clicked the reins; the horses, a pair of perfectly matched greys, lunged.
Her shriek lodged in her throat. Philip’s arm locked about her; his other hand descended over hers as she grappled with the reins. The curricle rattled down the drive, not yet fast but with the greys lengthening their stride. The next seconds passed in total confusion—by the time she had the horses under control and pacing, restless but aware of her authority at the other end of the ribbons, Antonia was more rattled than she had ever been in her life before.
She shot Philip a fiery glance but could not—dared not—take exception to the steely arm anchoring her safely to his side. And despite the urge to tell him just what she thought of his tactics, she felt ridiculously grateful that he had not, in fact, taken control, but had let her wrestle with his thoroughbreds, entrusting their soft mouths to her skill, untutored though he knew that to be.
It took several, pulse-pounding minutes before she had herself sufficiently in hand to turn her head and meet his improbably bland gaze with one of equal impassivity. “And now?”
She saw his lips twitch.
“Just follow the drive. We’ll stay in the lanes until you feel more confident.”
Antonia put her nose in the air and gave her attention to his horses. She had, as she had earlier informed him, some experience of driving a gig. Managing a dull-witted carriage horse was not in the same league as guiding a pair of high-couraged thoroughbreds. At first, the task took all her concentration; Philip spoke only when necessary, giving instructions in clear and precise terms. Only when she was convinced she had mastered the “feel”, the response of the horses to her commands, did she permit herself to relax enough to take stock.
Only then did the full import of her situation strike her.
Philip’s arm had loosened yet still lay protectively about her. Although still watchful, he sat back beside her, his gaze idly scanning the fields. They were in a lane, bordered by hedges, meandering along a rolling ridge. Glimpses of distant woods beyond emerald fields, of orchards and of willows lining streams, beckoned; Antonia saw none of them, too distracted by the sensation of the solid masculine thigh pressed alongside hers.
She drew in a deep breath and felt her breasts swell, impossibly sensitive against her fine chemise. If she’d been wearing stays, she would have been sure they were laced too tight. That left only one reason for her giddiness—the same ridiculous sensitivity that had assailed her from the first, from the moment she had met Philip in the hall. She had put it down to simple nervousness—if not that, then merely a dim shadow of the infatuation she had felt for years.
An infatuation she had convinced herself would fade when confronted with reality.
Instead, reality had taken her infatuation and turned it into—what?
A shiver threatened—Antonia struggled to suppress it.
She didn’t, in fact, succeed.
Through the arm about her, Philip felt the telltale reaction. Lazily, he studied her, his gaze shrewd and penetrating. Her attention was locked on his leader’s ears. “I’ve been thinking—about Geoffrey.”
“Oh?”
“I was wondering if, considering his age, it might not be advisable to temporarily delay his departure for Oxford. He hasn’t seen much of the world—a few weeks in London might be for the best. It would certainly put him on a more even footing with his peers.”
Her gaze on the road, Antonia frowned. After neatly if absentmindedly taking the next corner, she replied, “For myself, I agree.” She grimaced and glanced fleetingly at Philip. “But I’m not sure he will—he’s very attached to his books. And how can we argue, if the time wasted will put him behind?”
Philip’s lips curved. “Don’t worry your head about convincing him—you may leave that to me.”
Antonia shot him a glance, clearly not sure whether to encourage him or not.
Philip pretended not to notice. “As for his studies, his academic performance is, I’m sure, sufficiently strong for him to catch up a few weeks without difficulty. Where’s he going?”
“Trinity.”
“I know the Master.” Philip smiled to himself. “If you like, I’ll write and ask permission to keep him down until the end of the Little Season.”
Antonia slowed the greys in order to turn and study him. “You know the Master?”
Philip lifted a haughty brow. “Your family is not the only one with a connection to the college.”
Antonia’s eyes narrowed. “You went there?”
Philip nodded, his expression impassive as he watched her struggle with her uncertainty.
In the end, convinced there was no subtle way in which to frame her question, Antonia drew in a deep breath and asked, “And what, do you think, will be the Master’s response to such a request—from you?”
Philip met her gaze with bland incomprehension. “My dear Antonia, whatever do you mean?”
She shot him a fulminating glance, then turned back to the horses. “I mean—as you very well know—that such a request from one whose reputation is such as yours can be construed in a number of ways, not all of which the Master is likely to approve.”
Philip’s deep rumbling laughter had her setting her teeth.
“Oh, well done!” he eventually said. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
Antonia glared at him, then clicked the reins, setting the horses to a definite trot.
Philip straightened his lips. “Rest assured that my standing with the Master is sufficient that such a request will be interpreted in the most favourable light.”
The glance Antonia threw him held enough lingering suspicion to make him narrow his eyes. “I do not, dear Antonia, have any reputation for corrupting the innocent.”
She had, he noted, sufficient grace to blush.
“Very well.” Antonia nodded but kept her gaze locked on the leader. “I’ll mention the matter to Geoffrey.”
“No—leave that to me. He’ll be more receptive to the idea if I suggest it.”
Antonia knew her brother well enough not to argue. Head high, she turned the horses for home, determinedly disregarding the inward flutter Philip had managed to evoke.
After studying her profile, Philip said no more until she pulled the horses up before the front steps. Descending, he strolled leisurely around to come up beside her, meeting her watchful, slightly wary gaze with open appreciation. “A commendable first outing. To my mind, you’re still holding them a little tight in the curves but that judgement will come with practice.”
Before she could reply, he twitched the reins from her hands and tossed them to the groom who had come running from the stables. While the movement had her distracted, he closed his hands about her waist, well aware of the tension that gripped her as he lifted her down.
“You’ll be pleased to
