âIâm not about to ravish you.
âOh, Iâm thinking about it. But Iâm not about to do itâall right?â
Philipâs jaw ached, as did the rest of him; experience was not enough to hide his frustration. He concentrated on keeping stillâhe had no intention of moving until the dangerous moment had passed, until the compulsion driving them both had faded.
Antonia had no breath with which to answer. Her heart was still thudding in her ears. Had he noticed how unrestrained her ardor had beenâhow wantonly she had kissed him? Was the aching need still there in her eyes?
âWeâve got to go back.â Philip forced himself to let her go.
âBack?â Antoniaâs mind was awhirl. âButââ
âAntoniaâdo you want to be ravished here and now?â
Dear Reader,
In writing An Unwilling Conquest, the third book in the Lester trilogy, one character, Philip, Lord Ruthven, positively begged to be made a victim of love. His attitude as displayed in An Unwilling Conquest could not go unansweredâand thatâs how A Comfortable Wife came about. Miss Antonia Mannering was the young lady who had Philip most determinedly in her sights. As a husband. The possibility of love never entered her headâshe was far too levelheaded, and she knew Philip too well. She was looking for a husband, and by now he should be looking for a wifeâto her, their aims were compatible. All should have been terribly comfortable, exceptâ¦
What happens when love gets stirred into their equation is told in A Comfortable Wife. I hope you enjoy seeing Philip succumb to a passion that becomes more precious than anything else in his life.
The first romances Stephanie Laurens ever read were those of Georgette Heyer, and romances set in Regency England continue to be her favorites. After escaping from the dry world of professional science, Stephanie took up writing such romances for her own pleasure. A Comfortable Wife was her eighth historical romance set in the British Regency era. Now residing in a leafy suburb of Melbourne, Australia, Stephanie divides her free time between her husband, two teenage daughters and two catsâShakespeare and Marlowe. The cats, needless to say, are the most demanding. Stephanieâs Web site can be found at www.stephanielaurens.com, or you can e-mail Stephanie directly at [email protected].
âThirty-Four, my dear Hugo, is a decidedly sobering age.â
âHeh?â Startled from somnolence, Hugo Satterly opened one cautious eye and studied the long-limbed figure gracefully lounging on the opposite carriage seat. âWhyâs that?â
Philip Augustus Marlowe, seventh Baron Ruthven, did not deign to answerânot directly. Instead, his gaze on the summer scenery slipping past the carriage window, he remarked, âI would never have thought to see Jack and Harry Lester competing over who would provide the first of the next generation of Lesters.â
Hugo straightened. âTricky prediction, that. Jack suggested laying odds but Lucinda heard of it.â Hugo grimaced. âThat was the end of it, of course. Said she wasnât about to have us all watching her and Sophie, counting the days. Pity.â
A fleeting smile touched Philipâs lips. âAn uncommonly sensible woman, Lucinda.â After a moment he added, more to himself than to his friend, âAnd Jack was lucky with his Sophie, too.â
They were returning from a weekâs house party at Lester Hall; the festivities had been presided over by Sophie, Mrs Jack Lester, ably seconded by Lucinda, now Harry Lesterâs bride. Both recent additions to the Lester family tree were discreetly but definitely enceinte, and radiant with it. The unabashed happiness that had filled the rambling old house had infected everyone.
But the week had drawn to its inevitable close; Philip was conscious that, despite the calm and orderly ambiance of his ancestral home, there would be no such warmth, no promise for the future, awaiting him there. The idea that he had invited Hugo, a friend of many years, confirmed bachelor and infrequent rake, to join him solely as a distraction, to turn his thoughts from the depressing path he saw opening before him, floated through his mind. He tried to ignore it.
He shifted in his seat, listening to the regular pounding of his carriage horsesâ hooves, firmly fixing his attention on the ripening fieldsâonly to have Hugo ruthlessly haul his problem into the light.
âWellâI suppose youâll be next.â Hugo settled his shoulders against the squabs and gazed at the fields with unruffled calm. âDare say thatâs whatâs making you glum.â
Narrowing his eyes, Philip fixed them on Hugoâs innocent visage. âSurrendering to the bonds of matrimony, walking knowingly into parsonâs mousetrap, is hardly a pleasant thought.â