A Comfortable Wife

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; as 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.

Stunned, Antonia looked again; the second figure was wearing a white drab driving coat. "Merciful heavens! What are they up to?''

For five full seconds, she sat transfixed, listening to the hoofbeats grow fainter. Then, with a muttered curse, she grabbed a cloak from the wardrobe, pausing only to swing it about her shoulders before quietly opening her door.

She paid not the slightest attention to the deep shadows, to the gloom that pervaded the darkened house. Not even the suit of armour, shrouded in Stygian shadow on the landing, had the power to make her pause. Hurrying as fast as she dared, she reached the bottom of the stairs; her evening slippers skidded on the polished hall tiles. With a valiantly smothered shriek, Antonia grabbed the newel post just long enough to right herself, then, in a flurry of silk skirts, she dashed down the corridor.

Pacing before the fire in the library dutifully rehearsing his lines, Philip heard the scratch and slide of Antonia's feet on the tiles. The odd sound she made had him heading for the door. He opened it in time to see her pale skirts, visible beneath the hem of her cloak, disappear around a distant corner. Mystified, he followed.

The turning she had taken led to the garden hall; when he reached it, the door to the gardens stood wide. Frowning, wondering if, by some mischance, she had thought to meet him in the maze, Philip stepped into the night. The gardens were a mass of moonlight and shadow, the gentle breeze creating a fantastical landscape of shifting shapes. Antonia was nowhere to be seen. His frown deepening, Philip strode towards the shrubbery.

He'd reached the centre of the maze when the sound of hoofbeats and the rattle of carriage wheels reached him. For one incredulous instant, he stood stock-still, then he swore.

And ran for the stables.

Skidding to a halt in the stableyard, he caught a glimpse of his greys drawing his phaeton-his high-perch phaeton-disappearing at a rattling clip down the drive. Of the identity of the figure holding the reins he had not the slightest doubt.

Cursing fluently, Philip plunged into the dark stables.

By the time he'd saddled the chestnut he'd ridden the previous day, Antonia had a good start on him. Halting at the end of the drive, he scanned the fields-and caught sight of her, tooling his horses at a spanking pace along a straight stretch of lane hugging an already distant ridge. Jaw clenched, his face like stone, Philip set off in pursuit.

Feathering the next corner, Antonia checked the skittish greys. The road ahead was deeply shadowed; she couldn't see if there were potholes. Grimacing, she kept the reins tight as she guided the greys on, inwardly praying the horses, occasionally as devilish as their master, would behave.

Always eager, they had let her pole them up without fuss; luckily, the phaeton was so light she'd been able to manoeuvre it easily. Harnessing had taken longer but she'd forced herself to do it carefully, comforting herself with the reflection that Philip's horses would easily overtake the single beast Geoffrey had put to the gig.

It was only then, as she tightened the final buckles, that she remembered Philip, waiting for her in the library. Focused on protecting Catriona and Geoffrey, used to acting on her own, she had not, until then, considered the possibility of throwing herself on her husband-to-be's chest and demanding he fix things. Grimacing, she hesitated, only to decide she couldn't afford the time to retrace her steps and tell Philip what she'd seen. She couldn't risk Geoffrey getting too far ahead; she was certain Philip had no more idea of what was afoot than she.

Her memory replayed Geoffrey's words in the maze, the odd glance he, Catriona and Ambrose had shared as they'd prepared to retire. She had a strong suspicion her brother had guessed what was in the wind between herself and Philip-and had decided to leave them undisturbed while he and Catriona brought off whatever mad scheme they'd hatched.

Emerging from the shadowed stretch, Antonia set the greys up a long hill. Looking up, she glimpsed the gig, Geoffrey and Catriona in silhouette as they topped the rise ahead. They sank from view; with a muttered curse, Antonia clicked the reins. The gig was more stable than the phaeton; Geoffrey was not having to be as cautious as she. Despite the greys' superiority, the distance between them and the gig had not decreased.

Driving as fast as she dared, she sent the phaeton rushing up the hill. There were lanes aplenty-she had no idea which way they were headed. The thought of the likely outcome if their plans, whatever they might be, went awry, and Geoffrey and Catriona ended spending the night essentially alone, spurred her on, the spectre of the Countess as a relative-by-marriage at her back.

Pushing the greys to the limit of safety, she topped the rise, then rattled on down the slope.

Labouring in her wake, Philip had run through his repertoire of curses. While he presumed his intended had a reason for rushing off into the night, he did not, he had decided, actually care what it was. What he did care about was her safety and the sublime disregard for his tender sensibilities she was presently displaying. Gritting his teeth, he urged the chestnut on. Catching up with his greys was out of the question; all he could hope for was to keep Antonia in sight until she reached her destination.

Once he caught up with her, the rest, he felt sure, would follow naturally.

He quite clearly recalled telling her he would never consent to her risking her neck; he quite clearly recalled warning her not to even think of so doing. She had evidently not believed him.

He would make the matter plain-along with a few other points.

"All I want is to tell the damn woman that I love her!"

The wind whipped away the growled words. Gripped by frustration, Philip set the chestnut up the hill.

He pulled up at the top, briefly scanning the valley below. He saw Antonia in his phaeton-and for the first time glimpsed the carriage she was following.

"What the devil…?" Philip frowned. He was too far away to make out the figures in the gig but he could guess who they were. Shaking the reins, he took to the fields, shaving a little off Antonia's lead in the descent from the ridge. But once they gained the flat, not knowing which way they would turn, he was forced to keep to the roads.

Ahead of him, Antonia had managed to draw closer to the gig, but it was still too far distant for her to hail it. Given the state of the country lanes, she'd given up hope of catching Geoffrey this side of a main road. Having assumed his intention was to deliver Catriona to Lady Copely, she was surprised to see him check, then turn the gig under the gateway of what appeared to be an inn.

The small town the inn served lay beyond it, nestled in a hollow, its residents no doubt slumbering soundly. Perched halfway down the slope overlooking the town, the inn looked to be substantial, a solid structure in stone with a good slate roof.

Filled with relief, Antonia whipped up the greys and forged on, drawing rein only to enter the innyard.

A sleepy, middle-aged ostler was leading away the gig. His eyes widened, whether in alarm or understandable surprise Antonia had no time to wonder as she wrestled the greys to a snorting halt.

"Here-take them." She flung the reins at the ostler, grateful when he caught them. Scrambling down from the box-seat with what decorum she could, she added, "And…er…do whatever needs to be done. They're quite valuable."

"Aye, mum." Stupefied, the ostler nodded.

Waiting for no more, Antonia hurried into the inn. The door was unlatched; there was no sign of the host but a lighted candle stood on a wooden table at the back of the hall. Her attention caught by wavering light from above, Antonia glanced up the dark stairwell in time to see shadows, thrown by candlelight, flung up against a wall. The shadows disappeared as their owners continued down one of the upstairs corridors.

Antonia grabbed the candle from the table and followed.

When she gained the head of the stairs, there was no one in sight. Following the corridor she was sure Geoffrey and Catriona had taken, she paused outside each door to place her ear against the panel. She heard nothing more than snores and snorts until she came to the last door, right at the end of the corridor.

Gruff voices rose and fell; others spoke but she could not make out their words. Antonia frowned-then glanced at the door to her right. Ear against the panel, she listened carefully but no sound came from within. Holding her breath, she gently eased the latch free. Pushing the door open, she warily raised her candle.

The room was empty. With a sigh of relief, she whisked herself in and shut the door firmly. Glancing about, she saw another door, set into the wall shared with the last room- the one on which she wished to eavesdrop. Thanking her stars, she set the candle down on a tallboy and gently eased the door open.

Beyond lay a small space, the space between the thick walls, bound by another door. As the voices beyond reached her easily, Antonia surmised this last door opened directly into the room at the end of the corridor.

"I knows as how that was what you asked for, but, like Josh here said, it ain't what you're getting."

The owner of the gruff voice sounded the opposite of refined. He also sounded smugly threatening. Antonia heard Geoffrey answer but her brother's accents were too measured, too controlled, for her to catch what he said. Grimacing, she carefully gripped the knob of the door; breath bated, she turned it until she felt the latch give, then eased the door open the merest fraction.

"Ain't no point arguing no more," came a second, very deep, distinctly menacing voice. “The whelp over there got us here-you've heard our price. T'my way of fhinkin', it's take it or leave it."

A whispered conference was the result. Carefully releasing the knob, Antonia leaned as close as she dared to the open door, her senses straining to pick up her brother's and Catriona's words.

A hand came over her shoulder, fastening over her mouth; an arm slid about her waist, hauling her back, locking her against a very large, very hard, definitely masculine body.

Eyes starting from her head, Antonia went rigid.

Then relaxed-and tugged at the hand over her lips.

Philip eased his hold, bending his head to growl directly into her ear, "What the devil are you doing here?"

Antonia ignored his tone-and all it promised. Pressing her head back into his shoulder, she managed to catch his eye-she decided to ignore the fury she saw there, too. With her own eyes, she indicated the room beyond the door. "Listen," she mouthed.

“My friend here hired you-you agreed on a sum to take us to London."

Antonia's eyes widened. She tugged again at Philip's hand. "That was Mr Fortescue."

Philip flicked her a warning glance. "Shh."

"Aye, that we did," came in gloating tones. "But that was afore we realized there'd be a young miss making one of your party. The way we figures it, now we knows the score, is that it's got to be worth a great deal more to you to make the trip to Lunnon. What with the pretty young miss an' all."

"Mind," came in the other, even more disturbing voice. "If n you're pressed for the ready, there's likely other ways we'd agree to take our cut."

Antonia suppressed a shiver.

The suggestion gave rise to a muted discussion centred on the far end of the room.

A long-suffering sigh distracted Antonia. Glancing up and back, she saw Philip close his eyes fleetingly. When he opened them, Antonia saw his jaw firm. Before she could speak, he lifted her bodily and set her back against the narrow side wall of the tiny space they shared.

"Stay there." His eyes boring into hers, Philip put all the dire warning he could into his necessarily muted tones. "Do not move."

"What-?" "And be quiet!"

Suppressing the urge to sniff disdainfully, Antonia did as he said.

Settling his coat with a deft flexing of his shoulders, Philip grasped the door knob and calmly walked into the room.

As he had surmised, the two hulking coachmen had their backs to him; beyond, a quartet of surprised faces stared at him, thoroughly stunned. The door had been well-oiled; no squeak had given him away. The room was furnished with a large square rug, muting the sound of his footsteps. The villainous coachmen had not heard him.

Predictably, Geoffrey was the first to find his wits. Shifting his gaze back to the coachmen, he glibly stated, "Actually, I don't think you've quite taken our measure. We have powerful backers you might not care to cross."

"Ho! That's a good one," the larger of the coachmen jeered. “Very likely, that is, with you three and the young miss making your getaway in the dead of night."

"Indeed, I fear I must agree with our friend here," Philip remarked in his finest Bond Street drawl. "I must admit the point mystifies me-you'll really have to explain to me, Geoffrey, why you saw fit to haul your sister out in the dead of night."

Both coachmen froze-they exchanged sideways glances, then the heavier of the two swung about, huge fists rising. He never saw the clip that caught him on the jaw and laid him out upon the rug. The second coachman came in, arms flailing. Philip ducked, caught his assailant with hip and shoulder and threw him across the room. He landed with a resounding thud against one wall, then slid slowly down to slump on the floor.

Philip waited, but neither villain was in any condition for further argument.

"Great heavens! I never knew you boxed."

Straightening, automatically resettling his coat, Philip glanced over his shoulder; Antonia stood a mere foot behind him, a heavy candlestick in one upraised hand. Lips compressed, he reached out and took the candlestick. "I told you to stay put."

She met his gaze openly. "If you'd told me you boxed, I would have."

"My boxing prowess had not previously figured in my mind as an inducement to wifely obedience," Philip heard himself say-he had to fight an urge to close his eyes and groan.

Catriona arrived to fling herself into Antonia's arms; in the same instant, a furious pounding came on the door.

"Open up in there! This is a respectable inn, I'll have you know."

"The landlord," Geoffrey somewhat unnecessarily remarked.

Philip directed a feeling look at the ceiling. "Why me?" He didn't wait for an answer but strode to the door, indicating with one long finger that Geoffrey and Henry should pick up one comatose coachman.

As they struggled to lift their burden, Philip opened the door. "Good evening. I'm Ruthven. You, I take it, are the landlord?"

With glowing approval, Antonia listened as Philip glibly explained how his wards, never specified, and their friends had decided to return to town rather than remain at a nearby houseparty and had, for reasons he did not deign to clarify, decided to meet with the coachmen they had hired at the inn, rather than at the residence they had visited, only to be grossly deceived in the character of their hired help.

Under Philip's artful direction, the innkeeper professed all sympathy, agreeing, as they all did, that it was exceedingly fortunate that, responding to the note his wards had sent him, Philip had arrived in the nick of time to rout the villains.

By this time, the villains had been hauled out of the inn and left groaning in the ditch. Catriona, truly rattled, had been soothed.

Having arranged to hire the inn's own coach and the services of a groom and coachman, both of whom needed to be roused from their slumbers at a nearby farm, Philip repaired to the inn's parlour, where, at his suggestion, his party now waited. Shutting the door firmly on the reassured innkeeper, he swept the gathering with a jaundiced eye. “Would one of you care to explain precisely what is going on?"

As intrigued as he, Antonia glanced at the younger members of the party.

Catriona's expression instantly turned mulish. Ambrose squirmed, looking even more gormless than usual. Henry Fortescue reddened, then cleared his throat.

Geoffrey spoke first. "It's straightforward enough-or at least, our plan was. Catriona's sure Lady Copely will take her in and support her in marrying Henry."

"I remembered that Aunt Copely came to visit," Catriona put in. "Quite early on, just after I'd joined Aunt Ticehurst's household. I was banished to my room throughout but I overheard the maids saying that there'd been the most awful row. Aunt Copely must have wanted to see me-if I'd known Aunt Ticehurst didn't have any legal right to insist I stay with her, I'd have gone to Aunt Copely long ago."

"Given that," Geoffrey continued, "there didn't seem much point in going to inform Lady Copely then returning to Ticehurst Place to rescue Catriona, particularly if the gorgon was going to keep on trying to marry her to Ambrose."

"We decided that if we four all went up to town together, there'd be no question of impropriety," Henry explained. He glanced at Ambrose. "Hammersley did not wish to remain at Ticehurst Place-particularly not after their ladyships discover Catriona's disappearance. He volunteered to hire the coachmen-unfortunately, they turned out to be less than honest."

Ambrose grimaced. "Didn't want to go to any of the local places-they might have got back to Lady Ticehurst. Found a hedge-tavern-those two were the best I could find."

Philip raised a long-suffering brow.

"Never mind-as it fell out, there was no real harm done." Antonia smiled reassuringly. "Thanks to Ruthven," she added as Philip turned his gaze on her.

"Indeed, my dear-but I have yet to hear your reasons for mounting such a dangerous pursuit."

The comment focused all eyes on Antonia; realizing that none other than Philip knew she had taken his horses and phaeton, she kept her expression serenely assured. "I caught sight of Geoffrey and Catriona leaving in the gig. Naturally, not knowing their plan, I hurried after them."

Philip pondered that "naturally". "You didn't, perchance, consider informing me?"

His tone was mild, perfectly polite; Antonia sensed the 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?''

Disregarding the blush that warmed her cheeks, Antonia raised a brow back. "Your responses are questions, not answers."

Philip's lips twisted. "Imponderable questions, my love. For which the answers lie, all encompassed, in my response to your first criterion."

Antonia felt his strength reach for her, even though his hands remained about her face. His head lowered slightly, his lips hovering tantalisingly above hers. Lifting her gaze from them, she studied his eyes, watched as desire slowly pushed aside the curtain of steel, darkening his gaze. Her "My first criterion?" came on a breathless whisper.

Philip smiled; the gesture did not soften his expression. "I hoped you would know without needing to be told." His eyes held hers; his chest swelled as he drew in a steadying breath. "God-and half the ton- know I love you." He searched her eyes, then added, his voice deepening, "Unreservedly, without restraint, far more completely, deeply, madly than I suspect is at all wise."

Antonia stared back at him, the words ringing in her ears, in her head, in her heart. Her welling joy showed in her eyes; Philip bent his head and kissed her, the caress direct and deeply intimate.

When he raised his head, she had to fight for breath. "Wise?"

She watched the steel flow back into his eyes, clashing with turbulent desire. He raised one brow slowly, his jaw firming ominously.

"Indeed." His tones were suddenly clipped. "Which brings us to your escapade tonight." His hands fell from Antonia's face, only to slip about her waist.

She blinked. "That was Geoffrey's and Catriona's escapade, not mine."

Philip's eyes narrowed. "No more Mannering logic- I've heard quite enough for one night."

A log crashed in the grate, sending up a shower of sparks; with a muttered curse, Philip reluctantly released Antonia and bent to resettle the logs. Antonia glided a few steps away, out of his immediate reach. He straightened and set aside the firetongs; his eyes narrowed when he saw where she was. "I was referring to your appropriation of my phaeton."

Antonia took due note of the glint in his eye. "You did offer to let me drive it." An armchair stood conveniently before the hearth; she drifted around it.

“I offered to let you take the reins in town, on a Macadamised surface, with me on the box-seat beside you-not on a deserted country lane in the dead of night with the road obscured by shadows!" Philip stalked after her; catching her wide gaze, he transfixed her with a distinctly strait look. "See what I mean about wise?" He made the comment through set teeth. "This is what loving you does to me. I used to be calm, collected, the embodiment of gentlemanly savoir-faire, unruffled, unflappable-always in control!"

With one shove, he sent the chair sliding from between them. Eyes flaring wide, Antonia took a step back-Philip caught her by the elbows and pulled her hard against him. "This is what loving you does to me."

On the words, he kissed her-parting her lips, possessing her senses, demanding, commanding, letting passion have its say. He felt her sink against him, felt her surrender to the power that held them both, held them fast in its silken web, a web stronger than any man would willingly admit. Drawing back, he spoke against her lips. "Damn it-you could have been killed. I would have gone mad."

"Would you?" The words came on a breathy whisper.

Philip groaned. "Completely." He kissed her again, revelling in the feel of her as she pressed against him, soft warm curves fitting snugly against his much harder form, promising all manner of prospective delights. He felt desire, warm and unrestrained, rise strongly within her. Satisfied, he drew back, unable to resist dropping kisses on her eyelids and forehead.

"You're lucky the others were here when I caught up with you." His voice had deepened to a raspy growl. "I spent the last two miles thinking about putting you over my knee and ensuring you wouldn't sit any box-seat for at least the next month."

Adrift on a sea of happiness with no horizon in sight, Antonia sighed happily. "You wouldn't."

"Probably not," Philip temporised. "But it was a comforting thought at the time."

A gentle smile on her lips, Antonia drew his head back to hers and kissed him. "I promise to behave in future. I take leave to remind you this outing wasn't my idea."

"Hmm." Lifting his head, Philip studied her face. "Be that as it may, I plan on using this transgression of yours- your flight into the night-to call an abrupt halt to this peculiar hiatus of ours."

"Oh?"

"Indeed." His lips curved. "I've something of a reputation for extracting the greatest benefit from unexpected situations."

Antonia looked her question.

Philip wondered if she knew how innocent she looked. His smile twisted then fled; gently taking her face between his hands, he gazed deeply into her gold-green eyes. "I need you, my love. Despite the fact you'll turn me-my life, my emotions-upside down, I want no other." He smiled faintly. "You imagined yourself as my comfortable wife-that was impossible from the outset and I knew it." His lips twisted wryly. "It simply took me a while to acknowledge the inevitable."

His expression sobering, he held her gaze steadily. He spoke slowly, intently, his voice deep and low. "But all that's behind us-our future together starts here, now. We're already married in our hearts-married in all ways bar two. I propose we rectify that situation forthwith. We'll spend the night here-" Philip's hands shook slightly; he willed them still, unaware his gaze had darkened dramatically. The planes of his face hardened as he searched Antonia's eyes. "Don't ask me to let you go tonight. I've waited for weeks to make you mine."

He was confounded by her smile, a bewitching, beguiling, very gentle siren's smile. "I've been waiting-" Antonia declared, her voice soft, serene, her eyes meeting his directly. "I think for years-for you to do just that."

Desire bucked; Philip dragged in a shuddering breath. Very conscious of his limitations, he directed a warning glance at her. "If you could refrain from doing anything too encouraging, I'd be grateful."

She shot him a mischievous glance-Philip saw the teasing glint he loved in her eyes. The sight made him groan- just the thought of what it might mean if she brought her usual, questing mind to bear in that arena too, threatened his already overtried control.

Antonia stretched up; shifting his hands to her waist, Philip held her back. "We'll go directly to town tomorrow, given we have my phaeton. We'll stop at Ruthven House so you can change and pick up anything you want, then go straight on to the Manor. We can be married in a few days.'' He paused to draw breath, then forced himself to add, "Or wait the usual three weeks-whichever you prefer."

Antonia studied his face, his eyes, then raised one brow in open speculation. "I think I'll reserve my decision-until tomorrow." She smiled, and pressed closer. "Tonight, after all, might influence my conclusion."

Philip closed his eyes and groaned. “Is that an invitation or a threat?''

"Both."

Antonia reached up, twining her arms about his neck, stretching up to kiss him, letting her lips, her body, make her promises, purposely inviting, then inciting him to take all she had-all she was.

He did, kissing her until she was breathless, witless, filled with an unnameable longing, before tumbling her into the billows of the bed. Slowly, leisurely, he divested her of her clothes. Passion burned freely within her; she felt neither the chill of the air nor any lingering restraint.

Inevitable, he had termed it; as she lay back against the pillows and waited for him to join her. Antonia fell the rightness, the unquestionable truth, of his words. This had been destined to be. From the first.

Then he returned to her, taking her in his arms, wrapping her in a cocoon of warm desire, sating her senses with delight. The night spun about them, a wild kaleidoscope of stars and suns set spinning by passion's hand.

He held her tight, guiding her through the whirling of their senses, holding her steady, safe in his arms. He conducted her through a landscape she had never known existed, guiding her unerringly through each deepening layer of intimacy until they came together, as it was always meant to be, the ease of old friendship and long-standing love investing each caress with a significance far greater than its physical form.

Later, wrapped in the warm haven of his arms, settled against the heat of him, delicious languor in every limb, she felt his lips at her temple. The words he murmured were so low, she only just caught them.

"Tonight, tomorrow-and forever."

The note of finality in his voice set the seal on her happiness. Buoyed on its swell, Antonia slept.

Philip woke the next morning to the distracting sensation of a warm, curvaceous, silk-encased form snuggled into his side. As the silk in question was his wife-to-be's skin, his reaction was instantaneous. He glanced at her-but all he could see was a mass of golden curls fanned out on the pillow. Raising his brows, he considered his next move- and recalled a few loose ends. Carefully, he eased from the bed.

Dressing quickly, he left Antonia slumbering while he went downstairs.

He returned twenty minutes later, having dispatched the Countess's gig along with various missives, some rather longer than others, back to Ticehurst Place, only to discover Antonia still hidden beneath the covers. With a rakish grin, Philip shrugged out of his coat.

He was pulling off his shirt when he heard rustling from the bed. Looking up, he watched as Antonia blinked awake. She saw him; her lips curved in a sleepy, sated, gloriously happy smile.

Philip felt his lips curve in automatic response. Dropping the shirt on a chair, he walked to the side of the bed, his hands at his waistband.

It took a moment for Antonia's mind to clear enough to realise his clothes were coming off, rather than going on. “What are you doing?'' With an effort, she tugged her gaze all the way up to his face.

His smile made her toes curl. "I thought," he said, raising a brow in the way only he could, “that I should attend to our unfinished business without delay."

Her mind still dimmed by the aftereffects of the long night, Antonia could not divine what he meant. "I thought," she said, trying to frown as he lifted the covers and slid in beside her, "that we'd concluded things quite satisfactorily." Nagging uncertainty made her add, "Didn't we?"

His laugh was as devilish as his look.

"Indubitably." Philip rolled her into his arms, settling her against him. "However, as we have a little time, I thought it might be wise to grasp the opportunity to…" His lips trailed down her throat. "Get in a little extra persuasion-just to help you make up your mind."

"My mind?" Antonia wasn't sure it was functioning at all. "On what matter?" Her memory tended to stall, fixed on certain memorable moments of the previous evening, all the rest merging into a less interesting background haze.

"On whether we should marry sooner-" Philip bent his head to place a kiss on one pert nipple "-or later." He transferred his attention to its twin, hiding a smug grin when Antonia shifted restlessly against him.

"Ah…" Antonia tried very hard to think. "I don't believe I've yet made up my mind." As his hands fastened on her soft flesh, she was suddenly very sure of her answer. Moistening her lips, she glanced down and found Philip's eyes. "Maybe you'd better persuade me a bit more?"

Philip's eyes gleamed. "That, my love, is precisely my intention."

They returned to Ruthven House late that afternoon. Carring opened the door; Philip smiled, openly smug, when he saw his major-domo blink. A blink from Carring was the equivalent of an openmouthed stare from less controlled mortals.

With a laughing smile, Antonia hurried upstairs, as eager as he to be on their way home-to the Manor, where they both belonged. Her smile hadn't faded all morning-he'd enjoyed every minute of the time he had invested putting it on her face.

His own smile reflected his satisfaction as he stood in his hall and watched her disappear up the stairs.

“And the wedding, my lord-if I might make so bold as to enquire?"

Philip glanced at Carring. "Miss Mannering and I have reached a mutual understanding. We'll be married as soon as can be arranged."

Carring's smile held a reciprocating smugness Philip wasn't at all sure he understood.

"Very good, my lord," Carring intoned. "Might I request to be apprised of the date on which the nuptials will be celebrated?"

Philip fought a frown. "Why?"

"With your permission, my lord, I'd like to close the house on that day-so the staff can travel to the Manor to be on hand to tender their wishes to you and your lady."

Philip raised his brows. "If they wish it, by all means."

"Rest assured, my lord, we will certainly be there." Magisterially ponderous, Carring headed for the baize door. "Indeed, I have long looked forward to throwing rice at your wedding."

The baize door swung closed before Philip could think of a suitable reply. Eyes narrowed, he glared at the door-and wondered how good Carring's aim might be.

Antonia's breathless return distracted him; he forgot the matter entirely-until the moment, three days hence, when, with Antonia radiant on his arm, he left the safety of the door of the local church to brave a positive hail of rice.

One particular handful hit him on the back of his head; the grains quickly slid down beneath the folds of his cravat.

Philip swore beneath his breath. He wriggled his shoulders to no avail. Glancing back, he searched the crowd- and located Carring, a wide grin on his face.

An answering grin transformed Philip's face. The carriage, bedecked with flowers, stood before them. He pulled Antonia to him; to the cheers of their well-wishers, he kissed her soundly, then lifted her up to the carriage.

Carring, as always, had had the last word; as he followed his wife into the carriage, Philip decided he didn't care in the least.

He glanced at Antonia, gloriously happy as she waved to their friends.

She was the wife he wanted, the wife he needed-not the comfortable wife she had thought to be but one to keep him on his toes.

Smiling proudly, Philip settled back against the squabs, his gaze firmly fixed on his wife.

His thirty-fifth year would be one he'd remember; he was, he discovered, looking forward, not just to the next, but to all the rest of his life.