His jaw ached, as did the rest of him; experience was not enough to hide his frustration. He concentrated on keeping still—he had no intention of moving until the dangerous moment had passed, until the compulsion driving them both had faded.
Antonia had no breath with which to answer. Her heart was still thudding in her ears. For a long moment, she simply held his gaze, wondering dazedly how much he could see. Had he noticed how unrestrained her ardour had been—how wantonly she had kissed him? Was the aching need still pulsing within her visible in her eyes?
She could only pray it wasn't.
Stunned, staggered, shocked beyond measure, she felt heat rise to her cheeks. When he raised one brow, she recalled his question and forced herself to nod. Then blushed even more.
"We've got to go back." Once more in control, Philip forced his arms from her and caught her hand.
"Back?" Before she could say more, Antonia found herself towed unceremoniously back to her horse. Recollections returning, her mind was awhirl. "But—"
With a muted snarl, Philip rounded on her, trapping her with her back against her horse. He towered over her, muscles locked, jaw clenched, his eyes a steely grey. "Antonia—do you want to be ravished here and now?"
She actively considered the question—then caught herself and blushed furiously. She felt like sinking. The effort it took to make herself shake her head was even more damning.
"Then we go back," Philip said through clenched teeth. "Immediately." He grasped her waist and tossed her up to her saddle, then pulled her reins free and threw them up to her. In seconds, he had Pegasus free and was mounting.
Without further words, he led the way back to the Manor.
As the miles sped past, Antonia's memory cleared; by the time they reached the Manor, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glittering.
They pulled up in the stableyard, but no one came running. Philip glanced about, then remembered he had given the stablehands permission to visit the local inn in compensation for their sterling efforts in organising another of Antonia's entertainments—pony rides for the younger children, with a series of low jumps in the nearest paddock for the older children to attempt. Smothering an oath, he dismounted. "We'll have to take care of the horses ourselves."
Her lips compressed, Antonia kicked free of her stirrups, slid down from her perch—and rounded on him.
"After accusing me of attempting to seduce you, you expect me to—?'' Words failed her; her eyes blazed. With a smothered scream, she flung her reins at his head, swung on her heel and marched out of the yard.
Chapter Five
Seducing him? As if that was possible.
Smothering a snort, Antonia dragged her brush through her thick wavy hair. Sunshine streamed in through her bedchamber window; the morning breeze came with it, bringing the crisp tang of grass and dew-washed greenery. The day of the fete had dawned bright and clear; unable to sleep, she had risen and donned her sprig muslin, then sat down to tend her curls.
And consider how best to deal with her host.
She might have tried to make him notice her, she might have tried to make him see her as a potential wife. But to accuse her of seducing him?
"Hah!" Frowning direfully at the mirror, she gritted her teeth and ruthlessly dealt with a tangle. She was not such a scheming female!
The very notion that a lady such as she, of severely restricted experience, could seduce a gendeman of his vast and, she had no doubt, varied background, was ludicrous. None of the seducing that had been done to date could be laid at her door.
She knew very well who had been seducing whom.
Those moments in the woods had opened her eyes; until then she had been too distracted by her reactions, too caught up with suppressing them, to focus on what drew them forth. Now she knew. The Lord only knew what she was going to do about it.
The hand holding her brush stilled; Antonia studied the face that looked back at her from her mirror, the trim figure displayed therein. It had never occurred to her that Philip, with all the accommodating ladies of the ton from whom to choose, would fix any real part of his interest on her
She had thought to be his wife but had envisaged he would feel nothing beyond mere affection for her—that and the lingering warmth of long-standing friendship. That was what she had expected, what she had steeled herself to accept—the position of a conventional wife.
His actions in the woods suggested she had miscalculated.
He wanted her—desired her. A delicious thrill ran through her. For an instant, she savoured it, then, frowning again, resumed her brushing. A serious problem had surfaced with his ardour—namely, hers. Or, more specifically, how, given a gentleman's expectations of his wife, she was supposed to keep her feelings hidden or, at the very least, acceptably disguised.
The door opened; Nell walked in, stopping in amazement at the sight of her.
"Great heavens! And here I'd thought to wake you."
Antonia brushed more vigorously. "There's still a lot to do—I don't wish to be rushed at the last."