Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows)

by Anna Campbell

  "You're remarkably jolly," she said in a sour voice.

  He shrugged. "As you said, with the boys upstairs, we couldn't go too far."

  "Oh, Lord," she breathed in horror. She'd completely forgotten Brand. What on earth was wrong with her? She blushed when Anthony bent to retrieve the neck cloth she'd removed and cast aside.

  He continued as lightly as if they'd just ended a casual hand of piquet. "All in all, it's a promising start."

  "A promising start?" she asked on a rising note, hating that the dowager was back.

  He opened the door. "I look forward to seeing where we go from here."

  Her eyes narrowed as her spirit stirred. "From here, Mr. Townsend, I'm going back to London." She marched past him into the hall. "While you, sir, can go to the devil."

  * * *

  "You can't find your room," Anthony said softly, standing beside her in the cavernous space. It was a pity that Fenella's splendid exit ended with her staring in confusion at the staircase.

  "If I ask you, I'll have to get off my high horse."

  "Aye." He lit two candles from the branch on the ancient sideboard and passed one to her. "But I promise to contain my smugness until you're safely inside your chamber."

  She regarded him doubtfully. "Perhaps you should call a maid."

  "On my honor, you're safe. The lads are effective chaperones."

  "You'll think my hesitation is absurd, given what we just did."

  He offered his arm and to his relief, she accepted it. He'd already noticed she didn't hold a grudge. "I think you're entirely charming. Surely you know that."

  His declaration troubled rather than pleased her. "You're very kind."

  I'm very besotted.

  What was the point of fighting? It was true. It had been true from the first. He kept the thought to himself and began to outline his plans for the house. By the time they arrived at her room, her smile was almost natural. "Thank you. I'd never have found my way."

  "Sleep well, Fenella." He smiled back as he reached past her to open the door. Then because he couldn't resist, he kissed her gently.

  In the flickering candlelight, he studied her bonny face. He saw signs of exhaustion and strain. And reluctance and confusion. A hint of guilt.

  And deep in the blue eyes, a longing that called him as inexorably as the moon drew the tide. His heart kicked with futile excitement. After all, right now he couldn't do anything about it.

  "Good night," she whispered. As she disappeared behind the door, he heard her murmur, "Anthony."

  He stared at the closed door. Much as he burned to follow her into that room, now wasn't the time. His blood might beat with the primitive urge to conquer and possess, but he wasn't an impetuous boy. Every instinct screamed that if he pushed now, he'd lose any chance with her.

  Fenella Deerham had ceded more than she wanted to. He must be satisfied with that—and hope that if he won her trust, she might yet give him everything.

  First he needed to lure her back toward life. He didn't resent her love for her first husband—or no more than any man wanting a woman who still dreamed of another lover. He even found it in himself to be glad that she'd known a good man's love. She deserved it. Hell, she deserved everything good in the world.

  But Deerham was dead. While Fenella was alive, and unless Anthony deceived himself, attracted.

  Because the prize was worth winning, he'd proceed cautiously. But in this empty hallway close to midnight, he vowed to raise Fenella Deerham out of sorrow into the bright sunlight of joy.

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  Fenella sat squeezed next to Anthony in his sporty carriage. Night was falling and they were still more than an hour from London.

  She thought the journey down had been awkward. She'd had no idea. Now the big, warm body wasn't a stranger's—far from it, she knew so many intimate things about him, from the taste of his kiss to the scent of his skin—and she wished herself a million miles away.

  "Damn it, woman, stop wriggling," he growled. "It's like being tied in a sack with a dozen eels."

  "You didn't have to drive me," she pointed out, folding gloved hands in her lap to hide their shaming tendency to tremble.

  "Aye, I do. If you're so all-fired keen to get back, I'll see you arrive safely."

  He sounded grumpy. So did she. "We've risked enough scandal."

  In the fading light, she saw his lips turn down in derision. "Then the damage is done. You might as well have stayed."

  "You know I couldn't."

  "I know no such thing. Brand would like it."

  Brand would indeed like it. So, unfortunately, would she. The regrettable truth was that she'd fled the Beeches because she was afraid, not because she guarded her reputation.

  "Brand got a fair share of what he wanted anyway, considering how much trouble he and Carey caused," she said grimly.

  She'd given in to her son's pleading and left him behind. She couldn't send him back to school, whatever accusations of coddling that invited from her monumental companion.

  Last night she'd gone to her lonely bed, determined to leave at the earliest possible moment. Yet somehow the morning had dwindled away in spending time with the boys and trying not to dwell on last night's kisses.

  It had been a wrench to leave her son. It always was. Even now when they might find a way to live under the same roof. Perhaps this escapade would end happily for Brand at least. Except somewhere in the last twenty-four hours, the idea of a quiet, rural hideaway for Brand and her had lost its charm.

  Curse Anthony Townsend and his kisses.

  "You've forgiven them," he said. "You forgave them the minute you saw they were safe."

  "So did you," she said, stung at the implied criticism.

  A grunt of self-derisive amusement escaped. "I waited at least another five minutes."

  Despite weariness and bad temper, she laughed. Odd how Anthony could do that.

  She had no trouble diagnosing the root of his crankiness. She suffered the same malady. A bad case of sexual frustration. She'd lain awake all night, restless and longing for more kisses.

  For more than kisses.

  "You think they'll be all right?"

  "I'm only away overnight, and the place is packed with servants—including Penny, who won't let them get away with any mischief, however ill she is. And they both know they've escaped lightly after their escapades. They're on their best behavior." He drew the horses to a halt under a spreading oak and faced her with a serious expression.

  "What is it?" she asked, suddenly nervous. "Why have we stopped? Is something wrong?"

  "I hope not." A wry smile quirked his lips. "I'd like to talk to you."

  She frowned. "The boys."

  He shook his dark head. "No. Not this time." He subjected her to a searching look. "I have a proposition."

  Oh, dear Lord. She knew exactly what was coming. Forbidden excitement shivered through her. "Mr. Townsend…"

  For once he didn't object to the formal address. Instead he went on in a measured, reasonable voice, as if what he suggested wasn't purest madness. "You mention scandal, but nobody except the staff at the Beeches know where we've been these last days. Nobody at all knows where we are now. We're free in a way we won't be free once we resume our daily lives."

  "Freedom doesn't mean license must rule." She twined her hands together as an army of elephants started capering in her stomach.

  This time he smiled properly, and the elephants thudded down into a heap, before jumping up to start prancing again. That smile was a deadly weapon.

  "Perhaps not, but it means if a virtuous lady felt the urge to…stray, she could do so without fearing gossip."

  All the way from Hampshire, she'd cursed the carriage's close confines. Now it seemed as narrow as a child's pencil box. She gulped air into her lungs and wondered why she didn't slap this presumptuous cad's face and tell him to drive on. Or push him out onto the dusty grass verge and leave him to walk off his lust whil
e she fled back to Mayfair and sanity. After all, she'd itched to take the reins ever since she'd first stepped into this stylish rig.

  "You make too much of a moment's foolishness."

  He surveyed her from under the curling brim of his stylish beaver hat. "Do I?"

  Reluctantly she met that probing dark brown gaze, and saw that he already guessed most of her secrets. The most mortifying being that she wasn't virtuous at all, but starved for a man.

  Not just any man. This one.

  So instead of issuing a ringing denial, she responded in a quavering voice unworthy of a worldly woman past thirty. "I've…I've never done this before."

  The tenderness that always proved so fatal to her resolve softened his eyes. "I know you haven't. I also know I've got a deuce of a cheek asking. You only met me two days ago, and it's clear you won't give yourself lightly."

  No, she wouldn't. She'd shared her body with one man. Losing him had nearly destroyed her.

  Anthony's offer belonged to a completely different world from her youthful adoration for Henry. But she had a sinking feeling that if she accepted this lunatic proposal, she wouldn't give herself lightly this time either. "You're making my arguments for me."

  “Nor do I take this lightly. I wanted you the moment I saw you. That attraction has grown every moment since."

  "Surely not." She strove to read his expression, but those rugged features didn't give much away. "You were furiously angry when we met."

  "Angry, aye, but also attracted. It made for an uncomfortable mix, believe me. Now I find myself quite…desperate."

  Still she examined that overtly masculine face. "You don't look desperate."

  "I'm trying not to terrify you."

  A wicked thrill rippled through her. The thought of testing this remarkable man's control was undeniably intriguing.

  The horses snorted and stamped their feet, impatient at the delay. Sitting so close, she felt Anthony's vibrating tension. His face might be all stern angles, but his body hinted that he hung on her answer like a man dangling over a cliff.

  She'd learned that with Anthony Townsend, you noted his actions, not his words.

  What did they tell her? He loved his nephew, and had shown the two boys unexpected and poignant kindness. He was willing to admit his mistakes and take the consequences—in her experience, a rare and precious quality in the male animal. He possessed powerful appetites, but equally powerful control. Last night, he'd seen her resistance was precarious. But he'd let her retire unscathed. Almost.

  Even now, he didn't touch her, to avoid influencing her decision.

  So, a fair man. A man of principle. A man who could give her pleasure.

  She'd always love Henry. She couldn't imagine sharing that closeness with anyone else. But that wasn't what Anthony offered.

  He invited her to find fleeting surcease from loneliness, a sensual exploration, a brief warmth before she returned to the cold. That warmth lured most of all. To lie in a man's arms and feel her blood rise in passion, to accept physical comfort that asked for nothing more.

  Ah, that was tempting.

  She licked lips dry as the Sahara and quivered with uncertainty. And desire.

  Heat flared in his eyes as they focused on her mouth. Yes, he wanted her. She couldn't doubt it. But did that mean she could trust him?

  "What exactly is your proposition?" she asked huskily.

  One of those large, expressive hands gestured to the road ahead. "In a couple of miles, we'll reach Croydon. I've taken a room at the Rainbow and Angel. We can spend the night. If not, I'll stay, and you can proceed alone to Mayfair in a closed carriage I've arranged for your use. You'll arrive home without anyone knowing you've been in my company since you left."

  He'd devoted time, thought and money to her seduction. She wasn't sure whether to be offended or flattered. "So I have to decide now?"

  He shook his head. "No. The carriage remains at your disposal all night. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

  He knew enough about her to realize that if he tried to corner her, she'd run. She began to see how he'd parlayed a small-scale shipping line into a global concern. He knew what he wanted. More importantly, he knew what other people wanted.

  "It would be wrong to agree." She meant to sound resolute, but wanton longing roughened her words.

  He shifted and stared hard at her. "Why?"

  "You know why. I'm a respectable widow, and mother to a son who should be the reason for all I do."

  Displeasure darkened his expression. "Hell, Fenella, it's unfair to Brand to make him the sole purpose of your existence. In the long run, he won't thank you for it. We share a strong attraction. Neither of us owes allegiance to anyone else. We have a chance to see what it could be like between us. A chance away from obligations and prying eyes." He paused. "After last night, aren't you curious?"

  She prayed for guidance, but all she saw was Anthony's gaze burning into hers. Despite Henry and Brand and her good name, she so wanted to say yes.

  "Fenella?" Her name emerged as a ragged gasp, proving his calm was all on the surface.

  "I…"

  A mail coach thundered by, and she angled away from the flying dust and the passengers' eyes. The world rudely intruded on the strange interlude of the last days.

  Once the vehicle was out of earshot, she turned to watch Anthony soothe the horses, restive after the clattering interruption. She touched his brawny arm.

  "Take me to the Rainbow and Angel, Anthony."

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  Fenella sat rigid with nerves as Anthony drove the carriage into the bustling inn yard. After hours of travel, she felt crumpled and dusty and not up to these elegant surroundings. She was also convinced that her imminent fall from grace was painted all over her. But the maid who showed her upstairs was deferential, and the room she entered wasn't the red bower of sin she'd imagined, but a well-appointed chamber with a view over the back garden, stark and bare with coming winter.

  Anthony followed and set his hat on a table. "Still sure?"

  With shaking fingers, she removed her bonnet and glanced around the room, partly from curiosity, but mostly to avoid his unwavering gaze. "No."

  He laughed and gestured to a door she hadn't noticed. She hadn't noticed much. Her mind was too busy preparing for what loomed ahead. "If you need me, I'll be in the dressing room. I've ordered dinner. It shouldn't be long."

  "Dressing room?" she repeated stupidly.

  "We have a suite of rooms." He pointed to another door. "The bedroom's through there."

  Oh, she was a henwit. "Of course it is."

  A huff of self-derision escaped her. She should have realized that this was a parlor. There was no bed. The ridiculous thing about her jumpiness was that it didn't alter her decision to take Anthony as her lover.

  He stepped closer without touching her. "Fenella, I meant it when I said you're free to decide what happens. We can have dinner, then drive on together to London. Or if you ring that bell, a servant will escort you to a carriage and you can travel home alone. Or you can sleep undisturbed in the bed, and we'll finish our journey tomorrow morning."

  "You seem very familiar with this inn."

  He gave that oddly endearing grunt of amusement. "Rein in your rioting imagination. I've never brought another woman here. It's sometimes a convenient place to break my journey to the Beeches. You're not the first lass to take my fancy. But I'm far from a rake. I work too hard to have time to pursue an endless parade of women."

  "I'm being a goose, aren't I?" she said, not surprised he'd discerned the doubt prompting her remark. He was always quick to see beneath her surface. A quality that right now struck her as unnerving rather than appealing.

  When he cupped her cheek, she felt the tenderness to her toes. "A lovely goose."

  He brushed his lips across hers. The kiss was a promise of what was to come, and a reminder of last night's caresses. Her fears ebbed. In their place, a hint of sensua
l anticipation swirled through her blood.

  A smile lit his dark eyes. "There should be hot water in the bedroom. I'll tidy up and meet you in here for dinner. No need to hurry. We've got all night."

  And with that her fears, momentarily soothed, flared again.

  * * *

  After dinner, Anthony stood in the dressing room and met his troubled dark gaze in the cheval mirror. The stupidest fellow in England could see that Fenella was still skittish. He sighed, wishing she threw herself into this arrangement as wholeheartedly as he did.

  Although what the hell else did he expect? They weren't far removed from strangers, and she still mourned her husband.

  Ever since she'd agreed to share his bed, he'd burned to sweep her up in his arms and show her how much he wanted her. Making the offer, he'd been half convinced that she'd say no. But to his astounded joy, she'd consented.

  All evening, she'd maintained a brittle composure. The effort she needed to bolster her courage, while admirable, was far from flattering. He had the unwelcome impression that she approached tonight like some foul-tasting medicine. Necessary, but unpleasant.

  Now it was late, and she was still here. He merely needed to leave the dressing room, cross the parlor, and knock on the bedroom door.

  Standing before the tall mirror, a vermilion silk dressing gown covering his nakedness, he admitted the stark truth. Tonight mattered because Fenella mattered. More than any woman before, and he had a bleak suspicion, more than any woman to come. What happened between them in this inn set the course for the rest of his life, good or ill.

  He turned away from his reflection. Usually when embarking on a new venture, he knew exactly where he headed. Fenella had him in such a spin, he couldn't tell which way was up.

  All he knew was that he wanted her more than he'd wanted anything in his life.