"Good afternoon, my dear."
As his fingers closed, tightly, about hers, Antonia registered the change from languid indolence to clipped abruptness. Rapidly whipping her wits to order, she turned a suddenly wary gaze on her companions. "Ah—I believe I have mentioned Sir Frederick Smallwood, my lord."
Philip nodded stiffly in reply to Sir Frederick's bow. "Smallwood."
Disregarding the menace underlying his tone, Antonia doggedly introduced every last one of her court. “Mr Carruthers was about to favour us with the tale of the discovery of the stone implements displayed over there." Antonia smiled encouragingly at Mr Carruthers.
A student of antiquities, Mr Carruthers promptly launched into his dissertation. As his tale unfolded, encompassing numerous tangents, all described in glowing detail, Antonia felt Philip shift impatiently. When Mr Dashwood asked a question, which led to a lively discussion involving all the other gentlemen, Philip leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "You can't be so bored you consider this amusement?"
Antonia threw him a warning glance. "It's an improvement over staring at the relics."
"The trick is to keep strolling." Philip caught her hand and placed it on his sleeve. "That way, you don't end up collecting so much extraneous baggage."
His hand closed over hers, his intention plain; Antonia held firm. "No!" she hissed. "I can't leave here—I'm waiting for someone."
Philip's eyes locked on hers. The arrested look in them made Antonia's heart skip a beat. "Oh?" he said. One brown brow slowly arched. "Who?"
Antonia cast a distracted glance at her companions; their discussion was slowly winding down. "I'll explain it all later—but we have to stay here." With that, she gave her attention to Sir Frederick.
"Tell me, my dear Miss Mannering." Sir Frederick smiled engagingly. "What do you say to the age of these gold cups?'' He gestured to a large display in the centre of the room. "Are we really to believe such workmanship dates from before Christ?''
Philip raised his eyes to the ceiling. Resisting the urge to simply haul Antonia away, he clenched his jaw and endured fifteen minutes of the most utterly inane discussions. Having very little to do with younger gentlemen, he had never before suffered any similar experience. By the time Antonia abruptly straightened, he was ready to admit that young ladies of the ton might have a cross to bear he had not hitherto appreciated.
Scanning the room, his gaze passed over a stunningly pretty girl strolling forward on the arm of a pasty-faced youth. Failing to discover any likely candidate for Antonia's attention he was rescanning their surroundings when Antonia broke off her conversation. "Ah—here's Miss Dalling."
Miss Dalling and her companion were well known to the other gentlemen; introduced, Philip exchanged greetings. He did not need Antonia's swift glance to realize it was Miss Dalling and the Marquess for whom she'd been waiting. Her reasons, however, remained a mystery.
Miss Dalling turned wide lavender-blue eyes upon the assembled company. "All these old things are quite fascinating, are they not?"
While Catriona chattered animatedly, Antonia, somewhat distractedly, considered her court. When she had planned this excursion, she had imagined strolling quietly about the displays on Geoffrey's arm while Catriona with Ambrose in attendance composed her missive. But no sooner had she set foot in the museum than gentlemen had appeared as if sprouting from the woodwork, all intent on passing the time by her side. Luckily, Mr Broadside and Sir Eric Malley had had previous engagements which had forced them to leave; that still left her with five unexpected cavaliers to dismiss.
She had not the first idea how to accomplish the deed.
"Perhaps," she said, smiling meaningfully at Catriona, "we should stroll about the rooms?"
"Oh, yes! I expect I should take particular note of some of the displays." Eyes twinkling, Catriona took Ambrose's arm. Antonia surmised the summons to Henry Fortescue had been successfully inscribed and handed into Ambrose's care.
Her hand on Philip's sleeve, Antonia smiled upon her court. "Gentlemen, I thank you for your company. Per?
?chance we'll meet tonight?"
"Yes, indeed—but no need to break up the party." Sir Frederick gestured expansively.
"No—indeed no," came from Mr Dashwood. "Haven't actually looked at anything in the museum for years—only too pleased to take a squint around."
"I'll come too—just in case you need some information on the artifacts." Mr Carruthers nodded benignly.
Antonia's answering smile was weak. When they strolled from the room, all five gentlemen ambled in their wake. As they wended their way between the display cases, she bit her lip—then slanted a glance up at Philip. He met it with an expression she was coming to know well—pure cynicism combined with insufferable male superiority. He arched a distinctly supercilious brow at her. Antonia narrowed her eyes at him, then, head high, shifted her gaze forward.
Philip hid his smile. He saw Geoffrey and shot him a glance sharp enough to bring him to heel. When they reached the centre of the main room, he halted and pulled out his watch. Consulting it, he grimaced. "I'm afraid, my dear, that we've run out of time. If you want your surprise, we'll have to leave now."
Antonia stared at him, her lips forming a silent "Oh".
"Surprise?" Geoffrey asked.
"The surprise I promised you all," Philip glibly replied. "Remember?"
Geoffrey met his gaze. "Oh! That surprise."