Antonia shivered as he released her hand.
Holding her with no more than his gaze, Philip lowered his head one last time, barely touching his lips to hers. "Sleep well, my dear. I'll see you next in London."
She drew back, wide-eyed and, he thought, wondering. Then she inclined her head and slowly turned away. He let her go, watching as she retreated into his house, to spend the night under his roof, as she would from now on.
The smile on his lips slowly fading, Philip turned back to the lawns. After a moment, he grimaced feelingly, then descended the steps; hands in his pockets, he strode into the cool night.
Chapter Seven
"There's a message arrived for you, m'lord. Up from the Manor."
Seated in a wing-chair in his library, Philip waved Car-ring, his major-domo, forward. After spending an afternoon about town, calling in at his club and spending an hour at Manton's, he had retreated to his library secure in the knowledge that few of his peers had yet quit their summer hunting grounds. The continuing fine weather gave little incentive for returning to town before the round of balls and parties that made up the Little Season. Which meant Antonia would have a relatively quiet few weeks in which to gain her balance.
The silver salver Carring presented held a note addressed in Banks's finicky script. Frowning, Philip picked it up and unfolded it. He read Banks's few lines, then swore. "The damned woman's finally made up her mind!"
"Is that good news or bad news, m'lord?" Carring held himself correctly by his master's side, his lugubrious tone absolving his query of any hint of impertinence.
Philip considered the point, eyeing Banks's missive with distaste. "Both," he eventually replied. "It means that at long last we'll be able to close the sale of Lower Farm. Unfortunately, Mrs Mortingdale wants to see me in person over the matter of certain unspecified assurances." Exasperated, he sighed. "I'll have to go back." He glanced at the clock. "Not tonight. Tell Hamwell to have the greys ready at first light—wake me before then."
If he took the Brighton road, he could reach the Manor by midday; if luck was with him, he might be free of the vacillating widow in time to make the trip back that evening.
"Very good, m'lord." Caning, ponderously round and suited all in black, unhurriedly headed for the door. There, he turned, his hand on the knob. “Am I to take it, my lord, that her ladyship and her visitors will still be arriving tomorrow?"
"They will." Philip's tones were clipped. "Make sure all is ready."
Carring's brows ros
e fractionally as he turned away. "Naturally, m'lord."
Contrary to his plans, it was early afternoon two days hence before Philip returned to Grosvenor Square.
Carring helped him out of his greatcoat. "I take it the business of Lower Farm was successfully completed, m'lord?"
"Finally." Resetthng his coat, Philip turned to the hall minor to check his cravat. “Her ladyship and the Mannerings arrived yesterday?''
"Indeed, m'lord. I comprehend their journey passed without incident."
"No highwaymen—not even a scheming landlord to chouse us over the reckoning."
Turning, Philip beheld Antonia, a vision in soft turquoise muslin floating down the stairs. A stray sunbeam lancing through the fanlight struck golden gleams from her hair. “I should hope not," he said, moving forward to meet her. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss across her fingers. "I presume my coachman and grooms took good care of you?"
Antonia raised a brow. "Of all of us. But what of you? Did the widow eventually weaken?"
"She finally came to her senses." Tucking her hand in his arm, Philip turned her down the corridor. "However, nothing would do for it but that she had to see me in person so that I could give her an assurance—word of a gentleman—that I would keep her farm labourers on."
As he opened the door to the back parlour and handed her through, Antonia mused, "Actually, that seems rather wise—and kind of her, too."
Philip hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "But I would have kept them on anyway. As it was, her summons meant I wasn't here to greet you. It appears I'm fated to return to my house to find you gracing my hall."
He shut the door behind them. Antonia slanted him a questioning glance as he came to stand beside her. "Do you find that so disturbing?"
Philip looked down into her green-gold eyes. "Disturbing?” For all his experience, he felt his senses slide. Taking firm hold of his wits, he clasped his hands behind his back. "On the contrary." His lips curved in a deliberately provocative smile. "That's precisely the result I'm aiming for. In this particular case, however, I had looked forward to welcoming you on your first evening in London."
Antonia smiled back. “We would hardly have been scintillating company." Calmly, she strolled to the chaise before the windows. “Henrietta retired immediately. Geoffrey and I had an early dinner and followed her upstairs." With a swish of her skirts, she settled on the flowered chintz.
"And this morning?" Gracefully, Philip sat beside her, neither overly close nor yet greatly distant. "I have difficulty believing you slept until noon."
"No, indeed." Antonia's smile grew gently teasing. “Geoffrey and I did discuss riding in the Park—he was sure you wouldn't mind if we raided your stable. But I convinced him to wait for your return."