Her inquisitiveness drummed even louder. He had not reacted to her sweeping statements like Hoyt and Elisabeth. Perhaps there was hope for a kindred soul, after all.
“Worse, there is nothing here to dazzle the senses,” Phillipa ventured cautiously, watching Anthony’s expression.
“I am sure there must be other pleasures that rouse your interest.” He returned the intensity of her gaze.
“I find London society exceedingly dull,” she assured him.
He seemed to deeply consider her. “And what is it that will lift this banality for you?”
There was no hesitation in her response. “Freedom.”
A frown creased his forehead. “Are you not free? Where are your shackles?”
“The shackles of society are invisible, but they are there, as surely as irons.”
She gasped as he spun her into a dizzying twirl. A primitive thrill surged through her at how he controlled the rhythm of their movements. She flowed with him, surrendering her body to his, trusting that he would keep her safe.
The sudden realization that she trusted him rattled her. But Elisabeth was right. He thawed her frozen soul.
“Tell me of this freedom you desire,” he coaxed.
The need to share swelled inside her. She tamped down on it ruthlessly, her gaze roving over his face, trying to garner his intentions. Her heart thudded. She saw only genuine curiosity.
Trepidation rushed through her. What if he was interested in her as a suitor?
Both dread and elation filled her at the thought.
“I yearn for more than what society offers. There are times I feel I am being suffocated. My aunt had a conniption because I insist on riding astride. My youngest sister, Phoebe, cannot dine with us adults, even if we are alone. What balderdash! I want to sail the oceans, ride a camel, explore the ruins of Venice, and eat French pastries for breakfast! ” She gave him a conspiratorial smile, and she leaned in closer. “Have I shocked you yet, my lord?”
“I profess the French pastries were a near thing,” he drawled.
She giggled.
“You cannot shock me, Phillipa. I have, indeed, already endured this very conversation with Constance.”
She gave him a quizzical look.
“My sister. My brother, Sebastian, and I had to make a place for her in the dining room. She was only six at the time. She categorically refused to eat alone.”
“I like her already. And this was allowed?”
“Our fath—” She felt a sudden tension roil through his frame. “Our father refused. But Constance has a way of opening her big eyes and filling them with tears that would soften the heart of the most hard-hearted jade. And Sebastian championed her. So, yes, it was allowed.”
“From your tone, I assume you did not champion her?” Phillipa questioned tartly.
“Of course I did.”
She studied him. There was something behind that carefully bland expression. “But if you were the one who championed her, it did not matter?” she ventured.
His shutters slammed into place so suddenly she felt startled. They whirled in silence for a few seconds. She felt unsure how far to push. He had been so warm and teasing, and she, of all people, understood the need for protective walls.
“Tell me more of your desire for freedom,” he said.
His closed expression challenged her to understand him. She knew she should tread carefully, lest she reveal too much. But she’d never felt such enjoyment from a simple conversation. Or, perhaps not so simple.
“I yearn for an adventure,” she confessed. “There are days I think I will go mad from boredom.” She met his gaze, showing him a little more of herself, hoping he would show something of himself in return. “And I have no desire to marry, to be confined by the strictures of a husband.”
She waited, holding her breath. But he did little more than smile, and say, “Ah.”
“You are not shocked by that?”
“You will need more than a yearning for adventure to titillate my dissolute tastes. Even though, I am truly appalled that you might consider eating French pastries for breakfast, Phillipa. It should at least be a British confectionary.”
Laughter pulsed from her. “I said the same thing to Lord Hoyt in the presence of my aunt and his sister. His sister, the Lady Henrietta, sank into the most perfected swoon I have ever witnessed, and my aunt berated me for upsetting her so. She said I must have overwrought nerves brought on by the noonday sun. I didn’t bother to point out we were experiencing the dreariest of weather.”
Anthony pulled Phillipa closer, enough so that her thighs brushed against his. She knew he was holding her much closer than was considered proper, and a small thrill vibrated through her.
“I thought you would love to have a little adventure right under their noses,” he murmured in her ear.
She laughed, but a wave of heat shimmered between their bodies. It kissed over her skin, igniting a thrum of need within her. With stunning dexterity, he waltzed her through the French doors onto the terrace, and maneuvered her into the enclosed gardens.
“Anthony.”
“No one noticed in this crush. I assure you,” he said.
She came to an abrupt halt, withdrawing her hands from his. “Why have you brought me out here?” She was proud that her voice held none of the turbulence and uncertainty she felt.
“I thought to take you on an adventure.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that must be experienced.”
She looked into his eyes. They gleamed much too wickedly, and she instinctively took a step backward, toward the lighted ballroom. “My need for adventure must be tempered with good sense, as my aunt continuously pontificates,” she retorted.
He took a step backward, into a dark alcove. He lifted a hand to her. “Come.”
The strains of the music lingered in the air, its sensual notes tempting her to take his hand again. He beguiled her. She worried he could see it, and she agonized over what to do. “And if I refuse?”
“I will discreetly escort you back inside.”
God help her, but she believed him. Without allowing herself to think, she grasped his hand, and the smile that curved his lips heated her inside. He slid his arm around her waist, drawing her closer yet. The open strains of the waltz drifted into the garden.
He drew her deeper into the shadows. A gate stood open to a secret, hidden, tall-hedged garden, and her heart slammed painfully as he led her in and closed the gate. Its hinges creaked and she jumped, betraying her nervousness.
She looked around with a false calm at the stone benches and the walls adorned with vines. They ran riot and covered a long stretch of wooden trellises. A fountain stood in the middle of the inner garden. The darkness cocooned them, and the moonlight barely glinted off his golden locks.
She took a deep breath, her nerves tingling.
He shrugged out of his jacket and splayed it on a cold stone bench. “Sit.”
For some reason she could hardly fathom, she did as he asked. The satin skirt of her gown crinkled in the quiet night.
Slowly, he untied his cravat.
Uncertainty made her surge to her feet. “What are you doing?”
“Sit down, Phillipa.”
Her heart thundered, and she sat back down, half terrified, half thrilled.
“Are you ready for an adventure that will make you forget the banality of life, if only for a few fleeting moments?” he drawled.
The humor in his tone relaxed her, and she knew instinctively that if she said no, he would stop whatever he had in mind.
“Yes.”
She did not resist when he circled her wrists and tied them together with his silken cravat. The way he studied her, it seemed as if he was testing her reaction. She shivered as he arranged her so she reclined on the stone bench, placing her bound hands above her head, tying them to the vines that hung from the walls. A disconcerting surge of excitement whipped through her at the wicked heat gleaming i
n his gaze.