The Trouble with Virtue: A Comfortable Wife / A Lady By Day. Stephanie Laurens

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      CHAPTER THREE

      “AH—I WONDERED WHO was attacking my rose bushes.”

      Startled in the act of lopping off a developing rose-hip with a buccaneer-like swipe, Antonia jumped. Half turning, she glanced reprovingly at Philip as he descended the steps to the walk. “Your rose bushes, my lord, are running to seed. Not at all the thing.” With a decisive click, she removed another deadhead.

      She had spent the morning inscribing invitations for the fête-champêtre. In the silence of the afternoon, with Henrietta napping, she had taken to the gardens. After their ride that morning, she hadn’t expected to see Philip before dinner.

      Smiling lazily, Philip strolled towards her. “Henrietta mentioned you were easing her burden by taking things in hand around the house. Am I to take it you intend to personally deal with anything you discover running to seed around here?”

      Poised to pluck a half-opened rose, the delicate bloom cradled in her hand, Antonia froze. Philip had halted a bare foot away; she could feel his gently teasing gaze on her half-averted face. Catching her breath, surreptitiously, she hoped, she looked up and met his eyes. “As to my personal interest, I rather suspect it depends on the subject. However,” she said, turning back and carefully snipping the rose, “as far as the garden is concerned, I intend speaking with your head gardener immediately.” She laid the bloom in the basket on her arm, then looked up. “I take it you don’t disapprove of my...” she gestured gracefully “...impertinence?”

      Philip’s smile deepened. “My dear Antonia, if acting as chatelaine can be termed impertinent, you may be as impertinent as you please. Indeed,” he continued, one brow rising, his gaze sweeping her face, “I find it distinctly reassuring to see you thus employed.”

      For an instant, Antonia met his gaze, then, with the slightest inclination of her head, turned and glided along the path. Reassuring? Because, as she hoped, he saw such actions as evidence of her wifely skills? Or because she might, conceivably, make his unfettered existence more comfortable?

      “The design of your gardens is unusual,” she said, glancing back to find him strolling in her wake like a predator on her trail. “I’ve studied both contemporary and classical landscapes—yours seems a combination of both.”

      Philip nodded. “The fact that the lake and stream are so distant from the house rendered the usual water features ineligible. Capability Brown saw it as a challenge.” His eyes met Antonia’s. “One he couldn’t resist.”

      “Indeed?” Inwardly cursing the breathlessness that seemed to afflict her whenever he was near, Antonia halted beside a clump of cleomes. “To my mind, he’s succeeded in moulding the raw ingredients into a veritable triumph. The vistas are quite enchanting.” Setting aside her basket, she bent over the clump of soft white flowers, selecting and snipping two stems for her collection.

      Beside her, Philip stood transfixed, his gaze on an unexpected but thoroughly enchanting vista. Antonia shifted, then straightened; Philip quickly lifted his gaze to the neat row of conifers bordering the sunken garden. “Yes,” was all he could think of to say.

      Antonia threw him a swift, slightly suspicious look; he promptly smiled charmingly down at her. “Have you been through the peony walk?”

      “Not for a few days.”

      “Come, walk with me there—it’s always a pleasant route.”

      Antonia hesitated, then acquiesced. Together, they climbed the steps from the sunken garden, then turned into the narrow hedged walk where peonies of every description filled beds on either side of the flags. Although past their best, the plants were still blooming, displaying splashes of white and all shades of maroon against glossy green leaves. The path had been laid like a stream, gently twisting; here and there, small specimen trees grew, no longer in blossom but adding interest with their foliage.

      They strolled in companionable silence, stopping intermittently to admire the extravagant displays. Antonia paused to examine the blooms carried on one long stem; Philip watched the subtle play of her thoughts rippling through her expression.

      She was, on the one hand, so very familiar—on the other, so startlingly different.

      He had almost grown accustomed to the change in her voice, to the husky undertone he found so alluring. Her eyes, a complex medley of greens and golds, had not altered but her gaze, although still direct, seemed more deeply assured. As for the rest of her, that had certainly changed. There was poise, now, where before had been youthful hedonism; elegant grace had replaced a young girl’s haste.

      His gaze caressed her hair, glinting golden in the sunlight; he was prepared to accept that it was still as long and thick as he recalled. The curves that filled her muslin gown were, however, an entirely new development—a thoroughly distracting development.

      Her head used to barely reach his shoulder, yet when she turned, Philip found his lips level with her forehead.

      Bare inches away.

      His gaze dropped and met hers, wide and, he realised, somewhat startled. Her scent wafted about him, rose, honeysuckle and some essence he could not name.

      Her gaze trapped in his, Antonia caught her breath, only to find she could not release it. Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to tear her eyes from the darkening grey of his, she stood before him, feeling like a canary staring at a cat.

      Smoothly, Philip stepped back. “It’s СКАЧАТЬ