Catriona stopped and waited. Philip shooed her on, consenting to halt and explain only when they were well within the protection of the walks.

"The field at the back of the shrubbery," he eventually deigned to inform her. "He'll be there at three." Pulling his watch from his pocket, he consulted it. "Which is now."

With a squeal of delight, Catriona whirled.

"But-" Philip waited until she looked back at him. "Ambrose and Geoffrey will naturally go with you."

That, of course, presented no problem to Catriona. "Come on!" Lifting her skirts, she ran off.

With a laugh, Geoffrey loped in pursuit; dazed, Ambrose hurried after them.

"Just a minute!" Antonia looked at Philip. "Catriona needs a chaperon. She and Ambrose should not be alone at any time-especially now."

Philip took her elbow. "Geoffrey is gooseberry enough. Our appointment lies elsewhere."

"Appointment?" Antonia looked up to see his mask fall away, revealing features hard and uncompromising. His fingers were a steel vice about her elbow. As he guided her inexorably into the maze, she narrowed her eyes. "This was what you were planning all along! Not Catriona's meeting, but ours."

Philip shot her a glance. "I'm surprised it took you so long to work that out. While I'm sympathetic enough to Catriona and even Ambrose, though for my money he'd do well to develop a bit more gumption, I have and always have had only one purpose in crossing the Countess's benighted threshold."

That declaration and the promise it held-the idea of their impending, very private interview-crystallised Antonia's thoughts and gave strength to her decision-the decision she had only that instant made. They reached the centre of the maze in a suspiciously short space of time. Impelled by a sense of certainty, she barely glanced at the neat lawns of the central square, at the small dolphin gracing the marble fountain at its heart. Determined to have her say-to retain control of the situation long enough to do so-she abruptly halted. Pulling back against Philip's hold, she waited until he turned to face her, brows rising impatiently. Lifting her chin, she declared, "As it happens, I'm very glad of this chance to speak with you alone, for I have to inform you that I've suffered a change of heart."

She looked up-and saw his face drain of all expression. His fingers fell from her elbow. He stilled; she sensed in his immobility the energy of some turbulent force severely restrained.

One of his brows slowly rose. "Indeed?"

Decisively, Antonia nodded. "I would remind you of the agreement we made-''

"I'm relieved you haven't forgotten it."

His flinty accents made her frown. "Of course I haven't. At that time, if you recall, we discussed the role you wished me to fulfil-in essence, the role of a conventional wife."

"A role you agreed to take on."

His voice had deepened; his expression was starkly aggressive. Her lips firming, Antonia stiffly inclined her head. “Precisely. I have also to acknowledge your chivalrous behaviour in allowing me to come to London without formalising or making known our agreement." Gliding towards the fountain, she clasped her hands and turned. Raising her head, she met Philip's gaze, now opaque and impenetrable, squarely. “As it happens, that was likely very wise."

Mute, Philip looked into her wide eyes-and knew what he thought of that earlier decision. He should have kept her at the Manor-acted the tyrant and married her regardless- anything to have avoided this. He could hardly think-he certainly didn't trust himself to speak. He couldn't, in fact, believe what she was saying; his mind refused to take it in. His emotions, however, were already on the rampage.

"Very wise," Antonia affirmed. "For I have to tell you, my lord-"

"Philip."

She hesitated, then stiffly inclined her head. "Philip- that on greater acquaintance with the mores of the ton, I have come to the conclusion that I am fundamentally ill-suited to be your wife-at least along the lines we agreed."

That last, thoroughly confusing phrase was, Philip was convinced, the only thing that allowed him to retain any semblance of reason. "What the devil do you mean?" Hands rising to his hips, he glowered at her. "What other lines are there?"

Lifting her chin, Antonia gave him back stare for hard stare. "As I was about to explain, I have discovered there are certain…criteria-essential pre-requisites, if you will- for carrying off the position of a fownishly comfortable wife. In short, I do not possess them, nor, I have decided, am I willing to develop them. No." Eyes glinting, she defiantly concluded, “Indeed, on the subject of marriage I find I have my own criteria-criteria I would require to be fulfilled absolutely."

Philip's eyes had not left hers. "Which are?"

Antonia didn't blink. "First," she declared, raising one hand to tick off her points on her fingers. “The gentleman I marry must love me-without reservation."

Philip blinked. He hesitated, his eyes searching her face, chest swelling as he drew in a slow breath. Then he frowned. "Second?"

Antonia tapped her next finger. "He will not have any mistresses."

"Ever?"

She hesitated. "After we are wed," she eventually conceded.

The tension in Philip's shoulders eased. "Third?"

"He cannot waltz with any other lady."

Philip's lips twitched; he fought to straighten them. "Not at all?"

"Never." There was no doubt in Antonia's mind on that point. "And last but not least, he should never seek to be private with any other lady. Ever." Eyes narrowed, she looked up and met Philip's gaze challengingly, indeed belligerently. "Those are my criteria-if you do not feel you can meet them, then I will, of course, understand." Abruptly, the reality of that alternative struck home; Antonia caught her breath; pain unexpectedly speared through her.

She looked away, disguising her faltering as a gracious nod. Swinging about to gaze at the fountain, she concluded, her voice suddenly tight, "Just as long as you understand that if such is the case, then I cannot marry you."

Philip had never felt so giddy in his life. Relief so strong it left him weak clashed with a possessiveness he had never thought to feel. Emotions rose and fell like surging waves within him, all dwarfed, subsumed, by one steadfast, rocklike reality. The reality that, despite his understanding, still shook him to the core. Recollection of his customary imperturbability, of the unshakeable impassivity that had, until now-until Antonia-been his hallmark, drifted mockingly through his mind.

Drawing in a steadying breath, he studied her half-averted face. "You were going to marry me regardless. What changed your mind?"

She hesitated so long he thought she would not answer. Then she turned her head and met his gaze openly-directly. "You."

Philip felt his lips twist, and recalled his earlier resolution never to ask such questions of her again; she would always floor him with her honesty. He drew in another deep breath-and recalled his purpose-his one and only purpose in engineering this meeting, in coming to Ticehurst Place. "Before I deal with your criteria-your demands of a prospective husband-there's one pertinent point I wish to make crystal clear."

His features hardening, he caught Antonia's gaze. "Lady Ardale's performance was no fault of mine. I did not encourage her in any way, by any look, word or gesture."

A frown slowly formed in her eyes. "She was in your arms."

"No." Philip held her gaze steadily. "She pressed herself against me-I had to take hold of her to set her away."

A slow blush stained Antonia's cheeks. She looked away. "Your hand was on her breast."

Fleetingly, Philip grimaced. “Not by inclination, I assure you."

His tone held sufficient disgust to have her glancing his way again. Her shocked expression tried his control.

"She…?" Confounded, Antonia gestured.

"Indeed." Philip's lips thinned. "Strange to tell, some ladies are exceedingly forward-and not a little predatory. If you'd remained a moment longer, you would have witnessed her come-uppance."

Antonia's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"She landed on the chaise."

Philip saw her lips twitch, saw the beguiling glint of laughter in her eyes. The stiffness that had, until then, afflicted him, eased; he held out his hand. "And now, if you'll come here, I'll endeavour to address the criteria you enumerated so clearly."

Antonia studied his face, uncertain of the undertone in his voice. Slowly, she shook her head-and stepped closer to the fountain. "I would much prefer that we discussed this matter in a business-like way."

Philip opened his eyes at her-and took a strolling step forward. "I intend to be exceedingly business-like. In this case, by my reckoning, that requires having you in my arms."

"There's no sense in that-I can't think while in your arms-as you very well know!" Frowning as disapprovingly as she could, Antonia circled to put the fountain between them; his intent apparent in every graceful stride, Philip followed. Antonia could not miss the devilish gleam in his eyes. Despite her irritation, she still felt a thrill all the way to her toes. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, feeling her heartbeat accelerate, feeling breathlessness slowly claim her. "Philip-stop!" Imperiously, she halted and held up a hand.

Philip took no notice. In two strides he had rounded the fountain.

Antonia's eyes widened. With a smothered squeal, she grabbed up her skirts and ran.

Unfortunately, she was on the wrong side of the fountain to escape the maze.

And Philip was far too fast. He caught her halfway to the hedge, easily lifting her from her feet. He juggled her in his arms, then carried her, struggling furiously in a froth of muslin, to a weathered stone seat with an ample thyme cushion.

He was grateful for that last when he half-sat, half-fell onto it, Antonia squirming on his lap. He could hear her muttering a string of curses; he was so gripped by the urge to laugh triumphantly that he didn't dare try to speak. Instead, he caught her chin in one hand and turned her face to his.

Her eyes met his, green spitting golden chips. In that instant, awareness struck-he saw it catch, felt the sudden hitch in her breathing, saw her eyes widen, her lips soften and part. She stilled, her breasts rising and falling, her gaze trapped in his. The same awareness reached for him, effortlessly drawing him under its spell, even while some remnant of sanity frantically fought to remind him where they were, who they were, and how inappropriate was the spectacle they were about to create. As his head slowly lowered, Philip groaned. "God-I must be as besotted as Amberly."

The realization did not stop him from kissing her, from parting her lips and drinking in her sweetness. Like a man parched, he filled his senses with the taste of her, the feel of her, the heady, dizzying scent of her. Experience stopped him from releasing her curls, from running his hands through her hair. But nothing could stop him from laying her breasts bare, from experiencing again the thrill of her reaction as he caressed her.

Trapped in his arms, caught up in the tide, it took all Antonia's remaining strength to complain, "You haven't told me your response to my criteria."

“Do you still need telling?''

His fingers shifted; her mind melted. It was some moments before she could muster enough breath to explain, "I did intend to be a comfortable wife for you but I don't think-" Her breathing suspended wholly; weakly, she rushed on, "That I can manage it."

She arched gently in his arms; Philip groaned again. His lips sought hers, then he drew back enough to murmur against their soft fullness, "I never wanted you as a 'comfortable' wife-that was your idea." The words focused his attention on what he was trying very hard to overlook. "As God is my witness, the word 'comfortable' is the very last word I would associate with you. I've been wretchedly uncomfortable ever since I walked into the hall at the Manor and saw you come floating down the stairs, the embodiment of my need, the answer to my prayers."

She was, Antonia decided, adapting to his lovemaking; she could actually think enough to take in his words. "Why uncomfortable?''

Philip gave up groaning; he took her hand and showed her.

"Oh." Antonia considered, then glanced at his face. "Is that really uncomfortable?''

"Yes!" Gritting his teeth, Philip caught her hand. "Now shut up and let me kiss you." He did, delighting in her response, setting aside his rehearsed periods until he had recouped all he had missed through the past week of enforced abstinence.

"I saw them go in-they must be at the centre."

Geoffrey's voice came clearly over the hedges.

Philip raised his head, blinking dazedly. Antonia's eyes opened, then flew wide as she took in her state.

Her “Great heavens!'' was weak with shock.

Philip wasted no time in curses; with practised speed, he stood, setting Antonia on her feet, steadying her when she swayed. When her hands fluttered over the halves of her open bodice, he swatted them away. "No time-let me. They're only three turns away."

Her head still spinning, Antonia watched in bemused fascination as he did up her buttons with a speed that would have left Nell stunned, then straightened her skirts and settled the lace about her neckline.

Philip barely had time to settle his coat before Catriona rushed into the square, Geoffrey and Ambrose on her heels.

"He was there! Henry told me of your suggestion-Aunt Copely will help, I know she will." Eyes gleaming, smile beaming, Catriona was again the stunning beauty of the early weeks of their acquaintance. "It's so wonderful, I could cry!" With that unnerving declaration, she flung her arms about Antonia and hugged her wildly.

"At the risk of appearing a wet blanket, I suggest you restrain your transports, my child." Suavely, Philip settled his cuffs. "If you float into the house at your present elevation, the Countess is likely to puncture your hopes."

"Oh, don't worry." Exuberant, Catriona let go of Antonia to clutch Philip's hand and press it between her own. "I can take care of her-when we go back to the house, I'll be so down in the mouth she'll never suspect we're hatching a plot."

Smiling, pleased to see Catriona so restored, Antonia glanced at Geoffrey, only to discover a quizzical, somewhat speculative look in his eye. As she watched, a slow, oddly knowing smile curved his lips.

To her intense mortification, Antonia felt a blush steal into her cheeks. She shifted her gaze to Catriona. "So, is Mr Fortescue off to plead your case to Lady Copely?"

"Yes!" Catriona beamed delightedly. "And-?"

"All's right and tight," Geoffrey remarked. "But we shouldn't discuss anything here-one of the gardeners might overhear. And it's getting on for tea-time. If we don't want to be caught conspiring by one of those odious footmen, we'd better get back to the house."

"Indeed." There was enough frustrated resignation in Philip's tone to draw a glance from both Mannerings. Philip offered Antonia his arm. "I greatly fear your brother is right." As they all turned towards the exit from the maze, Catriona going ahead with Ambrose, practising her die-away airs, Philip murmured for Antonia's ears alone, "We'll continue our interrupted discussion later."

Exchanging glances, neither he nor Antonia noticed Geoffrey hanging back in their shadow, his gaze, shrewdly pensive, on them.

By the time they regained the front hall, Philip had reevaluated the amenities of Ticehurst Place. While the others continued into the drawing-room where the Countess was regally dispensing tea and cakes, he held Antonia back long enough to whisper, "The library-after they've all settled for the night."

Antonia glanced up at him, meeting his gaze squarely. She read the promise in his eyes. Her heart swelled; letting her lids veil her eyes, she inclined her head. “In the library tonight."