Beneath her fingers, she could feel the strength in Philip's arm; as their shoulders brushed, awareness of him enveloped her. Like a well-remembered scent laid down in her memories, he was part of her at some deep, uncomprehended level. And just like such a scent, she longed to capture and hold him, his attention, his affection, precisely as laid down in her mind.

"There you are!"

They halted; turning, they saw Geoffrey striding towards them. "You've been with your books barely an hour," Antonia exclaimed.

"Time enough." Grinning, Geoffrey joined them in the middle of the formal garden. "The three grande dames are snoring fit to shake the rafters."

"Good." Philip shifted his gaze to Catriona as she and Ambrose, alerted by Geoffrey's appearance, joined them. "It's time, I believe, that we headed for the shrubbery."

"The shrubbery?" Ambrose frowned. "Why there?"

"So that Miss Dalling can meet with Mr Fortescue and help him with his plan to apply to Lady Copely for aid."

"Henry?" Catriona's eyes blazed. "He's here?" Her die-away dismals dropped from her like a cloak; eyes sparkling, colour flowing into her cheeks, she positively vibrated with suppressed energy. "Where?"

Gesturing towards the shrubbery, Philip raised a cynical brow. "We'll meet him shortly. However, remembering your aunt's servitors-namely the gardener over there-" with a nonchalant wave he indicated a man on a ladder clipping a weeping cherry "-I suggest you restrain your transports until we're in more shielded surrounds."

Catriona, all but dancing with impatience, led the way.

Following more sedately on Philip's arm, Antonia humphed. “You would be hard-pressed to believe that only this morning she was on the brink of a decline."

Entering the shrubbery, screened from prying eyes by the high clipped hedges, Catriona stopped and waited. Philip shooed her on, consenting to halt and explain only when they were well within the protection of the walks.

"The field at the back of the shrubbery," he eventually deigned to inform her. "He'll be there at three." Pulling his watch from his pocket, he consulted it. "Which is now."

With a squeal of delight, Catriona whirled.

"But-" Philip waited until she looked back at him. "Ambrose and Geoffrey will naturally go with you."

That, of course, presented no problem to Catriona. "Come on!" Lifting her skirts, she ran off.

With a laugh, Geoffrey loped in pursuit; dazed, Ambrose hurried after them.

"Just a minute!" Antonia looked at Philip. "Catriona needs a chaperon. She and Ambrose should not be alone at any time-especially now."

Philip took her elbow. "Geoffrey is gooseberry enough. Our appointment lies elsewhere."

"Appointment?" Antonia looked up to see his mask fall away, revealing features hard and uncompromising. His fingers were a steel vice about her elbow. As he guided her inexorably into the maze, she narrowed her eyes. "This was what you were planning all along! Not Catriona's meeting, but ours."

Philip shot her a glance. "I'm surprised it took you so long to work that out. While I'm sympathetic enough to Catriona and even Ambrose, though for my money he'd do well to develop a bit more gumption, I have and always have had only one purpose in crossing the Countess's benighted threshold."

That declaration and the promise it held-the idea of their impending, very private interview-crystallised Antonia's thoughts and gave strength to her decision-the decision she had only that instant made. They reached the centre of the maze in a suspiciously short space of time. Impelled by a sense of certainty, she barely glanced at the neat lawns of the central square, at the small dolphin gracing the marble fountain at its heart. Determined to have her say-to retain control of the situation long enough to do so-she abruptly halted. Pulling back against Philip's hold, she waited until he turned to face her, brows rising impatiently. Lifting her chin, she declared, "As it happens, I'm very glad of this chance to speak with you alone, for I have to inform you that I've suffered a change of heart."

She looked up-and saw his face drain of all expression. His fingers fell from her elbow. He stilled; she sensed in his immobility the energy of some turbulent force severely restrained.

One of his brows slowly rose. "Indeed?"

Decisively, Antonia nodded. "I would remind you of the agreement we made-''

"I'm relieved you haven't forgotten it."

His flinty accents made her frown. "Of course I haven't. At that time, if you recall, we discussed the role you wished me to fulfil-in essence, the role of a conventional wife."

"A role you agreed to take on."

His voice had deepened; his expression was starkly aggressive. Her lips firming, Antonia stiffly inclined her head. “Precisely. I have also to acknowledge your chivalrous behaviour in allowing me to come to London without formalising or making known our agreement." Gliding towards the fountain, she clasped her hands and turned. Raising her head, she met Philip's gaze, now opaque and impenetrable, squarely. “As it happens, that was likely very wise."

Mute, Philip looked into her wide eyes-and knew what he thought of that earlier decision. He should have kept her at the Manor-acted the tyrant and married her regardless- anything to have avoided this. He could hardly think-he certainly didn't trust himself to speak. He couldn't, in fact, believe what she was saying; his mind refused to take it in. His emotions, however, were already on the rampage.

"Very wise," Antonia affirmed. "For I have to tell you, my lord-"

"Philip."

She hesitated, then stiffly inclined her head. "Philip- that on greater acquaintance with the mores of the ton, I have come to the conclusion that I am fundamentally ill-suited to be your wife-at least along the lines we agreed."

That last, thoroughly confusing phrase was, Philip was convinced, the only thing that allowed him to retain any semblance of reason. "What the devil do you mean?" Hands rising to his hips, he glowered at her. "What other lines are there?"

Lifting her chin, Antonia gave him back stare for hard stare. "As I was about to explain, I have discovered there are certain…criteria-essential pre-requisites, if you will- for carrying off the position of a fownishly comfortable wife. In short, I do not possess them, nor, I have decided, am I willing to develop them. No." Eyes glinting, she defiantly concluded, “Indeed, on the subject of marriage I find I have my own criteria-criteria I would require to be fulfilled absolutely."

Philip's eyes had not left hers. "Which are?"

Antonia didn't blink. "First," she declared, raising one hand to tick off her points on her fingers. “The gentleman I marry must love me-without reservation."

Philip blinked. He hesitated, his eyes searching her face, chest swelling as he drew in a slow breath. Then he frowned. "Second?"

Antonia tapped her next finger. "He will not have any mistresses."

"Ever?"

She hesitated. "After we are wed," she eventually conceded.

The tension in Philip's shoulders eased. "Third?"

"He cannot waltz with any other lady."

Philip's lips twitched; he fought to straighten them. "Not at all?"

"Never." There was no doubt in Antonia's mind on that point. "And last but not least, he should never seek to be private with any other lady. Ever." Eyes narrowed, she looked up and met Philip's gaze challengingly, indeed belligerently. "Those are my criteria-if you do not feel you can meet them, then I will, of course, understand." Abruptly, the reality of that alternative struck home; Antonia caught her breath; pain unexpectedly speared through her.

She looked away, disguising her faltering as a gracious nod. Swinging about to gaze at the fountain, she concluded, her voice suddenly tight, "Just as long as you understand that if such is the case, then I cannot marry you."

Philip had never felt so giddy in his life. Relief so strong it left him weak clashed with a possessiveness he had never thought to feel. Emotions rose and fell like surging waves within him, all dwarfed, subsumed, by one steadfast, rocklike reality. The reality that, despite his understanding, still shook him to the core. Recollection of his customary imperturbability, of the unshakeable impassivity that had, until now-until Antonia-been his hallmark, drifted mockingly through his mind.

Drawing in a steadying breath, he studied her half-averted face. "You were going to marry me regardless. What changed your mind?"

She hesitated so long he thought she would not answer. Then she turned her head and met his gaze openly-directly. "You."

Philip felt his lips twist, and recalled his earlier resolution never to ask such questions of her again; she would always floor him with her honesty. He drew in another deep breath-and recalled his purpose-his one and only purpose in engineering this meeting, in coming to Ticehurst Place. "Before I deal with your criteria-your demands of a prospective husband-there's one pertinent point I wish to make crystal clear."

His features hardening, he caught Antonia's gaze. "Lady Ardale's performance was no fault of mine. I did not encourage her in any way, by any look, word or gesture."

A frown slowly formed in her eyes. "She was in your arms."

"No." Philip held her gaze steadily. "She pressed herself against me-I had to take hold of her to set her away."

A slow blush stained Antonia's cheeks. She looked away. "Your hand was on her breast."

Fleetingly, Philip grimaced. “Not by inclination, I assure you."

His tone held sufficient disgust to have her glancing his way again. Her shocked expression tried his control.