A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

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."

Chapter Fifteen

fell. In her chamber, Antonia paced impatiently, waiting for the great house to fall silent, waiting for the last of the servitors to retreat to their quarters and leave the mansion to its ghosts. She felt certain there'd be some lost souls haunting the gorgon's lair; the thought did not trouble her. Philip had yet to reply to her criteria; nothing—not even a ghost—was going to prevent her from hearing his response, from hearing the words she longed to hear.

After their interlude in the shrubbery, she was perfectly confident of the substance of his reply. Confidence, how­ever, was no substitute for direct experience.

Kicking her skirts about, she turned, then paused. A door along the corridor creaked open, then shut. Ears straining, she made out the heavy, measured tread of Trant's footsteps retreating to the servants' stair; Henrietta had, at last, settled for the night. Soon, she could risk going down.

Deciding another ten minutes' wait would be wise, she crossed to the window seat. Catriona's histrionic talents had risen to the challenge of gulling both the Marchioness and the Countess. Neither eagle-eyed lady had batted an eyelid; neither had seen anything in Catriona's drooping stance, in her lacklustre gaze, to alert them.

Crossing her arms on the sill and resting her chin upon them, Antonia gazed out at the moon-silvered gardens. If Catriona could keep up her charade, then Henry would have time to mobilise Lady Copely. Doubtless, if all was as Ca­triona had said, Lady Copeley would visit and rescue her from the Countess's talons.

Finding a certain delight in that prospect, Antonia smiled. Catriona's problems would soon be at an end; for herself, resolution was at hand. Love, despite her doubts, would reign triumphant. Her gaze on the shifting shadows, her lips curving gently, she let her mind slide into pleasurable an­ticipation.

The clip-clop of horses' hooves jerked her back to reality. Straightening, she leaned forward and peered out, just in time to glimpse a gig being driven down the drive at a brisk trot. There were two figures on the seat; a

s she watched, the smaller, the passenger, a large package clasped in her arms, turned and gazed back at the house. Catriona's heart-shaped face was instantly recognisable.