Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows)

by Anna Campbell

  When she looked toward the bed, the ache inside him sharpened to agony.

  "You've been crying," he said austerely.

  She wiped her cheeks with shaky hands. The childish gesture roused a poignant tenderness he had no idea what to do with. "You're awake."

  "Aye." He pushed up against the pillows and regarded her from under lowered brows. "I'm sorry I made you cry."

  She shook her head. "I was dreaming of Henry. I often do, but…last night it was like he was with me."

  He winced at her honesty. That primitive urge to create mayhem strengthened, but he beat it back. It wasn't Fenella's fault that she wanted someone else. A temper tantrum from a man she saw as a fleeting presence in her life wouldn't change that. "I know."

  She looked baffled. "How on earth do you know that?"

  He shrugged and stared moodily across the room at the dead fire. What an apt symbol for what lay between him and Fenella.

  Except his fire wasn't anything like doused. He still wanted her like the very devil.

  "You talk in your sleep."

  A blush colored her cheeks so she looked about sixteen instead of like a woman who had married and borne a child and lost her beloved husband. She must have looked like this when she'd married Henry. Lucky dog.

  "I'm sorry," she said, with a poor attempt at lightness. "That must break some rule against mentioning former lovers in the presence of your current one."

  He didn't respond. It was too excruciating to wonder if she'd ever suspected that the man making love to her in the early morning hours was Anthony and not her husband's ghost. Instead he asked a question, even if he knew the answer. Sod it. "So what happens now?"

  To his surprise, she didn't announce her intention to have nowt more to do with that lovelorn lout Anthony Townsend. Instead she settled troubled blue eyes on him. How he hated to see the spiky lashes and pink eyelids. "What would you like to happen now?"

  He straightened his legs under the sheets, folded his arms over his bare chest, and spoke words that until now he'd never linked together. "I'd like to marry you."

  She paled and recoiled against the windowsill. He supposed that was answer enough. Self-derision tightened his lips as pain stabbed deep.

  "That's mad."

  He shrugged again, determined to lay his cards on the table, however hopeless his cause. "It might be, but nevertheless it's true. I want you in my life. I want you in my bed. With everything legal and aboveboard. You're not made for romantic intrigue. And we have the boys to consider."

  She frowned, not in displeasure he thought, but because his offer puzzled her. "Is it because of my aristocratic connections?"

  He laughed without amusement. "Not likely. You're enough of a prize on your own. You're clever and sensible—most of the time. You were reckless in the extreme setting out with a stranger in the middle of the night for parts unknown. But fear had turned your mind. And you're damned decorative. A pretty wife never goes amiss when a man has his way to make."

  "Thank you," she said drily.

  He straightened the sheet over his hips and wondered how he could sound so calm when such a storm raged inside him. "My interest in you is personal. Believe me, my fortune gains plenty of friends in high places. A stickler or two might object if I wanted to marry one of their daughters, but I'm widely accepted otherwise."

  "How do you know about the daughters?" she asked sharply.

  "Actually I don't. I imagine my gold might make up for lack of breeding, if I pushed the matter and the girl was willing. But don't imagine I run around proposing to all the stray gentlewomen I stumble across."

  She didn't look particularly gratified. "What about women who aren't gentlewomen? How many of those have you proposed to?"

  If he hadn't heard her declare her love for another man, he might think she was jealous. "You're the only woman I've asked to become my wife."

  "I'm…flattered." She paused. "Although technically you haven't asked me."

  He stared broodingly at the foot of the bed, wishing she was in his arms and not on the other side of the room. Wishing that when she dreamed, she dreamed of Anthony Townsend and not dead Henry Deerham. "What's the point? You won't have me."

  To his surprise, she surged to her feet and glared at him with disapproval. "I never thought you so poor spirited. Why on earth wouldn't I have you?"

  He jerked his head up and stared at her uncompromisingly. "Well, will you?"

  With a sigh, she slumped back onto the window seat. "I don't know."

  He supposed it was better than a flat refusal, even if it didn't feel like it. "Last night you said you loved me."

  Shock flooded her face. "What? Really? I can't…" One hand made a sweeping gesture as if to point out the impossibility of his claim.

  His lips twisted. "You kissed me and told me you loved me. Then you called me Henry."

  A fraught silence crashed down, then her face crumpled in distress and he cursed himself for telling her. "How awful for you."

  He hadn't thought she'd see his side. Her empathy didn't solve anything, but still his wretchedness eased. "Not what a man wants to hear after a trip to paradise."

  Pink tinged her cheeks. "Oh, dear, I owe you an apology. I told you I was dreaming of Henry. And…and that was what I dreamed." To his surprise, she mustered a faint smile. "It was a very nice dream, if that's any consolation."

  "Not much," he said gloomily.

  "I can't imagine it is." She stared down at the hands linked in her lap. "After all, you have your pride."

  He ground his teeth. "Hell, Fenella, you're still in love with your husband."

  "Of course I am," she agreed softly.

  "Well, there you have it, then," and hated that he sounded like a sulky child denied a treat, when he felt like she'd struck a mortal blow.

  Another silence descended, prickling with all they'd shared over the last eventful days. When he glanced up, she watched him with an unreadable expression.

  "Except you don't," she said, as if there had been no pause.

  He frowned. "I don't understand."

  "I loved Henry from the moment he came to my eighth birthday party as an overly superior twelve-year-old boy. He took a couple of years to catch up with me and see that we belonged together. So he was sixteen before we decided that we'd marry. And we did, five years later. I've never been interested in another man."

  Anthony struggled not to resent her husband. It was hellishly difficult. "You don't need to give me the details."

  Her smile was indulgent. "Perhaps not, but you're missing the point."

  "I know you'll always love him."

  "Yet within two days, I went to bed with you."

  "We're in the grip of May madness," he said sourly. "In November."

  A long-suffering sigh escaped her. "You're usually quicker than this. Don't you see?"

  "See what?"

  "I'm incurably faithful. I've never looked at anyone else. Because of Brandon, I have to be careful of my good name. Yet you asked, and I tumbled right into your arms. I'd say I'm suffering more than a passing attraction."

  His heart rose. He could work with that. With sudden purpose, he left the bed and strode toward her. Discussion just muddied the waters between them, whereas when she lay beneath him, everything turned clear. "Then come back to bed."

  She sighed again and briefly closed her eyes. "You're such a man."

  "Of course I am." He scratched his chest and stretched luxuriantly. "I suspect you like that."

  Her attention drifted south and his cock responded predictably. Her lips quirked. "Sometimes."

  After last night, this bawdy side to proper Fenella Deerham shouldn't catch him unawares, but it still came as a charming surprise. "Only sometimes?"

  She waved a dismissive hand and stared over his head. "Please stop parading around in all your glory. It's distracting me."

  He sighed, but bent to collect the dressing gown from where it had fallen last night. He shrugged the heavy silk over h
is nakedness. "I know we need to sort things out. I know we have important choices to make. But we don't have to reach decisions about the rest of our lives this very minute. I'll get Carey and Brandon settled at the Beeches with some regular supervision, and I'll come up to London to court you—unless you find the idea intolerable."

  "You know I don't."

  Excellent. At last he approved of the discussion's direction. "I hoped. But this minute, we've got a room to ourselves and nobody will know what we do in it." He tilted one hip against the base of the bed. "And I have a powerful hunger. One night wasn't enough."

  She bit her lip, and he caught a pleasing flicker of interest in her eyes, before to his regret, she shook her head. "I'm confused enough already."

  "Really?"

  "Really." She smoothed her blue skirts over her lap. "I'm sorry, Anthony."

  "So am I," he muttered, daring to approach her. Her brittle quality made him fear that if he wasn't careful, she'd crack like fine porcelain overfired in the kiln. "What do you want me to do? I gather you've hatched some plan in that busy mind of yours."

  Somber eyes studied him. That brief moment of lightness might never have existed. "It's been a mad few days. The boys running away. Meeting you. Our journey to Hampshire. What…what we did in this room."

  He sat beside her and studied her. What he saw made every muscle clench in horrified repudiation. "Good God, Fenella, you're not sending me on my way forever with a fond farewell and no intention of ever seeing me again, are you? Have I really made such a mull of this?"

  Her expression wasn't encouraging. "That seems the sensible option."

  He caught her hand and struggled not to crush it in his desperation to convince her. "You've been sensible for five years, and all you've got to show for it is an empty bed and a lonely heart. If I've been too impetuous, too overbearing, I'm sorry—but I beg you to give me another chance."

  To his surprise, she stroked his bristly cheek. As always, her touch quietened the tempest in his head. "Does this truly mean so much to you?"

  "What the devil else do you think?" His grip tightened. What did his pride matter when his whole life hung in the balance? "I've never begged for anything. But I'm begging you to give me another chance. Don't you see we could build something grand between us?"

  "Oh, yes." Her smile was melancholy, but her touch remained tender.

  He leaned his cheek into her hand, starving for more sweet contact. "Then?"

  To his regret, she withdrew her hand. If ever he'd doubted her power over him, he just needed to recall how her briefest touch soothed his demons. For one instant, he wondered if he'd be wiser to let her go. But immediately the thought of losing her made his gut cramp with denial. Whatever her ability to devastate his feelings, over the last days, she'd become essential to him.

  "I ask your indulgence."

  He caught her hand and lifted it for a kiss. "Anything."

  "You might be sorry you said that."

  "Just don't tell me you never want to see me again."

  Her lips twitched. "It's not quite that bad."

  That one small word "quite" struck like a knife. "How bad is it?"

  His foreboding deepened when she withdrew her hand. "I'm going to leave you."

  Those words beat such a death knell that it took him a few bleak moments to realize she was still talking. "I'll return to London on my own. I need time to think, and I can't think when I'm with you."

  He needed a few more seconds to understand that she wasn't closing the door between them forever. "When can I see you again?"

  The shake of her head expressed exasperation rather than denial, thank God. "Here's where I need you to cooperate. I ask you to leave me alone until I've questioned my heart and worked out what I want." Her helpless gesture sliced at him. "I can't expect you to understand. I hardly understand, myself. But you've thrown me completely off course. I'd intended to live alone and devote myself to Brandon. I had no plans to remarry."

  "And you're still grieving for Henry."

  She nodded. "Love doesn't let you go easily. Not real love."

  He had a grim inkling that he was about to discover that for himself.

  "So you want me to sit patiently and do nowt until you decide for or against me?" He sounded churlish, but he couldn't help it.

  Her glance was amused but fond. "Perhaps patience is asking too much. But yes. With the rest of our lives at stake, you can grant me a couple of weeks to reflect on my decision and come to terms with what has passed."

  "And if I won't agree?" Although what choice did he have?

  Her jaw set in the stubborn line he'd first seen when she'd insisted upon joining a stranger on a frantic chase. "I'll know I can entrust neither myself nor my son to your care."

  He scowled. "That's harsh."

  "I know you're used to being in charge. After five years, so am I. Think of this as a test."

  "How long must I wait?" he asked, still disgruntled. Now he'd tasted her, he didn't want her miles away, weighing his good and bad qualities. Especially as he had a horrid feeling that he was no competition for her beloved Henry.

  Her eyes sharpened, reminding him yet again that her fragility was deceptive. "You don't have to agree."

  "If I don't, you'll walk away without a backward glance."

  "Never so coldhearted as that, but you've heard my proposal."

  "And you've heard mine—if you decide in my favor, we're getting married."

  She looked startled, although why she should, he had no idea. After all, he could make ultimatums, too. "Now who's being uncompromising?"

  He smiled. "The future promises to be interesting, doesn't it? It won't be a quiet life."

  "So you agree?"

  "Aye. When I have to, I can take the long way to my destination. I just wish I believed you felt a similar commitment."

  She made a conciliatory gesture. "Everything has happened so fast. I haven't stood on solid ground since you stormed into my house and bullied the servants. I have to be sure."

  Compassion flooded him, stronger than resentment. "Fenella, you can't be sure. Not completely. You just have to trust that your heart and your good sense lead you right. I know losing Henry shattered your world, and you're terrified that might happen again. But you can't spend your life afraid to take the next step."

  "I still need to think."

  "Don't think yourself back into isolation."

  Displeasure darkened her eyes. "I asked you not to badger me."

  A mixture of frustration and affection flattened his lips. "No, the wooing can wait until you make up your mind—which strikes me as a blasted widdershins way to go about things."

  "Good." She paused. "Thank you."

  "What about Brand? He's welcome to stay at the Beeches."

  She frowned. "That rather defeats my purposes."

  "Well, you could say you'll marry me, and we'll sort out our problems as we go. All four of us will make a home at the Beeches."

  "Oh, Lord…" She raised a hand to her throat as though holding in her consent.

  The flash of longing in her eyes took him back to the night's fiery intimacies. He realized that despite her fear, despite her loyalty to her dead husband, she was powerfully tempted.

  He'd imagined himself powerless in this war between Fenella's past and a future that she'd never wished for. But he just might have a few weapons of his own.

  Recognizing that, he was at last willing to step back. "I'll bring the boys up to London next week. Carey will enjoy seeing the sights. I'll take Brand around, too, then return him to you before we go home. Good enough?"

  She looked doubtful. "Can you manage two eleven-year-old boys?"

  He pretended to be insulted. "Madam, I'll have you know I captained a crew of Lascars as likely to cut your throat as give you good day—and bent them to my will. In comparison, Brandon and Carey will be a picnic."

  Her laugh was rusty and carried the weight of her earlier tears. But he was glad to see her lookin
g happier. He didn't want her carrying away the memory of a dour, difficult conversation—and a dour, difficult suitor.

  "If Brand becomes unruly, send him home."

  He took her hand again. She was leaving any moment, damn it. "If you need to reach me, send to the Beeches. Otherwise I'll be at the Townsend offices."

  She regarded him with such wistfulness that he slung an arm around her and drew her down to rest her head on his shoulder. "It will all work out, Fenella."

  "You must think I'm a dreadful witch, making all these conditions," she said in a muffled voice.

  His hold tightened. She was worth a few sacrifices. He'd wait, and he'd do it without pestering her, even if it killed him. Which given the imperious, willful, impatient fellow he was, it was very likely to do. "I feel like a prince in a fairytale, set a series of impossible challenges to win the princess."

  She smiled up at him. "You're a romantic, Anthony Townsend. Who knew?"

  "You've made me one."

  She didn't answer, but he supposed the way she pressed closer was response enough. As the light in the room strengthened to full day, they sat together in that undemanding embrace. And gradually a little of the peace he'd found in her arms last night returned to ease his soul.

  When at last she raised her golden head and straightened, he itched to bring her back to him. But he'd made a promise, however much it pricked. Already.

  Soon it would become purest hell. He never let other people set the agenda.

  "I'd like to be on the way before the inn is busy and there's a chance someone might recognize me," she said.

  He nodded, a hollow feeling in his gut like he let her go forever, which was absurd. But having found her, his deepest instinct was to keep her near. "Do you want breakfast?"

  She shook her head. "No, I'll be in London in a little over an hour. I'll eat there. Please…let me go before I do something foolish."

  He bit back a plea for her to stay and be as foolish as she liked. "I'll ring for the carriage."

  The quiet scattered into the bustle of dressing, making travel arrangements, giving orders to servants, and Fenella tidying herself in the mirror. Despite Anthony's anguish, it was a joy to watch her perform such intimate and prosaic acts. He yearned for this serene daily life to start, with a lovely woman he cared for and respected. He thirsted to see her grow round with his child. He wanted the years ahead with her at his side.