A Comfortable Wife by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online

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 neatrow 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 nearly time for luncheon. Perhaps we should return?” His lids veiled his eyes; languidly, he waved to a cross-path that would lead them back to the house.
    Slowly exhaling, Antonia glanced up at the sky. Her heart was racing. “Indeed.” In search of a topic—any topic—she asked, “What was it that brought you to the garden?”
    Philip’s gaze ranged ahead, his expression bland as he considered and rejected the truth. In the distance, he saw Geoffrey returning from the stables. “I wanted to ask if Geoffrey had had any experience of driving. After what you told me of your last years, I imagine he’s lacked male guidance. Would you like me to teach him?”
    Looking down, he caught the peculiar expression that flitted, very briefly, across Antonia’s features.
    “Oh, yes,” she said, throwing him a grateful glance. “If you would, you would earn his undying gratitude. And mine.”
    “I’ll take him out then.”
    Antonia nodded, her eyes downcast. Side by side, they walked towards the house. Puzzling over her strange look, Philip shot her a shrewd glance, then slowly smiled. Schooling his features to an