A Comfortable Wife

Chapter Six

Two days later, Philip stood at the library windows, looking out over the sun-washed gardens. The business that had kept him inside on such a glorious day was concluded; behind him, Banks, his steward, shuffled his papers.

"I'll take the offer in to Mrs Mortingdale's man then, m'lord, though heaven knows if she'll accept it." Banks' tone turned peevish. "Smiggins has been doing his best to persuade her to it but she just can't seem to come at putting her signature to the deed."

Philip's gaze roamed the gardens; he wondered where Antonia was hiding today. "She'll sign in the end-she just needs time to decide." At Banks's snort, he swung about. "Patience, Banks. Lower Farm isn't going anywhere-and all but surrounded by my land as it is, there'll be precious few others willing to make an offer, let alone one to match mine."

"Aye-I know," Banks grumbled. "If you want the truth it's that that sticks. It's nothing but senseless female shilly-shallying that's holding us up."

Philip's brows rose. "Shilly-shallying, unfortunately, is what one must endure when dealing with females."

With a disapproving grunt, Banks took himself off.

After a long, assessing glance at his gardens, Philip followed him out.

She wasn't in the rose garden, the formal garden was empty. Deserted, the peony walk slumbered beneath the afternoon sun. The shrubbery was cool and inviting but disappointingly uninhabited. Eyes narrowed, Philip paused in the shadow of a hedge and considered the known characteristics of his quarry. Then, with a grunt to rival Banks's, he strode towards the house.

He ran her to earth in the still-room.

Antonia looked up, blinking in surprise as he strolled into the dimly lit room. "Hello." Hands stilling, she hesitated, her gaze shifting to the shelves of bottles and jars ranged along the walls. "Were you after something?"

"As it happens, I was." Philip leaned against the bench at which she was working. "You."

Antonia's eyes widened. She looked down at the herbs she was snipping. "I-"

"I missed you this morning." Philip lifted a brow as her head came up; he trapped her gaze with his. "Can it be you've grown tired of riding?"

"No-of course not." Antonia blinked, then looked down. "I was merely worn out by the fete."

"Not still stiff after your collision with Miss Mimms?"

"Indeed not. That was barely a bruise." Gathering up her chopped herbs, she dumped them into a bowl. "It's entirely gone, now."

"I'm glad to hear it. I finished with Banks earlier than I'd expected-I wondered if you were wishful of chancing your skill with my greys?"

Brushing her hands on her apron, Antonia considered the prospect. It was definitely enticing. And she'd have to take the first step some time-chancing her skill in an entirely new arena.

"If you can hold them in style," Philip mused, "perhaps

I could demonstrate the basics of handling a whip?'' Brows lifting, he met her gaze.

Antonia did not miss the subtle challenge in his eyes. Just how much he truly saw she did not know, but the only way of testing her developing defences was to risk some time in his company. "Very well." She nodded briskly, then stretched on tiptoe to peer through the high windows.

Philip straightened. "It's a beautiful day-you'll just need your hat." Capturing her hand, he drew her to the door. "I'll have the horses put to while you fetch it."

Before she could blink, Antonia found herself by the stairs. Released, she threw a speaking look at her would-be instructor before, determinedly regal, she went up to find her hat.

Ten minutes later, they were bowling down the gravelled sweep, the greys pacing in prime style. The drive, through leafy lanes to the nearby village of Fernhurst, was uneventful; despite her stretched nerves, Antonia could detect not the slightest hint of intent in the figure lounging gracefully by her side. He appeared at ease with the world, without a thought beyond the lazy warmth of the bright sunshine and the anticipation of an excellent dinner.

Quelling an unhelpful spurt of disappointment, she lifted her chin. "As I've taken you this far without landing you in a ditch, perhaps you'd consent to instruct me on handling the whip?"

"Ah, yes." Philip straightened. "Put the reins in your left hand, then take the whip in your right. You need to loop the lash through your fingers." After she had fumbled for a minute, he held out a hand. "Here-let me show you."

The rest of the drive passed with the horses pacing steadily, equally oblivious to Philip's expert and intentionally undistracting wielding of the lash and her less-than-successful attempts to direct them with a flick to their ears.

Indeed, by the time they reached the Manor drive, she would have given a considerable sum just to be able to nick their ears. Philip's stylish expertise with the long whip, sending the lash reaching out to just tickle a leaf then twitching it back so it hissed up the handle, back to his waiting fingers, was not at all easy to emulate.

She was frowning when he lifted her down.

"Never mind-like many skills, it's one that comes with practice."

Antonia looked up-and wondered where he'd left his mask. His eyes had taken on the darker hue she had first recognized in the glade, his hands were firm about her waist, long fingers flexing gently. Cambric was thicker than muslin but even combined with her chemise, the fabric was insufficient to protect her from the heat of his touch.

He held her before him, his gaze on hers; she felt intensely vulnerable, deliciously so. Her wits were drifting, her breath slowly seizing.

His gaze sharpened, the grey darkening even more.

For one pounding heartbeat, Antonia was convinced he was going to kiss her-there, in the middle of his forecourt. Then the planes of his face, until then hard and angular, shifted. His lips curved lightly, gently mocking. He reached for her hand, his fingers twining with hers. His eyes still on hers, he raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

Philip's smile was wry. "Another accomplishment requiring practice, I fear."

The sound of hurrying footsteps heralded the arrival of a stable lad, apologetic and breathless. Philip benignly waved aside the lad's stuttered excuses; as the carriage was removed, he settled Antonia's hand on his sleeve. She glanced up, suspicion and uncertainty warring in her eyes.

One brow rising in unconscious arrogance, Philip turned her towards the house. "We've made definite progress, my dear, don't you think?"

"That's better!" Perched at her window high above the forecourt, Henrietta heaved a sigh and turned back into the room. "I tell you, Trant, I was beginning to get seriously worried."

"I know." Trant's gaze was sharp as she scanned her mistress's features.

“After the fete-well!-you have to admit no prospect could have looked brighter. Ruthven was so pointedly attentive, so insistent on remaining by Antonia's side, no matter the lures thrown at his head."

Trant sniffed. "I never heard it said he had bad taste. Seemed to me those 'lures' would more rightly send him in the opposite direction. Miss Antonia, no doubt, seemed a veritable haven."

Henrietta humphed. "To you and me, Trant, Miss Castleton and her ilk may appear quite impossibly ill-bred but, while I have nothing but the highest regard for Ruthven's intelligence, there's no question that gentlemen see such matters in a different light. All too prone to overlook substance in favour of the obvious-and you have to admit Miss Castleton had a great deal of the obvious on view. I must say I was greatly relieved that Ruthven appeared unimpressed."

Busy mending, Trant couldn't suppress a snort. "Unimpressed? More properly a case of being distracted."

"Distracted?" Henrietta stared at her maid. "Whatever do you mean?"

Trant stabbed her needle into her work. "Miss Antonia's not precisely unendowed, even if she isn't one as flaunts her wares. Looked to me like the master's eye was already fixed." Trant glanced up from beneath her heavy brows, watching to see how her mistress reacted to that suggestion.

Henrietta's considering expression slowly dissolved into one of smug content. "Well," she said, reaching for her cane. "They're together again, no doubt of that, and if Philip's inclination is engaged, so much the better. I've been worrying that something had gone amiss-Antonia's been on edge, positively skulking about the house." Her eyes narrowed. "I dare say that might be nerves on her part-and Philip, of course, is simply taking things at his usual pace."

Snorting, Henrietta stood, a martial light in her eyes. "Time to shake the reins. I believe, Trant, that it's high time we planned our removal to London."

Parting from Philip in the hall, Antonia sought her chamber. Nell was elsewhere; Antonia sent her hat skimming to land on the bed, then crossed to the window. Leaning on the wide sill, she breathed in the warm scented air.

She'd survived.

More importantly, despite the unnerving sensation that, within the landscape of their relationship, she had yet to gain a proper footing, that she might stumble at any step and was not certain he would catch her if she did, there seemed little doubt that she and Philip were intent on walking the same path.

Thankfully, he plainly understood her need for time- time to develop her defences, to develop a proper, wifely demeanour, to learn how not to embarrass him and herself with any excess of emotion. How else could she interpret his words? Sinking onto the window-seat, Antonia propped an elbow on the sill and rested her chin in her palm.

A cloud drifted over the sun; sudden coolness touched her. An echo dark with warning, her mother's voice replayed in her head. "If you're wise, my girl, you won't look for love. Believe me, it's not worth the pain."

Subduing a shiver, Antonia grimaced. Her mother had uttered those words on her deathbed, a conclusion drawn from experience, from a badly broken if selfish heart. In pursuing her present course, was she risking all her mother had lost? Being Philip's wife was what she wanted to be, had always wanted to be; she had not come to Ruthven Manor seeking love.

But what if love found her?Ten minutes' wary pondering brought no answer.

With a disgruntled grimace, Antonia banished her uncertainty-and focused her mind on her immediate goal.

Before they went to London, she was determined to be sufficiently accustomed to Philip's attentions to have the confidence to appear with him in public. The accumulated wisdom on which she had to rely-the few strictures her mother had deigned to bestow plus the snippets of advice gleaned from the Yorkshire ladies-was scant and very likely provincial; she would, however, learn quickly. Philip himself was an excellent model, coolly sophisticated, always in control. Parading through the ton on his arm would, she felt sure, be the ultimate test.

Once she had conquered her reactions and demonstrated her ability to be the charming, polished, coolly serene lady he required as his wife, then he would ask for her hand.

The road before her was straight-as Philip had intimated, it was simply a matter of learning to handle the reins.

Lips lifting, confidence welling, she rose and crossed to the bellpull.

She slept in the next morning; she was almost running when she rushed into the stableyard, her skirts over one arm, her crop clutched in one hand, the other holding on to her hat. Only to see Philip leading out both Pegasus and her mount, the tall roan, Raker. Both horses were saddled. Halting precipitously, Antonia stared. Philip saw her and raised a brow; lowering her hand from her hat, Antonia lifted her chin and calmly walked to Raker's side.

Philip came to lift her up; she turned towards him, raising her hands to his shoulders as she felt his slide, then firm, about her waist. Wide-eyed, she met his gaze-and saw his brows lift, a quizzical expression in his eyes.

She opened her mouth-and realized how he would answer her question. She clamped her lips shut, debating the wisdom of a glare.

Philip's lips twitched. "I saw no reason why you wouldn't." With that, he lifted her to her saddle.

Antonia made a production of arranging her skirts. By the time she was ready, Geoffrey had joined them; with a nod, Philip led the way out.

A three-mile gallop was precisely what she needed to shake her wits into place. Riding never failed to soothe her; atop a fine horse, she could fly over the fields, beyond the touch of time, beyond the present. It was an escape she had sorely missed over the past eight years; she knew very well no man alive bar Philip would permit her to ride in such a way.

She glanced at him, to her left a half-length in advance, his body flowing easily with the big gelding's stride. Man and horse were both strong; combined they presented a picture of harnessed power.

Quelling a shiver, Antonia looked ahead.

They pulled up on a knoll overlooking green meadows; they had not previously ridden this way. A stone cottage sat in the midst of a small garden, a narrow lane leading to its gate.

"Who lives there?" Antonia leaned forward to pat Raker's sleek neck. "This is still your land, isn't it?"

Philip nodded. “But that patch-'' with his crop, he transcribed the boundaries of what Antonia estimated was a twenty-acre block "-belongs to a recently bereaved widow, a Mrs Mortingdale."

Wheeling slowly, Antonia checked her bearings. "Wouldn't it be sensible for you to purchase it-incorporate it with your holdings? She couldn't be getting much return on such a small piece."

"Yes and no in that order. I've made her an offer but she's yet to come to terms with selling up. I've told Banks to increase the offer slightly and let it stand. She has family elsewhere; she'll come around in time."

Geoffrey was eager to investigate a nearby ridge; Philip nodded and he left with a whoop.

Antonia clicked her reins and set Raker to ford the narrow stream by which they'd paused. "You seem very busy of late." He had spent most of the last two days with Banks. "Surely the estate doesn't normally take so much of your time?"

"No." Slanting her a glance, Philip brought Pegasus alongside. “But it seemed a propitious time to get the books to order."

Antonia frowned. "I would have thought after harvest would be more useful. That's when I did the tallies at Mannering."

Philip's lips quirked; he forced them straight. "Indeed? I rather think, however, that the exigencies I presently face are somewhat different to those you encountered at Mannering."

Puzzled, Antonia glanced at him. "I'm sure they are-I didn't mean to criticise."

Philip's answering glance was distinctly wry. "For which forbearance, my dear, I am truly grateful."

Antonia straightened. "You're talking in riddles."

"Not intentionally." Meeting her sceptical gaze, Philip raised a languid brow. "What do you think of Henrietta's plans for London?''

Antonia hesitated, then shrugged and obediently turned her mind to her aunt's projections. "Leaving in a week seems wise. I would certainly appreciate a little time to accustom myself to the pace before the balls begin-and there's Geoffrey, too." Her brow clouded. "Once the parties start, I doubt I'll have much time to spend with him."

Philip's gaze was on Geoffrey, heading back at a gallop. "Once he finds his way about, I doubt you'll need worry your head over him. I can't see him as a slow-top." Glancing at Antonia, he saw the concern in her eyes. "Of course, given he'll be under my roof, I will, naturally, be keeping an eye on him."

Antonia shot him a surprised look as Geoffrey thundered up. "Oh?"

"Indeed." Wheeling to head home, Philip met her gaze. "The least I can do. In the circumstances."

Antonia blinked. With a brisk nod for Geoffrey, Philip tapped his heels to Pegasus's sides; the chestnut surged. Raker followed. By the time they regained the stables, Antonia had thought better of enquiring as to precisely what circumstances he referred-she wasn't, she decided, ready to deal with his likely answer.

London and the ton-her proving ground-was, after all, still before her.

Philip decided to precede his stepmother and her guests to town, ostensibly to ensure Ruthven House was ready to receive them, in reality to take a quick look-in at his clubs and test the waters of the ton before permitting Antonia or Geoffrey to take a dip in society's sea. Departing one day before them would be enough; leaving early and driving his curricle, he would reach Grosvenor Square by midday, giving him two full days in which to gauge the tide before they arrived on the scene.

He did not, however, intend to leave the Manor before settling one significant point with his stepmother's niece. Time and place were crucial to his cause; he waited until the night before he was to leave, until tea had been taken and the cups stacked on the tray.

Antonia set the tray on the trolley then, turning, headed for the bellpull. Standing before the fireplace, Philip reached out as she passed him, capturing her hand before she reached her objective. Ignoring her surprised look, he spoke to Geoffrey, yawning by the chaise. "I left that book you wanted on the desk in the library."

Geoffrey's eyes brightened. "Oh, good! I'll take it up to bed."

He was already turning to the door. Philip raised a resigned brow-and raised his voice. "Perhaps, when you cross the hall, you could send Fenton in?"

Without turning, Geoffrey waved. "I will." He paused in the doorway to beam a belated smile at them all. "Good night."

As the door clicked shut, Philip glanced briefly at Antonia, then shifted his gaze to Henrietta, comfortably ensconced on the chaise. "I had thought to show your niece the beauties of the sunset. I believe I've heard you extoll its splendours when viewed from the terrace at this time of year?"

Transfixed by a gaze far too sharp for her comfort, Henrietta shifted. "Ah-yes." When Philip's gaze remained pointedly upon her, she shook her wits into order. "Yes, indeed! The effect can be quite…" she gestured airily "…breathtaking."

Philip smiled. Approvingly. Any doubt in Henrietta's mind that he had divined her secret purpose was firmly laid to rest.

“I believe you intend retiring early?''

Caution and curiosity warred in Henrietta's breast. Caution won. "Indeed," she said. Affecting a die-away air, she reclined against the cushions and waved listlessly. "If you'll ring for Trant, I think I'll go up immediately."

"An excellent notion." Philip crossed to the bellpull and tugged it twice. "You wouldn't want to overdo things."

Henrietta did not risk a reply. With a mildly affectionate smile, she waved dismissal to them both.

Intrigued, Antonia bobbed a respectful curtsy. Philip bowed with his customary grace, then, taking Antonia's arm, turned her towards the long windows which stood open to the terrace. "Come-give me your opinion."

Guided irresistibly through the gently billowing curtains, Antonia dutifully lifted her eyes to the western sky. "On the sunset?"

"Among other things."

Philip's tone, clipped and dry, had her shifting her gaze to his face.

Looking down into her wide eyes, he saw speculation leap into being, only to be replaced by a certain wariness. He halted by the balustrade, his gaze locked on hers. "I believe, my dear, that it's time for a little plain speaking."

Antonia felt giddy. Searching his eyes, she asked, "On what subject?"

"On the subject of the future. Specifically, ours." In an endeavour to disguise the tension that had, somewhat unexpectedly, gripped him, Philip sat on the stone balustrade. Meeting Antonia's gaze levelly, he raised an impatient brow. “It can hardly come as a surprise to you that I hope you will consent to be my wife?"

"No." The word was out before she had considered it; Antonia blushed furiously and tried to erase the admission with a wave. "That is…"

The look on Philip's face halted her.

"Plain speaking I believe I said?"

Antonia lifted her chin. “I had hoped-''

"You and Henrietta planned.'''

"Henrietta?" Utterly bemused, Antonia stared at him. "What has Henrietta to do with it?" She blinked. "What plans?"

Faced with her patent bewilderment, Philip had to accept his error. "Never mind."

Antonia stiffened; her eyes flared. "But I do mind! You thought-"

"I didn't think!" Philip made the admission through clenched teeth, belatedly realizing the truth. Antonia, wilful, stubborn Antonia, was no more likely to be a party to Henrietta's machinations than he. "I assumed- incorrectly, I admit. However, that subject is now entirely beside the point-I no longer particularly care how we reached our present pass." Much to his amazement, that statement, too, held the undeniable ring of truth. "What concerns me now-what we need to discuss-is what comes next."

Forcing himself to remain seated, Philip caught Antonia's glittering gaze and held it. "We both know what we want- don't we?"

Antonia studied his expression, grey eyes clear, filled with undisguised, unmistakable purpose. Holding his gaze, she drew in a slow breath, then nodded.

"Good-at least we agree on that much." Philip finked his fingers, laying them on one thigh, the better to resist a distracting urge to catch hold of her. “My affairs are currently in order; the matter of settlements can be decided at any time."

Antonia's eyes widened. "Your discussions with Banks…"

"Indeed." Philip couldn't resist a superior glance.

Antonia sniffed. "If we're speaking of planning-"

"Which thankfully we aren't." Ignoring her haughty glance, Philip continued, "Henrietta is your nearest adult relative. I don't see much point in asking her permission to pay my addresses-she's going to be unbearably smug as it is. As for Geoffrey, I doubt he'll object."

"Given he's halfway to idolising you," Antonia retorted. "I sincerely doubt it, too."

Philip's brows rose. "Do you mind?"

Antonia met his gaze; inherently truthful, she shook her head. A species of dizzying panic was gathering momentum inside her. Consternation threatened. This was all happening much too soon.

"Which leaves only your inclination in question." His tone deepening, Philip held out his hand. "So-will you, dear Antonia, agree to be my wife?"

The world was definitely spinning. Her heart raced-Antonia could feel it beating wildly in her throat. Disregarding the fact, her gaze trapped in the grey of his, she laid her hand in Philip's palm. "Yes, of course. Eventually."

Philip's fingers closed about hers, then convulsively tightened. His features, about to relax into lines of arrogant satisfaction, froze; his expression wavered between shock and incredulity. "Eventually?"

Antonia gestured vaguely. "Afterwards."

"Afterwards when?"

She frowned. "After we return from London was what I had imagined."

"Well, imagine again." Abruptly, Philip stood. "If you imagined I'd consent to letting you swan through London's ballrooms without the protection of a betrothal, free as a bird, attracting God-knows-what attention, you are, my dear, fair and far out. We'll announce our betrothal tomorrow-I'll place a notice in the Gazette when I reach town."

"Tomorrow?" Antonia stared at him. "But that's impossible!"

"Impossible?" Philip towered over her, his expression growing more intimidating by the second.

Lifting her chin, Antonia met his gaze squarely. "Impossible," she reiterated-and watched his eyes darken, felt his fingers tighten about hers. "I thought you understood," she said, as the familiar vice tightened about her chest. Frowning, she dropped her gaze to his cravat. "You do understand-of course you do." Raising her head, she looked directly into his eyes. "So why can't you see it?"

For one, long instant, Philip closed his eyes. Then, opening them, he drew in a deep, steadying breath, and forced himself to release her hand. "I fear, my dear, that despite your conviction, I must claim temporary mental obfuscation. I have no idea what it is that I'm supposed to be able to see, much less why or how it, whatever it might be, comes to render my proposal ineligible."

Antonia blinked at him. "I didn't say your proposal was ineligible-just that it's impossible to announce our betrothal before we return from London."

Philip frowned at her; the tension locking his muscles slowly dissipated. "Let's see if I've got this straight. You agree to marry me as long as we don't announce our betrothal until after we return from London." He held Antonia's gaze. "Is that right?"

Antonia coloured. "If… I mean…" hands clasped before her, she lifted her chin "… presuming you still want me as your wife."

"That, thank heavens, is not in question." Eyeing her uptilted face, Philip had to fight the urge to take advantage of it. He fell to pacing, two steps away, then two steps back. "Kindly get it fixed in your head that I wish to marry you-if I had my way, immediately. Society and the laws, however, require a certain interval between proposal and execution. I had therefore planned…" he paused to throw Antonia a narrow-eyed glance "… in light of our apparent similarity of purpose, to announce our betrothal immediately so that we may be married on our return from town. Now you inform me that that's not possible!"

Antonia stood her ground. "It may be theoretically possible, but it's a great deal too soon."

"Too soon?"

Shutting her ears to his disbelief, Antonia nodded. "Too soon for me. You must see that, Philip. You know what…that is…" She frowned, searching for words to delicately allude to the effect he had on her. “You know how I react-I don't yet know how to go on in tonnish society. I need to learn the knack-and I can't do that if we're betrothed."

"Why not?" Philip frowned back. He kept pacing.

"What difference does it make if we're betrothed, married or merely acquaintances?"

Antonia lifted her chin. "As you very well know, if we were married or betrothed, people-certainly all the ladies-would expect me to know how things were done, how to behave in all circumstances. They would expect the lady you had chosen as your bride to be accomplished in such matters."

Seeking his face, she fixed her eyes on his. "As you also know, I don't have any experience of society at large-nothing more than a limited exposure to selected entertainments in Yorkshire. That's hardly sufficient basis on which to, as you phrased it, swan through the ton. I'd fall at the first hurdle." Her lips twisted wrily. "You know I would. In that particular arena, I've no experience in the saddle, and even less confidence in my ability to clear the hedges."

Philip slowed, then stopped. His frown had deepened.

Calmly, Antonia held his gaze. "You told me I needed to practice my skills before I tried handling the whip. The same is true here-I need to learn how to go on, how to behave as your wife, before we marry."

Philip grimaced then glanced away. To his mind, she needed no instruction in how to behave socially; her innate breeding, her natural directness, her honest openness, would stand her in good stead. Her performance on the day of the fete had been exemplary, but she clearly did not see that success as equivalent to facing the ton, a point he could hardly argue.

An uncertain, less-than-confident Antonia was a being he had little experience of, yet he felt a pressing need to reassure her, to accede to her plans. He scowled at his lawns. "Everyone will know that having hailed from Yorkshire, you might be feeling your way."

"Exactly." Antonia nodded. "And should our betrothal have been announced, they'll be watching like hawks, taking note of any and all mistakes I make. If I am merely your stepmother's niece being introduced to the ton, beyond natural curiosity no great attention will focus on me. I'll be able to study how ladies go on without giving rise to any adverse comment."

Philip remained silent; sensing victory, Antonia pressed her point. "You know that's true. In the eyes of the ton, a deficient upbringing is no excuse for gauche behaviour."

"You couldn't be gauche if you tried."

Antonia smiled. "Unintentionally, perhaps." She sobered, studying his profile, the rigid line of his shoulders. Straightening her own, metaphorically girding her loins, she drew in a deep breath. "I comprehend…that is, I imagine your expectations of your wife are that she will manage your households, act as your hostess both here and in town, and…and…" Dragging in another breath, she rattled on, "In short, that she will fulfill all the usual functions and roles ascribed by society."

"I would want your friendship, Antonia." That and a great deal more. Philip kept his gaze on the gardens, unwilling to let her glimpse the emotions visible in his eyes.

Heartened by his statement, Antonia replied, "I, too, would hope our friendship would continue." She waited; when he said no more, she prompted, "I do want to marry you, Philip, but you do see, don't you, why we can't be betrothed until after our return?"

Philip turned, his jaw set, his gaze sharp and penetrating. For a long moment, he studied her eyes, and the conviction therein. She was asking for four, possibly five weeks of grace. Curtly, he nodded. “Very well-no-announcement of our betrothal. There is, however, no reason whatever why we cannot be betrothed, but keep the fact a secret."

Antonia met his gaze with one of her very direct looks. "Henrietta."

Philip swore beneath his breath. Hands rising to his hips, he swung away, facing the lawns again. Henrietta! His fond stepmama would never be able to keep the news to herself. And a legal betrothal was impossible without her knowledge.

It was an effort not to grind his teeth. He drew in a very deep breath, then slowly let it out. “Antonia, I am not about to let you waltz through the ballrooms of London without some agreement." He turned on the words, shifting to stand directly before her, trapping her with his gaze. "I will agree-grudgingly, make no mistake-not to press you for a formal betrothal, secret or otherwise, until we return to the Manor-which we will do immediately you've gained sufficient experience of the ton."

Holding hard to his reins, acutely conscious of the debilitating effects of frustration, Philip reached for her hands. Lifting them, he held them, palm to palm, between his and looked down into her eyes. "Antonia, I want you as my wife. If we cannot be betrothed formally, then I ask that we be betrothed privately-an agreement between the two of us."

Briefly, Philip glanced up at the sickle moon, riding high in the softly tinted sky, then looked down to recapture Antonia's green-gold gaze. "I ask that we plight our troth witnessed only by the moon-to consider ourselves promised, you to me and me to you, from now until we return to the Manor, after which we will wed as soon as custom permits."

He felt her fingers flutter between his, sensed the catch in her breath. For a long moment, he held her gaze, then, slowly, he separated her hands and carried one to his lips. "Do you agree, Antonia?" He brushed a kiss across her knuckles, then lifted her other hand, his eyes all the while on hers. "To be mine?"

His words were so deep, so velvety dark, Antonia barely heard them. She sensed them deep inside her, and felt a compulsion she couldn't deny. His lips grazed her fingers and she shivered. "Yes." She had always been his.

His eyes still held her trapped; slowly, he drew her hands up and out. When he let them go, they fell to his shoulders; his shifted to her waist, spanning it, then firming as he drew her close.

Antonia felt a quake ripple through her. "Philip?"

The question was the merest whisper. Philip heard and understood “All troths must be sealed with a kiss, sweetheart."

Her heart blocking her throat, Antonia felt her bodice brush his coat. She watched his head lower; her lids fell.

His lips found hers; warm and persuasive, their pressure soothed and reassured. Antonia relaxed, then stiffened as he gathered her into his arms, locking her in his embrace. Yet his hold remained gentle; his hands stroked her back.

Again she relaxed, again the kiss took hold, sweeping her into some magical realm of mystery, of sensation. His lips firmed; hesitantly, she parted hers, a flicker of nervousness distracting her momentarily, called forth by recollections of their encounter in the woods. But this time there was only warmth and pleasure, enticing, beckoning caresses that made her hungry-for what she didn't know. No unbridled passions arose to confront her, to elicit the wanton craving she was convinced she had to hide.

Reassured, she drifted deeper, giving herself up to gentle pleasure.

It took all of Philip's skill to keep the kiss, if not light, then at least non-conflagrationary. He was acutely aware of her untutored responses, of the way her body slowly softened in his arms, accepting his embrace in the same way her lips accepted his kiss. As in all things, she was deliciously direct, unambiguous-ly open, totally innocent of intrigue. For one of his ilk, the novelty was as heady as summer wine.

He forced himself to draw back, to gradually bring the kiss to an end, despite the ravenous hunger eating him. He was familiar with that demon; while it might make his life hell, he was its master.

When he eventually lifted his head, it was to the pleasure of watching Antonia's eyes, heavy-lidded, slowly open. She blinked at him, then made an obvious effort to compose herself.

"Ah…" Gently, Antonia tried to draw back, only to feel his arms firm.

"Not yet." Prodded by his demon, Philip lowered his head and stole another kiss, then another, before she could catch her breath.

"Philip!" Antonia barely got the word out; this time she insisted on pulling back.

Reluctantly, Philip dropped his arms but kept hold of one of her hands. "You're mine, Antonia." Possessiveness surged; he shackled it, unaware of the deep resonance of his voice, of the dark glitter in his gaze, of the way his fingers tightened about hers. Raising her hand, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips, then turned her hand and pressed a warm kiss to her palm. "Never forget it."

Antonia shivered as he released her hand.

Holding her with no more than his gaze, Philip lowered his head one last time, barely touching his lips to hers. "Sleep well, my dear. I'll see you next in London."

She drew back, wide-eyed and, he thought, wondering. Then she inclined her head and slowly turned away. He let her go, watching as she retreated into his house, to spend the night under his roof, as she would from now on.

The smile on his lips slowly fading, Philip turned back to the lawns. After a moment, he grimaced feelingly, then descended the steps; hands in his pockets, he strode into the cool night.