A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

His satisfaction hidden behind his usual impassive mask, Philip steered her into the throng.

At eleven o'clock the next morning, Philip descended the stairs, very definitely in charity with the world. It was an effort to keep from whistling; he had to keep his mind from dwelling on their interlude in the library the night before in order to keep a smug smile from his face.

Carring appeared from the nether regions; Philip had of­ten wondered if his major-domo possessed some peculiar facility which alerted him to his impending appearance in the hall.

"I'm lunching at Limmer's, then I expect we'll go on to Brooks."

"And then to the Park?"

Philip shot Carring a severe glance. "Possibly." He paused to check his cravat in the hall mirror; a fragment of the past night's activities, when Antonia's fingers had be­come entangled in the starched folds about his throat, drifted through his mind. "Incidentally, where did the chaise that matches the chairs in the library go?"

“If you recall, my lord, we removed it to the back parlour after you declared that it cluttered up the library to no good purpose."

"Ah, yes." Satisfied with the drape of the linen folds about his neck, Philip resettled his collar. “You may move it back to the library."

"You require more comfortable seating, my lord?"

Philip glanced up and located Carring's face in the mir­ror. Unless he was grossly mistaken, his major-domo was struggling to hide a grin. Philip narrowed his eyes. "Just move the damned chaise, Carring."

"Immediately, my lord."

Philip did not glance back as he went out of his door, positive that if he did, he would see Carring grinning know­ingly.

Just to prove Carring wrong, he returned to Ruthven House later in the afternoon—but only to pick up his pha­eton.

Antonia was strolling in the Park with Geoffrey, Catriona and Ambrose, when they heard Geoffrey hailed from the carriageway. Turning, she saw Philip waving from the box-seat of the most elegant high-perch phaeton she had yet set eyes upon. Both Geoffrey and Ambrose needed no urging to cross the lawns to the carriageway.

"I say! What a bang-up set of blood and bone!" Am­brose eyed Philip's greys with fervid admiration.

Geoffrey turned big eyes on his mentor. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'll let me take this rig out, even with­out the greys?"

Philip, who had been gazing at Antonia, a picture in soft sprigged muslin, her face shaded by the brim of the bonnet he had bought her, shifted his gaze briefly to Geoffrey's face. "None."

Geoffrey grimaced. "That's what I thought."

“Did you want Geoffrey for some reason?'' Antonia had spared only a passing glance for Philip's carriage; his horses she knew well.

"Actually," Philip said, his gaze once more on her face, "It was you I came to see. I wondered if you'd care for a turn about the Park?"

Antonia's heart leapt; the subtle challenge in his eyes gave her pause. High-perches were notoriously unstable, safe only in the hands of experienced drivers. She had no concern on that score but gaining the seat, a full six feet above the carriageway, was a different matter.

"What a positively thrilling invitation." Standing beside Antonia, Catriona looked glowingly up at Philip, her gaze innocent yet knowing. "You'll be the envy of every lady present."

Antonia looked up at Philip. "I would gladly go with you, my lord. Yet I greatly fear. . ." She gestured at the high step.

"A problem very easily solved." Philip tied off the reins. "Geoffrey—hold their heads."

Geoffrey hurried to the greys' heads; Ambrose followed. Before Antonia fully grasped his intent, Philip jumped down, drew her forward, then lifted her high.

Antonia bit back a squeal—and frantically clung to the side of the high seat. His expression mild, his eyes laughing, Philip followed her up; Antonia quickly but carefully shuf­fled along the precariously tilting seat. To her relief, Philip's weight once he sat seemed to stabilise the flimsy contrap­tion.

"Relax." He flicked her a glance as he took up the reins. "I seem to be advising you to do that rather often these days." He sent her another teasing glance. "I wonder why?"

"Because," Antonia tersely replied, "you are forever giving me cause to panic."

Philip laughed as he set the greys in motion. "Never fear—I give you my word I won't upend you in the middle of the Park. Aside from any other consideration, just think of the damage it would do to my reputation."

"I'm fast coming to think," Antonia returned, holding fast to the railings edging the seat, “that this reputation of yours is all a hum, invented by you as a convenient ex­cuse."