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 know,” he glibly stated, holding her before him and gazing down into suddenly wide eyes, “that I’m completely satisfied that your peculiar ability to communicate with the equine species operates even when you’re not perched upon their backs.”
Antonia continued to stare at him blankly. Reluctantly, Philip released her.
“You—” Antonia blinked wildly. It was an effort to summon not only her voice but the indignation she felt sure she should feel. Breathless, she continued, “Do you mean to say that today was a...a test?”
Philip smiled condescendingly. “My dear Antonia, I know of your talents—it seemed rational to test them. Now I know they’re sound, there seems little doubt you’ll prove a star pupil.”
Antonia blinked again—and wished there was some phrase in his speech to which she could take exception. In the end, she drew herself up and fixed him with a direct and openly challenging stare. “I assume, my lord, that when we go out tomorrow, you’ll permit me to get above a trot?”
The subtle smile that played about his lips did quite peculiar things to her nerves. “I wouldn’t suggest you reach for the whip just yet, my dear.”
* * *
“WELL! THAT SEEMED a most successful outing.” Henrietta turned from the window high above the drive, having watched her stepson and niece until they’d disappeared into the hall below.
“That’s as may be.” Trant continued to fold linens, laying them neatly on the bed. “But I’d reserve judgement if I was you. Early days yet to read anything into things like simple drives in the countryside.”
“Phooh!” Henrietta waved the objection aside. “Ruthven rarely drives ladies—let alone lets them drive him. Of course it means something.”
Trant merely sniffed.
“It means,” Henrietta went on, “that our plan has real promise. We must ensure they spend as much time in each other’s company as possible—with as little distraction as we can manage.”
“You’re planning on encouraging them to be alone?” Trant voiced her query with a suitably hesitant air.
Henrietta snorted. “Antonia is twenty-four, after all—hardly a green girl. And whatever Ruthven’s reputation, he has never, to my certain knowledge,
