The Lady By His Side(8)

She couldn’t remember him ever holding her hand before—not in the way he just had, where the gesture was more than just part of a polite greeting.

When he’d squeezed her fingers and smiled at her, something inside her had shifted, and she’d felt as if the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. She’d looked into his face, into his eyes, and without Lucilla or Prudence or any of the others of their group around, had, for the very first time, seen him clearly.

She’d seen him as a man—a man she inexplicably, but utterly undeniably, wanted.

That degree of want—sharp, direct, and absolute—had never struck her before.

That it had struck her over him, of all the males in the ton…

“Hmm, my darling daughter…”

Antonia turned to regard her mother, who had sunk onto the window seat once more. Like Antonia, she’d been staring unseeing at the closed door.

As Antonia watched, Francesca’s emerald eyes narrowed, then her mother turned her bright gaze full force on her.

“I think, my dear, that you would do well to use this time away from us all to think of what you wish to do with your life.” Francesca’s expression was serious. “We have never pressed you to marry and will not, now or in the future. All decisions must be your own, but as you are twenty-nine, and with this first excursion on your own, it seems an appropriate time to dwell on what you wish your life to be.”

Antonia smiled faintly. “Great minds, Mama—I had planned to do precisely that.” And she had. But now…

With a slight shrug, she bent and picked up her embroidery hoop. “With Sebastian going and Drake’s mission to deal with, I’ll have to see what prospects for contemplation remain.”



* * *



Withers had materialized in the front hall and handed Sebastian his cane. He’d taken it with a word of thanks and, once Withers had opened the door, had gone quickly down the steps, walked along to Park Street, and set off for Arthur’s, where he had a luncheon appointment with friends.

As he walked, at first, he congratulated himself on successfully negotiating his entrée to the house party. Yet the farther he strode, niggling questions squirmed into his brain and dispelled his smugness. Antonia hadn’t been at all thrilled at the prospect of him acting as her escort. They’d known each other forever, so why?

He wasn’t a coxcomb, yet there was no question that he ranked among the most highly eligible bachelors in the haut ton. Having him by her side wouldn’t hurt her social standing one whit. Why, then, her reluctance?

Was she intending to conduct some illicit romance at Pressingstoke Hall?

The idea stopped him in his tracks—until a gentleman who had been stumping along in his wake poked him in the back, and with a muttered apology, he started off again.

For half a block, the prospect of Antonia, who was twenty-nine and unmarried after all, plotting some seedy affair played havoc with his faculties, but then reality reasserted itself. If she had been planning any such thing, gaining her agreement to having him as her escort would have been much harder.

With that resolved, his wits settled, and his mind moved on to the more important question of why she’d changed her mind—of what in the situation had swayed her to his cause. He always found it helpful to understand the motivations of those he needed to manage.

He revisited her questions and her reactions to his answers and confirmed that, as he’d anticipated, his mention of the “safety of the realm” had paved the way, even though it had taken her a while to admit it, even to herself. She was an earl’s daughter; responding to the call of duty came as naturally to her as it did to him.

But there’d been something else, some other strand in her ruminations. Those questions over why she couldn’t act as Drake’s surrogate herself…she’d known the answers, yet still she’d asked.

Insight bloomed lamp-like in his mind. She intended to actively assist, of course—that was the final lure for her, the prospect of dabbling in intrigue.

He pondered that as he waited to cross Piccadilly.

Once across the busy street and nearing Arthur’s, he concluded that, while Antonia attempting to actively help him in what was really a very simple and straightforward mission might prove a trifle annoying, if the prospect of engaging in an intrigue had cleared his way over attending the house party, then dealing with her efforts to involve herself was a small price to pay.

He’d reached the pavement in front of Arthur’s when, unbidden, the image of Antonia’s face as she’d smiled radiantly up at him filled his mind.

He halted as recollection poured through him.