Hugo opened his eyes wide. “If you think engaging oneself to entertain the Bishop of Worcester and then finding oneself one short for the table isn’t life-threatening, you know nothing of the Bishop. Can’t tell you how grateful I was to be saved from excommunication.”
Philip’s snort was drowned by the summoning of the violins.
“Ah!” Eyes brightening, Hugo turned to Antonia. “My dance, I believe, Miss Mannering?”
Antonia smiled and gave him her hand. Hugo deftly cleared a path onto the dance floor; while they waited for the rest of the company to find places in the sets, Antonia turned to him. “I overheard your comment on the Bishop of Worcester. Was it recently you entertained His Grace?”
“Just the other night.” Hugo grimaced. “Deuced awkward, but I had to do it—he’s m’godfather, you know. He’d received a summons from his sister, Lady Griswald, to some musical affair. Old man’s tone deaf—virtually ordered me to rescue him.”
Antonia’s eyes widened. “I see.” She managed a weak smile. She’d returned from Lady Griswald’s to find Philip absent; that night had been the first on which she’d declined her nightcap.
“At last!” Hugo held out his hand as the music for the cotillion began.
Antonia had danced countless cotillions in recent weeks; habit, she was certain, was all that kept her twirling in the right direction. A horrible suspicion had taken root in her mind; as it grew, a sinking sensation swelled inside her. She was relieved when, at the cotillion’s end, Hugo returned her to Philip’s side. Unfortunately, a gavotte with Lord Dewhurst followed virtually immediately. Raising her from her final curtsy, his lordship guided her around the room. After passing some time in idle, on her part disjointed, conversation, they finally came up with Philip; her heart sank when she saw the steely look in his eyes.
Reclaiming Antonia’s hand, Philip settled it on his sleeve then caught Lord Dewhurst’s eye. “I believe, Dewhurst, that our hostess is searching for you.”
“Heh?” Jerked from contemplation of Antonia’s smile, Lord Dewhurst focused on Philip’s face. His expression turned to one of dismay. “Don’t say that. Dash it all—this is what comes of letting on I’m on the look-out for a wife.” Openly chagrined, he confided to Antonia, “If her ladyship’s after me, it’ll mean she’s got some protégée that she wants me to look over. I’ll have to take refuge in the cardroom.”
His features impassive, Philip scanned the crowds. “If her ladyship’s on the prowl, I wouldn’t waste any time.”
Lord Dewhurst sighed and bowed over Antonia’s hand. “Dashed shame. But no doubt we’ll meet at the next ball, Miss Mannering.” With a hopeful smile, he straightened. “I’ll look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”
Antonia smiled with what grace she could muster; his lordship turned away, his eyes on her to the last. Lord Marbury stepped in, keen to engage her attention.
Philip gritted his teeth.
Tonight, strolling the rooms, his favoured method for disposing of unwanted encumbrances, was out of the question; Lady Caldecott had outdone herself with a vengeance. There was barely room to stand; the dance floor would be impossibly crowded.
Not that the idea of waltzing with Antonia at excusably close quarters was bothering him. Quite the opposite. But the crowding left him with few options to thin out her court.
He was contemplating a few novel possibilities when the musicians returned and set bow to string. Sternly suppressing a surge of anticipation, he turned to Antonia. “The first waltz. My dance, I believe, my dear.”
“Indeed, my lord.” Straightening her spine, Antonia inwardly cursed the fluster that threatened. Her smile overbright, she gave Philip her hand. “I rely on you to lead me through this maze.”
With the merest inclination of his head, he led her to where couples were jostling for space on the floor. Tense as she was, the overcrowding claimed all of Antonia’s attention; it was only when they were precessing freely, albeit in distinctly circumscribed circles, that she relaxed enough to think. Only to have her senses rush in—a most peculiar panic gripped her.
Philip was holding her very close, a fact necessitated by the proximity of the surrounding couples. As realization sank in, Antonia felt her breath catch, felt the familiar vice close about her chest. Held against him, the shift and sway of their bodies as they revolved through the dance was a dizzying distraction, a potent inducement to set her wits free and let her senses slide into a world of sensation. Her gaze wide, unseeing, she stiffened, struggling to shackle her wits, to keep her face, her posture, free of any hint of the drugging effect of the dance, of her awareness of Philip.
She felt him glance down at her. She looked up, only to discover his lips mere inches away; her gaze, beyond her control, focused on them. They twisted wryly.
“Relax. You’re stiff as a poker.”
The comment, spoken in a tone that was clearly private, only made her stiffen further. Forcing her gaze upwards, she met his gaze. She watched a frown gather in his eyes. “I—”
She had no idea how to explain, how to describe the panic mushrooming within her. This was the first waltz of the Little Season, her first public waltz with him—and any second she was going to stumble.
Instinctively, Philip gathered her closer, his hand at her waist reassuringly caressing her spine as he guided her into a turn.
Like a brand, the heat of his hand seared Antonia, exciting skin not accustomed to his touch. At the same moment, his thigh parted hers in the turn, hard muscle impressing itself against her softer flesh.
Her breath caught on a stifled gasp; her feet missed a step.
Philip caught her to him, preventing her stumble. Frowning, very aware of her distress, he deftly stepped clear of the circle of dancers rounding the end of the room. Smoothly releasing Antonia, he took her hand and ushered her before him towards the doors standing open to the terrace, his shoulders effectively screening her from any interested stares. Pale, she cast a wide-eyed glance up at him; he met it with a superficial smile. “This crowd is impossible—a little fresh air will clear your head.”
Antonia hoped it would. She felt dreadful; her head had started to throb. She felt immeasurably grateful when Philip propelled her irresistibly out of the door.
The cool night air hit her like a slap; she stopped dead. “Wait! We can’t—”
“There’s nothing the least improper in our being out here.” Philip’s accents, warningly clipped, came from directly behind her. “We are, after all, hardly private.”
Glancing about, Antonia discovered he was right. The terrace was a wide, stone-flagged extension of the ballroom floor; other couples like them had sought refuge on its uncluttered expanse. There were sufficient others present, strolling and chatting in groups, to nullify any question of impropriety. None, however, was close enough to overhear their conversation.
“Now.” Capturing Antonia’s attention by the simple expedient of putting one finger under her chin and turning her face to him, Philip raised a commanding brow. “What’s wrong?”
Antonia met his gaze, then lifted her chin free of his finger. Her stomach had knotted tight. “I...simply had trouble with the waltz.”
Philip couldn’t help himself. “Strange. I was under the impression you considered yourself something of an expert—certainly in no need of further lessons.” The morning after Lady Griswald’s musical soirée, she had failed to appear in the ballroom. Geoffrey, too, had not shown; when questioned in suitably nonchalant vein, Geoffrey had let fall that his sister had somewhat waspishly informed him that she had learned quite enough.
Antonia risked a glance from beneath her lashes, then, tilting her chin, fixed her gaze on the gardens. “I did not feel it right to take so much of your time. You’ve been very generous—I did not wish you to feel duty-bound.”
Philip managed not to growl. �
�I never saw teaching you to waltz as a duty.” A pleasant distraction, yes—one he had missed. “And it’s quite obvious you need further lessons.” The startled glance she threw him was some small consolation. “We’ll start again tomorrow. But aside from all that, I’m a great deal more than seven, you know.”
Startled by the change in his tone, Antonia glanced up; Philip trapped her gaze. “I’ve taught you well enough and you learn like a sponge—it wasn’t the steps of the waltz that brought you undone.” His gaze sharpened. “What was it? Has anyone done anything to upset you?”
His second question and the tension behind it convinced Antonia prevarication would not be wise. She hesitated, then drew in a strengthening breath and, her gaze unfocused, admitted, “I find I have great difficulty keeping a proper distance.”
Philip frowned. “The distance between us was perfectly proper. I’m far too old a hand to step over the line during the first waltz of the season.”
Antonia threw him an exasperated look. “That’s not what I meant.”
Philip looked down at her. “Then what did you mean?”
Antonia glared. “You know perfectly well what I mean. And it’s not at all helpful to tease me about it.” Her voice caught; swinging around, she quickly crossed to the balustrade.
Eyes narrowing, Philip watched her, then followed at a more leisurely pace. When he stopped beside her, she was staring into the darkness, her hands clasped tightly before her. “I vaguely recall having this conversation before. While I’m naturally flattered that you persist in thinking me omniscient, I must confess that what you apparently find obvious is very frequently far from obvious to me.”
She hesitated, then slowly turned to face him.
Antonia met his gaze with one of her very direct looks. What she saw in his eyes reassured her. “I—” She broke off, frowning, then, lifting her head, swung to face the gardens. “I find the...sensations of waltzing with you so distracting that I... In short, I cannot be sure I will not commit some indiscretion.”
Tilting his head, Philip studied her face. “While waltzing?”
Her gaze on the shadows, Antonia nodded.
A slow smile broke across Philip’s face. Then he recalled that he did not always read her aright. “I take it,” he said, carefully composing his features, “that you would not feel...compelled to indiscretion while waltzing with anyone else?”
Antonia frowned at him. “Of course not.” She studied his face. “I had thought I could cope but...” She gestured vaguely.
Philip caught her hand; he waited until she met his eyes before raising it to his lips. He paused, studying her wide eyes, aware of the slim fingers resting in his, aware of the demon too close to his surface. “Geoffrey said you had told him he could trust my advice unreservedly.” He raised a brow. “Will you, too, place your trust in me?”
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 slide 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 past eight years?”
Antonia’s eyes flashed. “And which of us, my lord, has any previous experience of our current relationship?”
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.”
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 c
heck 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.
The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable WifeA Lady by Day Page 18