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."
An
tonia 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.