A Comfortable Wife by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

expression of deep consideration, he said, “Actually, I have to confess I’ve no experience of teaching striplings. Perhaps, as you are, unquestionably, asuperior horsewoman and in loco parentis, as it were, I should practise my tutoring skills on you?”
    Antonia’s head came up; she fixed him with a clear, very direct glance. “You’ll teach me to drive?”
    Philip managed to keep the smile from his face. “If you would care for it.”
    “I didn’t think—” Antonia frowned. “That is, I’d understood that it was no longer particularly fashionable for ladies of the ton to drive themselves.”
    “Only in certain circumstances and only—pray God—when they can actually manage the reins.” Halting at the bottom of the terrace steps, Philip turned to face her. “It’s entirely acceptable for a lady to drive a gig or a phaeton in the country.”
    Antonia raised a brow. “And in town?”
    Both Philip’s brows rose. “My dear Antonia, if you imagine I’ll let you tool my horses in the Park, you’re misguided, my child.”
    Antonia’s eyes flashed; she lifted her chin. “What carriage do you drive in London?”
    “A high-perch phaeton. Forget it,” Philip tersely advised. “I’ll permit you to drive my curricle, but only here.”
    Brows rising haughtily, Antonia started up the steps. “But when we get to London—”
    “Who knows?” Philip mused. “You might turn out to be ham-fisted.”
    “Ham—!” Antonia rounded on him—or tried to, only to feel his fingers close about her elbow. Effortlessly, he propelled her over the threshold into the morning-room where Henrietta sat tatting.
    “One step at a time, my dear.” His words were a murmur in her ear. “Let’s see how well you can handle the reins before you reach for the whip.”
     
    That comment, of course, ensured she was on her mettle when, the following afternoon, Philip lifted her to the box-seat of his curricle. Determined that nothing—not even he—would distract her from her lesson, Antonia thrust her ridiculous sensitivity to the back of her mind and carefully gathered the reins.
    “Not like that.” Philip climbed up beside her, settling on the seat alongside. Deftly plucking the reins from her fingers, he demonstrated the correct hold, then laid the leather ribbons in her palms, tracing their prescribed path through her fingers with his. Despite her gloves, Antonia had to lock her jaw against the sensation of his touch. She frowned.
    Philip noticed. He sat back, resting one arm along the back of the seat. “Today, we’ll go no faster than a sedate trot. Not having second thoughts, are you?”
    Antonia shot him a haughty look. “Of course not. What now?”
    “Give ’em the office.”
    Antonia clicked the reins; the horses, a pair of perfectly matched greys, lunged.
    Her shriek lodged in her throat. Philip’s arm locked about her; his other hand descended over hers as she grappled with the reins. The curricle rattled down the drive, not yet fast but with the greys lengthening their stride. The next seconds passed in total confusion—by the time she had the horses under control and pacing, restless but aware of her authority at the other end of the ribbons, Antonia was more rattled than she had ever been in her life before.
    She shot Philip a fiery glance but could not—dared not—take exception to the steely arm anchoring her safely to his side. And despite the urge to tell him just what she thought of his tactics, she felt ridiculously grateful that he had not, in fact, taken control, but had let her wrestle with his thoroughbreds, entrusting their soft mouths to her skill, untutored though he knew that to be.
    It took several, pulse-pounding minutes before she had herself sufficiently in hand to turn her head and meet hisimprobably bland gaze with one of equal impassivity. “And now?”
    She saw his lips twitch.
    “Just follow the drive. We’ll stay in the lanes until you feel more confident.”
    Antonia put her