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had well caught her breath, she lost it again. Philip’s hands closed, strong and sure, about her waist. He lifted her, as if she weighed no more than a child, lowering her slowly until her feet touched the ground.
    Antonia felt a blush tinge her cheeks; it was all she could do to meet his gaze fleetingly. “Thank you, my lord.” Her heart was galloping faster than any horse.
    Philip looked down at her. “The pleasure, my dear, is entirely mine.” He hesitated, then released her. “But do you think you could possibly stop ‘my lording’ me?” His tone, slightly acid, softened. “You used to call me Philip.”
    Still breathless, but at least now free of his paralysing touch, Antonia wrestled her wits into order. Frowning, she looked up and met his grey gaze. “That was before you came into the title.” Considering, she tilted her head. “Now that you have, I’ll have to call you Ruthven—like everyone else.”
    His eyes, cloudy grey, held hers; for an instant, she thought he would argue. Then the ends of his long lips twisted, in grimace or self-deprecation she couldn’t say. His lids fell; he inclined his head in apparent acquiescence.
    “Breakfast awaits.” With a graceful flourish, Philip offered her his arm. “Shall we? Before Geoffrey devours all the herrings.”

Chapter Three
    “A h—I wondered who was attacking my rose bushes.”
    Startled in the act of lopping off a developing rose-hip with a buccaneer-like swipe, Antonia jumped. Half-turning, she glanced reprovingly at Philip as he descended the steps to the walk. “Your rose bushes, my lord, are running to seed. Not at all the thing.” With a decisive click, she removed another deadhead.
    She had spent the morning inscribing invitations for the fête-champêtre. In the silence of the afternoon, with Henrietta napping, she had taken to the gardens. After their ride that morning, she hadn’t expected to see Philip before dinner.
    Smiling lazily, Philip strolled towards her. “Henrietta mentioned you were easing her burden by taking things in hand around the house. Am I to take it you intend to personally deal with anything you discover running to seed around here?”
    Poised to pluck a half-opened rose, the delicate bloom cradled in her hand, Antonia froze. Philip had halted a bare foot away; she could feel his gently teasing gaze on her half-averted face. Catching her breath, surreptitiously, she hoped, she looked up and met his eyes. “As to my personal interest, I rather suspect it depends on the subject. However,” she said, turning back and carefully snipping the rose, “as far as the garden is concerned, I intend speaking with your head gardener immediately.” She laid the bloom in the basket on her arm, then looked up. “I take it you don’t disapprove of my…” she gestured gracefully “…impertinence?”
    Philip’s smile deepened. “My dear Antonia, if acting as chatelaine can be termed impertinent, you may be as impertinent as you please. Indeed,” he continued, one brow rising, his gaze sweeping her face, “I find it distinctly reassuring to see you thus employed.”
    For an instant, Antonia met his gaze, then, with the slightest inclination of her head, turned and glided along the path. Reassuring? Because, as she hoped, he saw such actions as evidence of her wifely skills? Or because she might, conceivably, make his unfettered existence more comfortable?
    “The design of your gardens is unusual,” she said, glancing back to find him strolling in her wake like a predator on her trail. “I’ve studied both contemporary and classical landscapes—yours seems a combination of both.”
    Philip nodded. “The fact that the lake and stream are so distant from the house rendered the usual water features ineligible. Capability Brown saw it as a challenge.” His eyes met Antonia’s. “One he couldn’t resist.”
    “Indeed?” Inwardly cursing the breathlessness that seemed to afflict her whenever he was near, Antonia