A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

Uncertainty darkened her eyes; Philip allowed his impa­tience to show. “I have, as I believe you know, been waltz­ing through the ton's ballrooms for rather many years."

"I know." Antonia felt breathless. They were, she was perfectly certain, no longer talking about mere waltzing. "But. . ."

Philip held her gaze; again he lifted her hand, gently brushing his lips across her fingertips, well aware of the reaction she struggled to hide. "Believe me." His voice deepened. "I won't let you falter." He waited, watching her, willing her, then lifted one brow. "Trust me?"

The moment that followed stretched, fragile as spun glass, timeless as eternity. Antonia felt each beat of her heart, felt the shallowness of each breath. "You know I do."

"Then close your eyes. It's time for your next lesson." Antonia hesitated, then complied. "Imagine we're in the ballroom at Ruthven House."

She felt Philip's arm sl

ide about her, felt his hold on her fingers shift.

"Geoffrey is supplying the music."

She frowned. "I can hear violins."

"He's brought some friends to help him."

The clipped accents made her lips twitch. Philip raised her hand; his arm tightened about her. Antonia baulked. "Philip—!"

"Trust me."

A second later she was waltzing.

"Keep your eyes closed. Remember, we're in Ruthven House—there's no one else about."

Antonia knew very well where they were; the cool night air shifted over her bare shoulders, a light breeze played with her skirts. But Philip's arm held her steady; with her eyes closed, she had no alternative but to relax and follow his strong lead. She heard muted chatter and laughter, the musicians were still scraping away. He held her close; as they whirled and twirled, the sensations that had earlier as­sailed her rose up, heightened by her earlier sensitivity. De­tached, distanced from worry, she could not find it in her to fight them; instead, her senses stretched, luxuriating in the moment.

Watching her face, Philip saw her lips lift; his own curved knowingly. He drank in the sight of her face, then said, "Open your eyes."

Antonia did, blinking as her eyes adjusted. She took in Philip's arrogantly satisfied expression, then glanced past his shoulder—and gasped.

They were no longer the only ones waltzing on the ter­race. As they revolved, she turned her head this way and that, amazed at the collection of fashionable couples now whirling in the starlight.

"It appears we've started a new trend."

"Indeed."

Seconds later, the music slowed. Philip whirled them to a flourishing halt, touching Antonia's hand to his lips. "Be­lieve me—there's nothing in your behaviour to give you cause to blush."

Antonia met his gaze; a frown slowly gathered in her eyes. "While I concede that your experience might be ex­tensive, I'm not at all certain you're an appropriate judge of such matters."

Philip narrowed his eyes. "Antonia, which of us has been buried in the wilds to the north for the last eight years?''

Antonia's eyes flashed. "And which of us, my lord, has any previous experience of our current relation-ship?"

Philip held her gaze steadily. "Rest assured, my dear, that should you commit any indiscretion, however minor, I will be the first to bring it to your notice."

Antonia raised a haughty brow. "Unfortunately, it's your definition of 'indiscretion' that I question."

"Indeed? Then you'll undoubtedly be relieved to know that to be a fully-fledged member of the fraternity to which I belong, an exquisitely detailed understanding of indiscre­tions, in all their varied forms, is mandatory." Philip placed her hand on his sleeve, then calmly raised his brows at her.

Stumped, Antonia cast him a distinctly mulish glance.

With a pointed smile, Philip turned her towards the ball­room. "You may trust me to guide you through the shoals of the ton, Antonia."

She glanced at his face, her gaze familiar and open. As they neared the ballroom, she regally inclined her head. "Very well. I will place my reliance on you, my lord."