A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

His tone was mild, perfectly polite; Antonia sensed t

he steel behind it. "I did consider the matter," she felt forced to admit. "But by the time the thought occurred, the gig was too far ahead to risk further dallying."

"I see." Philip's gaze, narrowing, remained locked on hers.

"I remembered the bible."

Catriona's comment distracted them both. They turned to see her hefting a brown paper-wrapped package from the table. "It was Papa's; if it contains the proof of Aunt Cop­ley's right to act as my guardian, I thought I should keep it by me."

Philip nodded approvingly. "A wise move." He hesi­tated, then grimaced. "Very well—we'll continue with your plan. I agree that if all four of you travel together, there'll be no hint of impropriety. And I can sympathise with Ham­mersley not wanting to be about when the Countess and his mother discover their applecart has been ditched. Apropos of which, might I ask how you were proposing to convey that news?"

Four blank faces stared at him.

"We hadn't imagined informing them specifically," Geoffrey finally said. He caught Philip's eye. "We thought you'd be there—and you'd guess what was up if we all went missing."

For a long moment, Philip held Geoffrey's gaze, his own distinctly jaundiced, then his expression turned resigned. "Very well—I suppose I can settle that matter, too."

The relief in the parlour was palpable.

Twenty minutes later, Philip watched the four young peo­ple climb into the inn's carriage. Geoffrey was the last.

"Here's a note for Carring." Philip handed over a folded missive. "He'll pay the carriage off and see you to the coaching station. Write once you've settled in—we'll be at the Manor."

"Oh?" Waving a last farewell to Antonia, standing back in the inn porch, Geoffrey looked again at Philip, a question in his eyes.

Philip raised a languid brow. "And, given you're the sen­ior male in the Mannering line, I suspect you'd better hold yourself ready to make a dash down—just for a day or two, considering how much of the term you've already missed. I'll send up to the Master."

Geoffrey's grin broke into a huge smile. "Thought so." He clapped Philip on the shoulder, then mounted the steps. Philip shut the carriage door; Geoffrey leaned out of the window to add, insouciantly irreverent to the end, "Don't let her get her hands on your reins."

"Not bloody likely," was Philip's terse reply.

The carriage rumbled out of the yard. Philip turned and strode back to the inn. The innkeeper was waiting just be­hind Antonia, his keys in his hand.

Taking Antonia's elbow, Philip guided her into the inn.

"You may lock up, Fellwell. Her ladyship and I can find our way up."

Antonia's eyes flew wide; Fellwell, yawning as he bowed, did not notice. Steered inexorably up the stairs, she heard the heavy inn door close, heard the bolts shoot home. Her heart started to pound. By the time they reached the door to the inn's main guest chamber, she felt quite giddy.

Opening the door, Philip guided her through, then fol­lowed, shutting the door behind him. His face was all hard angles and planes; no hint of his social mask remained.

"Ah. . .does Mr Fellwell believe we're married?"

"I sincerely hope so." Shifting his grip to her hand, Philip strolled forward, surveying the room. "I told him you were Lady Ruthven." Satisfied with their accommodation, he stopped before the fireplace, turning to meet Antonia's wide gaze. "I couldn't think of any other way to acceptably explain your presence here—alone—with me." He cocked a brow at her. "Can you?"

Antonia was sure she couldn't; breathless, she shook her head.

"If we're agreed on that," Philip said, shifting to stand directly before her, "before anything else can happen to distract us, I suggest that I give you my responses to your stipulations on your future husband's behaviour."

Releasing her hand, he raised both of his to frame her face, tilting it up until her eyes locked with his. "Lastly but by no means least, you required that the man you married should not seek to be private with any other lady." He raised a brow. "Why would I wish to be alone with another, if I could, instead, have you by my side?''

Eyes wide, Antonia searched his grey gaze; it was calm, clear, unclouded, as incisive as tempered steel.

"And as for not waltzing with any other lady—if you were there to waltz with me, why would I wish to dance with another?"

Inwardly, Antonia frowned.

"And as for mistresses—" Philip raised a suggestive brow. “If I had you to warm my bed, to satisfy my needs, would I want—or, indeed, have time for—a mistress?''