Free A Comfortable Wife by Stephanie Laurens Page B

experienced and recalcitrant gentleman rake who had seen it all before.
    She’d used their old friendship.
    With a grimace, Philip set aside his empty tankard and hefted the hammer he’d been using. He was still not sure how he felt—how he should feel. He had thought Antonia was different from the rest. Instead, she’d simply been using different tactics.
    His expression still grim, he headed back to help McGill and Joe put up the rest of the refreshment stalls. They were banging the supports into place on the last of the stalls when a sound to his left had him turning his head. Antonia stood three feet away.
    She met his gaze, then, with a slight smile, gestured to the tray she had placed on the counter of the next stall. “Ale—I thought it might be more acceptable than tea.”
    Philip glanced about and saw the womenfolk bearing trays and mugs to the men. Most of the small workforce had completed their tasks; the refreshment was welcomed by one and all.
    Looking back, Philip met Antonia’s calmly questioning gaze, then turned and, with one heavy blow, drove his last nail home. Laying the hammer aside, he called Joe’s and McGill’s attention to the ale. Antonia stepped back, hands clasped before her. Turning, Philip picked up a mug—and took the two strides necessary to trap her between the stall and himself.
    Scanning his lawns, he took a long draught of ale. “Is there much more to do?”
    Distracted from watching his lean throat work as he downed the ale, Antonia blinked and quickly looked about. “No—I think most of what we can do we’ve done.” She reviewed her mental lists. “The only thing remaining is forthe barrels to be brought out. We decided to leave them under tarpaulins for the night.”
    Still not looking at her, Philip nodded. “Good. That leaves us time to talk before dinner.”
    “Talk?” Antonia stared at him. “What about?”
    Philip turned his head and met her gaze. “I’ll tell you when we meet.”
    Antonia studied his eyes, what she could see of them before he looked away. “If it’s about the fête —?”
    “It’s not.”
    The finality in his tone declared he was not about to explain. Inwardly, Antonia frowned; outwardly, she inclined her head gracefully. “In that case, I’ll just—”
    Her words were cut off by shouts and yells and a muffled rumbling. Antonia turned—as did everyone else—to see an ale barrel come rolling down the lawn.
    “Stop it!” someone yelled.
    “Heavens!” Antonia picked up her skirts and hurried forward.
    For one stunned instant, Philip watched her rush towards the barrel. Then, with a comprehensive oath, he flung aside his tankard and went after her.
    She slowed as she drew in line with the oncoming barrel, deaf to the cries of warning. Close on her heels, Philip wrapped one arm about her waist and swung her out of harm’s way, pulling her hard against him.
    “Wha—!”
    Her strangled exclamation was music to his ears.
    “Philip!” Antonia eventually got out, all in a breathless rush. “Put me down! The barrel—!”
    “Weighs at least three times as much as you and would have flattened you into the ground.” Philip heard it rumble past them.
    His terse words came from directly behind Antonia’s right ear. Horrified, she waggled her toes but couldn’t touch the grass. He had scooped her up, holding her with her backagainst his chest, one large hand splayed across her middle, easily supporting her weight. He made no move to obey her injunction. She considered struggling—and blushed. The realisation of her predicament sent shock waves to merge with the odd heat spiralling through her.
    Men had rushed from all around to slow the rolling barrel. Antonia watched as they brought it under control, then turned it and rolled it towards the stall which would serve the ale.
    Only then did Philip consent to set her feet back on solid earth.
    Antonia immediately drew in a deep breath. She drew in another before she turned around.
    Philip