"So," he said, coming up with her as she removed her bonnet. "You're bound for Lady Griswald's tonight?*'

Still avoiding his gaze, Antonia nodded. "A musical soiree, as I said. Hordes of innocently reticent young ladies pressed to entertain the company with their musical talents." Looking down, she unbuttoned her gloves. "Not, I believe, your cup of tea."

Her words stung; ruthlessly, Philip clamped down on his reaction, shocked by its strength. His polite mask firmly in place, he waited, patiently, beside her-and let the silence stretch.

Eventually, she glanced up at him, haughty wariness in her eyes.

Trapping her gaze, he smiled-charmingly. "I hope you enjoy yourself, my dear."

Briefly, her eyes scanned his, then, stiffly, she inclined her head. "I hope your evening is equally enjoyable, my lord."

With that she glided away; regally erect, she climbed the stairs.

Philip watched her ascend, then turned to his library, his smile converting to a wry grimace. He was too old a hand to try to melt her ice; he'd wait for the thaw.

Chapter Ten

Three nights later, the atmosphere was still sub-zero.

Following Henrietta and Geoffrey up Lady Caldecott's stairs, Antonia on his arm, Philip cast a jaundiced glance over the crowd about them. Their first two evenings of the Little Season had been spent at mere parties, relatively quiet affairs at which the guests had concentrated on catching up with the summer's developments rather than actively embarking on any new intrigues. Lady Caldecott's Grand Ball marked the end of such simple entertainments.

They had yet to gain the ballroom door, but at least three of his peers had already taken due note of Antonia, serenely beautiful if somewhat tense by his side. Even at a distance, he could detect the gleam in their eyes. He didn't need to look to know she presented a stunning spectacle, garbed in another of Lafarge's creations, a shimmering sheath of pale gold silk trimmed at neckline and hem with delicate lace edged with tiny pearls. Despite his intentions, his eyes were drawn to where her mother's pearls lay about her throat, their priceless sheen matched by her ivory skin.

She glanced up, cool distance in her gaze. "It's dreadfully crowded. I hope Henrietta will manage."

Philip's gaze flicked forward to where Henrietta doggedly stumped upwards, leaning heavily on Geoffrey's arm. "I think you'll discover she's made of stern stuff. She won't wilt in this climate."

Antonia hoped he was right. The crowd was dense, the press of bodies up the stairs disconcerting. It was her first experience of this degree of enthusiasm. "Is this what they term a 'crush'?" Glancing up, she surprised an arrogant, almost aggressive look on Philip's face. It disappeared as he looked down at her.

"Indeed." Philip shackled the urge to draw her closer. "The epitome of every hostess's ambitions. That said, I suspect Lady Caldecott has overstepped her mark. Her ballroom, I hesitate to inform you, is not this," he gestured at the crowd surging about them, "large."

The accuracy of his prediction was confirmed when, fifteen cramped minutes later, they passed down the receiving line and gained the ballroom.

Henrietta, too short to see beyond the shoulders surrounding them, jabbed Geoffrey in the arm. "There should be a group of three or four chaises somewhere about. Where?"

Geoffrey lifted his head.

"To the left," Philip said.

"Good! That's where my set will gather. You," Henrietta poked Geoffrey again, “can escort me there and then you may take yourself off. As for you two-" she cast a glance at Philip and Antonia "-you'll have to take care cf yourselves." Henrietta smiled, decidedly smug. "In this crush, we'll never find each other-you can fetch me when it's time to leave."

Philip's brows rose but he made no demur. He bowed gracefully. "As you wish, ma'am."

Antonia bobbed a curtsy. Henrietta shuffled into the crowd and was immediately lost to sight. As Philip resettled her hand on his sleeve, Antonia looked about, taking stock of her first Grand Ball. Silks and satins, ribbons and lace, paraded before her. A hundred voices were raised in avid chatter; perfumes drifted and mingled into a heady haze, wafting as bejeweled ladies nodded and curtsied. Elegant gentlemen in superbly cut evening coats inclined their heads; comforted by the hardness of Philip's arm beneath her hand, Antonia smiled coolly back.

"Before we go any further," Philip said, interrupting her reconnaissance, "I would be greatly obliged if you would write my name in your card against the first waltz." A number of gentlemen were headed their way.

Antonia looked up at him. "The first waltz?"

Philip nodded. "Your first waltz." There had been only cotillions, quadrilles and country dances over the past two nights; he was determined her first waltz in the capital would be his.

Reading as much in his eyes, Antonia resigned herself to the inevitable. Lips compressed, she opened the small card Lady Caldecott had handed her. The first waltz was the third dance; under Philip's watchful eye, she duly inscribed his name in the space beside it-then showed him the card.

He actually read it before nodding. Antonia set her teeth. She would have caught his eye and glared-she was distracted by Hugo Satterly who appeared through the ranks before them.

"A great pleasure to welcome you to town, Miss Mannering." Hugo bowed with ready grace, his pleasant smile creasing his face.

He was but the first to express that sentiment. To Antonia's surprise, they were rapidly surrounded by a select group of elegant gentlemen, none of whom bore any relation to her relatively innocuous, easy-to-manage cavaliers of the past weeks. These gentlemen were all contemporaries of Philip's, many his friends, smoothly claiming his offices in making the introductions. At first, she wondered if it was he rather than she with whom they had stopped to chat. They were, however, assiduous in claiming the blank spaces in her dance card; long before the first cotillion, her card was gratifyingly full.

Surrounded by broad shoulders, she waited for the musicians to start up, not entirely sure if she was relieved or otherwise when her circle of gentlemen plainly set themselves to entertain her. Philip, however, large and relatively silent by her side, gave her no hint he saw anything remarkable in their attentions; lifting her chin, Antonia smiled graciously on her would-be cavaliers.

A lull in the conversation brought Hugo Satterley's voice to her ears; he was standing beyond Philip-a quick glance confirmed it was to Philip he spoke.

“Meant to thank you for coming out that night-dashed awkward, but it saved my hide."

Philip's eyes narrowed. "If I'd known it was simply a matter of making a fourth at whist I wouldn't have set foot beyond my door. From your note, I'd imagined some life-threatening situation."

Hugo opened his eyes wide. "If you think engaging oneself to entertain the Bishop of Worcester and then finding oneself one short for the table isn't life-threatening, you know nothing of the Bishop. Can't tell you how grateful I was to be saved from excommunication."

Philip's snort was drowned by the summoning of the violins.

"Ah!" Eyes brightening, Hugo turned to Antonia. "My dance, I believe, Miss Mannering?"

Antonia smiled and gave him her hand. Hugo deftly cleared a path onto the dance floor; while they waited for the rest of the company to find places in the sets, Antonia turned to him. "I overheard your comment on the Bishop of Worcester. Was it recently you entertained His Grace?''

"Just the other night." Hugo grimaced. "Deuced awkward, but I had to do it-he's m'godfather, you know. He'd received a summons from his sister, Lady Griswald, to some musical affair. Old man's tone deaf-virtually ordered me to rescue him."

Antonia's eyes widened. "I see." She managed a weak smile. She'd returned from Lady Griswald's to find Philip absent; that night had been the first on which she'd declined her nightcap.

"At last!" Hugo held out his hand as the music for the cotillion began.

Antonia had danced countless cotillions in recent weeks; habit, she was certain, was all that kept her twirling in the right direction. A horrible suspicion had taken root in her mind; as it grew, a sinking sensation swelled inside her. She was relieved when, at the cotillion's end, Hugo returned her to Philip's side. Unfortunately, a gavotte with Lord Dewhurst followed virtually immediately. Raising her from her final curtsy, his lordship guided her around the room. After passing some time in idle, on her part disjointed, conversation, they finally came up with Philip; her heart sank when she saw the steely look in his eyes.

Reclaiming Antonia's hand, Philip settled it on his sleeve then caught Lord Dewhurst's eye. "I believe, Dewhurst, that our hostess is searching for you."

"Heh?" Jerked from contemplation of Antonia's smile, Lord Dewhurst focused on Philip's face. His expression turned to one of dismay. "Don't say that. Dash it all-this is what comes of letting on I'm on the look-out for a wife." Openly chagrined, he confided to Antonia, "If her ladyship's after me, it'll mean she's got some protégée that she wants me to look over. I'll have to take refuge in the card-room."

His features impassive, Philip scanned the crowds. "If her ladyship's on the prowl, I wouldn't waste any time."

Lord Dewhurst sighed and bowed over Antonia's hand. "Dashed shame. But no doubt we'll meet at the next ball, Miss Mannering." With a hopeful smile, he straightened. "I'll look forward to furthering our acquaintance."

Antonia smiled with what grace she could muster; his lordship turned away, his eyes on her to the last. Lord Marbury stepped in, keen to engage her attention.