A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

Antonia's expression immediately turned suspicious. Philip laughed. Taking her arm, he guided her to the door.

Once in his curricle, bowling along behind his greys, the awkwardness Antonia found herself all too often a prey to evaporated. Unfurling the parasol, she deployed it to protect her complexion, then hit upon the notion of asking Philip's advice on how to most elegantly dispose it. His suggestions were half serious, half teasing. She enjoyed the drive, and his company, relaxing enough to let her pleasure show.

The outing passed off without a hitch; Philip returned well content.

Thereafter, he made a point of spending some part of every day by Antonia's side, trying with all the skill at his command to ease the reticence he sensed behind her smiles. He escorted both Mannerings to Astley's Amphitheatre, spending most of the performance in pleasant contemplation of the emotions flickering across Antonia's face. The fol­lowing afternoon, he yielded to their entreaties and took them on a tour of St Paul's and the city, surprising himself with how much he remembered of the history of the town.

Throughout, Antonia appeared serenely content, yet her underlying hesitancy disturbed him. Aside from anything else, she frequently reverted to addressing him as "my lord", something, he had noticed, she only did when trying to keep him at a distance.

Then came the first of the informal parties.

Philip had already changed for the evening but had yet to quit the house. He was in the library, idly flicking through the stack of invitations on his desk when he heard voices in the hall. Lifting his head, he identified Geoffrey's voice raised in a bantering tone; Antonia answered with a laugh, gayer than any he'd heard in a long while.

Intrigued, he strolled to the door.

The sight that met his eyes as he paused in the doorway locked the breath in his chest. Antonia stood in the centre of his hall, her hair burnished guinea gold by the chandelier above. Bright curls clustered in artful disarray on the top of her head; a few gilded wisps wreathed about her delicate ears and nape, drawing attention to her slender neck. Her shoulders, warmly tinted ivory, were quite bare, entirely revealed by a stunningly elegant gown of the palest green. Lafarge's hand was easily discerned in the long, flattering lines, in the smooth sweeps of the skirt, in the subtle way the bodice emphasized the contours beneath. Tiny puffed sleeves were set well off the shoulders, so small they in no way distracted from the long, graceful curves of Antonia's arms.

Her face was uptilted; as he watched, she laughed, re­sponding to Geoffrey, out of sight up the stairs. Deep inside, Philip felt something tighten, harden, clarifying and coalescing into one, crystal-clear emotion. Antonia's cheeks were delicately flushed, her eyes alight; her lips, rose tinted, parted as she smiled, raising her hands, not yet covered by the regulation long gloves, palms upward.

"I assure you I am very definitely your sister—if you come down here I'll demonstrate that my unique technique for boxing your ears is very much intact."

Geoffrey answered; Philip didn't register his words. Compelled, he moved slowly forward, out of the shadows that had thus far hidden him.

Antonia heard him; she turned and her eyes met his. His gaze held her as she held his attention, absolutely, com­pletely.

He sensed the swift intake of her breath, saw her eyes widen then darken. Her arms slowly drifted together, as if to fold about her, responding to some age-old instinct to protect her body from his gaze. Moving with slow delib­eration, Philip reached for her hands, taking them in his to hold them wide. Then, slowly, he raised one to his lips.

He felt his chest swell against the vice clamped so pow­erfully about it. "You are beauty personified, Antonia."

His voice was deep, darkly enticing; Antonia felt it re­verberate through her, felt its seductive quality sink to her marrow. Still moving like one in a dream, he raised one of her arms high; obediently, she twirled, compelled to turn her head to keep her eyes on his. The normally shimmering grey was dark with storm clouds, harbingers of passion. She couldn't tear her gaze from them, from the promise in their depths.

He moved with her; for a moment, it was as if they were dancing, twirling about each other, gazes locked. Then he stopped; her silk skirts shushed softly about her legs, then settled as she halted, facing him.

An age seemed to pass as, eyes locked, they stood, tensed, quivering, as if balanced on the edge of some in­visible precipice. Antonia couldn't breathe, dared not blink.

Geoffrey's clattering footsteps as he came down the stairs broke the spell.

"Don't think you can reach my ears anymore." Grinning widely, he strode towards them.

Smoothly, Philip released Antonia's hand; turning, he noted Geoffrey's dark coat and neat but simple cravat. "From your sartorial elegance, I take it you're to make one of the party tonight?''

Geoffrey pulled a face. "Aunt Henrietta thought that see­ing I was here, I might as well broaden my horizons."

"It's just an informal gathering of family and friends at the Mountfords in Brook Street." Still breathless, Antonia struggled to keep her tone even. "Nothing too elaborate. According to Henrietta it'll be mostly genteel conversation with some country dances to help the less experienced ladies get accustomed to tonnish ways."

Philip had heard of such mild affairs. "I believe it's the regulation way one commences one's first season." He glanced at Antonia; excitement glowed in her eyes. "Tell me, do you dine in Brook Street or here?''

"Here." Antonia gestured. "I was just on my way to the drawing-room."

"And I was following, intending to get in a little prac­tice." Frowning, Geoffrey shook his head. "Cotillions and quadrilles are all the same to me."

"Nonsense." Antonia linked her arm through his. "If you think to slide out of standing up with such comments you'll have to think again." Glancing at Philip, she smiled. Politely. "But you were on your way out—we're holding you up."

"No," Philip lied. "I'm dining in tonight."

"Oh?" Antonia b!inked in surprise.

"Indeed. Why don't you make a start putting your brother through his paces? I'll join you in a moment and adjudicate."