Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows)

by Anna Campbell

  "Ah."

  Fenella was close enough to feel his tension.

  Helena's gaze sharpened on his face. "He said he'd invited you on the camellia collecting expedition to China next year, but you'd said no."

  For once, there was no hint of humor in Silas's face. "London offers too much entertainment for me to forsake it at present."

  "Really, Silas? That's hard to believe. Ever since you were a boy, you've talked about hunting new plants in the East and how you'd devote your life to exploration and discovery."

  "Well, priorities change when one grows up," he said with unaccustomed brusqueness. "My colleagues at the Horticultural Society will have to manage without me while they grub around beside the Yellow River for pretty little flowers. I find this subject tedious in the extreme. Let's go back to interrogating Fenella about her new beau."

  "No, please," Fenella said fervently.

  "Silas, do you really want to go?" Caro moved around the sofa until she could see his face.

  "I don't want to leave you, my darling." He smiled, but Fenella saw it was an effort. "It's no sacrifice to stay."

  "But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity," Caro said urgently.

  "It's a pity they don't take ladies on scientific expeditions," Fenella said.

  Helena's lips curled in a sardonic smile as she continued to study her brother. "But this expedition is different. It's a diplomatic mission as much as a plant hunt. Mr. Browning is taking his wife. So are Sir Richard Bentley and Lord Parrish."

  Caro brightened. "Silas, you know I've longed to travel. Perhaps we could…"

  His expression closed, and he suddenly looked much older than the lighthearted man Fenella thought she knew. "I've said I won't go, Caro. If you like, I'll take you to Italy after Christmas. That will placate your yen for adventure."

  Caro stared at him with dismay. "Ladies can go, but only if they're wives. You're not taking up this wonderful chance to see China because you can't take your mistress." She stopped, her mind clearly making connections. "Of course you can't. If it's officially sanctioned, you'd create an international scandal if you turned up with your doxy in tow."

  Fenella's protesting "Caro" clashed with Silas's savage "You're not my doxy." He leaped to his feet. "If you don't mind, this isn't a discussion I want to have before witnesses." He shot his sister a savage glare that made Fenella wince in sympathy. "Congratulations, Hel. You wanted to cause trouble and you've succeeded."

  Helena remained stalwart under his blistering anger. "You know, Silas, if you and Caro married, you could be off to Peking tomorrow, and nobody would raise an eyebrow."

  "Marriage isn't for us," he said in a stilted voice, although his eyes continued to threaten murder.

  Helena clicked her tongue with disapproval. "For shame, to trifle with a lady's feelings and reputation."

  "Helena…" he said on a growl of warning.

  Caro straightened, her face drawn with misery. "It's my fault we're not married. You all know that. I swore I'd never take another husband."

  Helena made an impatient noise. "Why on earth not? Freddie was undoubtedly a blockhead. So what? You and my brother are in love, and my brother isn't a blockhead—most of the time."

  "Thank you, dear sister," he bit out.

  She sighed. "Well, it's stupid. Just because Caro's a coward, you're going to miss out on fulfilling a dream. Even more asinine, it's Caro's dream, too. She always said she wanted to see the world and break out of her old, stale, dull life. A trip to China does that in spades."

  Silas extended his hand to Caro. "Come, my love. I'll take you home."

  Caro didn't shift, and Fenella who knew her so well, read the battle going on inside her. It was a battle she understood much better since she'd met Anthony and discovered she, too, was trapped between the past and a beckoning, risky future.

  "Helena's right, you know," Caro said slowly.

  "Why would I want China when I have you?" Silas asked with a fair approximation of his usual good nature.

  Caro squared her shoulders and looked directly at the man she loved. Her jaw was set in an obstinate line and her hands clenched at her sides. But Fenella saw the terror shining in her eyes. "You could have both."

  Her offer didn't noticeably cheer him up. He ran his hand through his hair and looked grimly at Caro. "I promised I wouldn't pressure you about marriage."

  "I know." She paused, then spoke in a hurry. "But asking me to marry you after six blissful months doesn't count as pressure."

  Silas took a couple of moments to examine what she said, then such naked joy filled his face that fresh tears sprang to Fenella's eyes. Not altogether with happiness for her friends. Caro's courage threw her own lack of daring into stark relief.

  "Do you mean it, sweetheart?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

  Caro's laugh cracked with emotion, but her reply rang with confidence. "Yes, I do."

  Silas caught her hand and stared into her eyes. "Caroline Beaumont, the love of my life, would you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my wife?"

  Caro smiled with an elation to match his. She lifted one hand to touch his face with such tenderness that it set Fenella's lonely heart aching anew. "Seeing you asked so nicely, my beloved Lord Stone, I just have to say yes."

  "Oh, my love," he said in a broken voice and hauled her into his arms for a fervent kiss that paid no heed to their audience.

  "At last," Helena said, looking justifiably smug. "I'll ring for champagne."

  Chapter Fourteen

  * * *

  Anthony devoted the morning to chopping wood behind the hay barn. He wasn't much use for anything else these days. There was nobody around to bother him—which suited him fine. In the past two weeks, the outdoor staff had taken to scattering toward the farthest corners of the estate to avoid their irascible master.

  He couldn't say he blamed them.

  Since Fenella had left, his mood had grown increasingly black. For the first few days, her parting words had convinced him she'd relent. He'd leaped on every mail delivery as if it offered a reprieve from a death sentence.

  In London, he'd been as excited as an infatuated schoolboy at the thought of seeing his inamorata, but they hadn't encountered each other. Not even Brand's safe return to Curzon Street had provided a forbidden glimpse.

  A hundred times, Anthony had been on the verge of ordering his carriage and setting out in pursuit of his elusive darling. After all, women liked to play games—perhaps Fenella tested his purpose by saying, "Don't touch me," when she really wanted him to lay siege to her.

  But something always stopped him. Probably her austere expression when she'd asked for time.

  Time! Such a little word to cause this agony of soul and body.

  For a glorious, too brief interval, he'd held Fenella Deerham in his arms and the world had turned into heaven. The idea that she'd allow him no more left him wandering in darkness. The only thing that kept creeping despair at bay was mindless, vigorous physical labor. Which was why he was outside on this freezing day, working like a navvy, instead of sitting back and giving orders like the aristocrat he'd never be, no matter how he tried.

  The thought that his coarse manners might have repulsed fastidious, wellborn Fenella Deerham made him want to smash something. And as a result the house had firewood into the next decade.

  He sank the ax into a block of wood, hearing that satisfying split, tugged it free, then raised his head from his furious activity. Someone drove a carriage at speed toward the yard on the other side of the stable block.

  Swearing under his breath, he brushed the sweat from his face. What bloody idiot intruded on him, expecting a fair hearing? His temper heated as he shrugged on his shirt and marched around the stable to see who was brave enough to disturb his fit of self-pity.

  His heart slammed to a stop. His hand opened and the ax clattered to the cobblestones.

  A stylish carriage bowled toward him at a cracking pace. Holding the reins with an aplomb that would
take his breath away, if he had any breath left, was the woman he'd once called a useless ornament to society.

  With a flourish Fenella drew the horses to a neat stop, making the high-stepping blacks arch their necks and stamp their hooves. Her bonnet had fallen back and dangled from two bright yellow ribbons. Her fine golden hair curled around her face in wild abandon that reminded him how she'd looked lying in his arms. A flush marked her cheeks and her eyes glittered.

  A useless ornament? This woman could conquer worlds with a mere flick of her elegant fingers.

  Those brilliant blue eyes found him. "Did you mean it?" she asked in a hard voice he'd never heard her use before.

  With the question, hope lurched into vigorous life. Immediately deciphering her question, he grinned in delight as though he hadn't spent a fortnight eating his heart out over her. "Of course."

  "Good." She flung the reins aside as he strode up to the carriage.

  He seized her by the waist and lifted her to the ground. "Come with me."

  "The horses?"

  "Won't go far." With a careless toss, he hitched the reins over a convenient post. Frankly, he couldn't give a damn if the nags ended up in Scotland. He twined his arm around her and swept her into the noonday hush of the stables.

  "Are you—" she began shakily.

  "I am."

  "Oh, Lord," she gasped on an excited laugh that whipped him to a frenzy.

  In an empty stall, he slid her onto a fragrant pile of hay and came down over her, already tugging at the front fall of his breeches.

  She stretched out on the makeshift bed and stripped her gloves off, flinging them into the shadows. In the half light, the certainty shining in her eyes made his blood rush.

  "Speak now, or forever hold your peace," he said roughly.

  Even burning like flame in his arms, she hadn't smiled like this. Like she knew every sensual secret. And meant to reveal those mysteries to him alone, lucky sap he was. "That sounds dauntingly matrimonial."

  "Aye, it does."

  "Then we're of one mind."

  "I haven't had a mind since I met you," he muttered, and at last kissed her. She responded with an abandon that, even without her words, told him she'd overcome all doubt. Distantly he was aware that she’d agreed to marry him, but right now he had other fish to fry.

  His tongue delved deep into her mouth until she whimpered with anticipation. The knot in her bonnet ribbons defied his shaking hands until, swearing, he tore it apart. She made a sound, half-appalled, half-admiring, as she released the front fastenings of her green carriage dress. Clearly she didn't trust him not to rip that to shreds as well. Wise woman.

  When the stylish jacket parted at last, his greedy hands rose to cover her lovely breasts. She wrenched her lips from his and fell back into the hay with a gurgle of laughter. "Don't wait."

  With one ruthless movement he swept her skirts up, revealing lacy white drawers. "Nice," he grunted. Words longer than one syllable were beyond him.

  "Rip them," she gasped. She made no secret that she craved this joining, and he loved it.

  Laughing exultantly, he obeyed. Feverishly he stroked her thighs and cleft and stomach. But neither of them had the patience for lengthy preliminaries.

  His chest heaving, he hooked his hands under her knees and plunged inside her. She was hot and ready and needy. They were both too desperate for finesse. Her swift, wild climax astonished him, then he was lost in the gathering storm.

  Vaguely through his primitive drive to possess and please and mark, he felt her reach another peak. Then fire blasted him and on a long groan of release, he filled her with a titanic torrent of longing and loneliness and desire.

  Utterly exhausted, breathlessly happy, he slumped over her. The remnants of her pleasure still quivered through her. Their passion had scoured the world clean.

  As the fierce beat of his heart calmed and he returned to earth from the outer limits of the sky, he became aware of how tenderly she touched him. Little, glancing caresses across his hair, his ears, his neck, his bare shoulder where his shirt had slid down during that unfettered encounter. The erratic exploration made his heart clench with poignant emotion.

  "I'm assuming you missed me," she murmured unsteadily, affectionate amusement running like a warm river under her teasing.

  He leaned his forehead into her neck. The evocative scent of the stables surrounded him, but richer still was the scent of Fenella's satisfaction. "Like the very devil."

  "I missed you, too."

  "I guessed that when you galloped up like the hounds of hell pursued you. Did you come all the way from London like that?"

  "A nervous groom accompanied me as far as Winchester. I left him to recover his breath at a tavern outside the city. I didn't want an audience when we met again."

  Anthony smiled reminiscently and kissed her neck before rolling off her. "I must be crushing you."

  "It's rather…exciting."

  "Nowhere near as exciting as you flying in like a Valkyrie set on my seduction. For future reference, I find the sight of your delicate self controlling a team of huge, snorting beasts uncontrollably arousing."

  "For future reference?" she asked drily, raising a hand to tug a wisp of straw from his hair.

  He settled her on his chest. The hay provided a surprisingly comfortable couch. "Aye. A wife needs to know these things."

  "So we're getting married, then," she said neutrally.

  "We are indeed, lass. Soon."

  Her expression softened. "I love the way you call me lass."

  "That's a damned good thing, given you're likely to hear it for the next fifty years or so. Don't try and say no. I only accepted your bold invitation just now because you said you'd make an honest man of me afterward."

  "A lady can't change her mind?"

  "No."

  "You're very highhanded."

  He stared into her bright eyes. "I suspect you can handle me the way you handle that team of horses."

  Her smile was smug. "You could be right."

  "So we'll marry." He'd known the moment she blazed back into his life that she intended to stay, but it was satisfying to set out his agenda. "Although I'd very much like to know what tipped the balance in my favor."

  She sat up and started to button her dress until he reached to stop her. "Memories of you as a wanton milkmaid will fuel my fantasies until I'm old and decrepit. Don't take the reality away yet."

  Her lips, full and red after his kisses, twitched. "You know, now that I'm staying, we can take a tumble in the stables whenever you feel the urge."

  Without shifting his gaze from her, he lay full length on the hay and crossed his arms behind his head. Her gaping bodice gave him tantalizing glimpses of her breasts. Arousal stirred lazily, but he reined it in. This capitulation was too new and hard-won to take for granted.

  "What a glorious prospect. Now put me out of my misery and tell me why you came back."

  The hungry inspection she devoted to his body made him wonder why in Hades he wasted time on talk when they had a whole stable to themselves and an afternoon to enjoy it. "You don't look too miserable."

  "You should have seen me half an hour ago."

  He'd spoken lightly, but she must have heard an echo of his earlier desolation. Remorse deepened her eyes to sapphire, and she leaned down to kiss him. "I'm sorry. I was utterly wretched without you, too."

  "I've been as cranky as a bear. Ask Carey."

  She started and glanced around nervously. "Oh, good heavens, I didn't even think of him. Where is he?"

  Anthony sat up and caught her hand. "He's doing Latin translation at the vicarage. It gives you some idea of how impossible I've been that every morning, he positively gallops away to his studies."

  She laughed. "Oh, dear. That bad?"

  He kissed her slender fingers. "Tell me, Fenella."

  The amusement drained from her face. "That morning in Croydon, you called me a coward. So did my closest friends when they heard what had happ
ened. Yesterday I saw one of those dear friends find the courage to step beyond her past and into a new future. I realized then that over the years, my grief for Henry had become a cage." She shook her tumbled hair back from her face. "I don't want to live in a cage anymore, Anthony. I want to live in the open with you."

  He was so moved by her confession that he needed to clear his throat before he spoke. "Fenella, will you do something for me?"

  "Anything."

  Her quick response made him smile. "Now that sounds right wifely, lass." His voice turned somber. "Will you tell me about Henry?"

  * * *

  Fenella snatched her hand free and stared at him in shock. The voluptuous languor lingering from that heated bout in the hay trickled away to leave a chill on her skin. "About Henry? Why? Surely you're not jealous of a dead man."

  Anthony's gaze didn't waver as he shook his dark head. "That's not why I'm asking. Although you need to know that I have been jealous of him. Unforgivably so. Because he has your steadfast love." His spoke in that deep velvet bass that always made her shiver with feminine awareness. "But I'm not jealous of him anymore. Today I reckon I no longer need to be."

  After rolling around under Anthony in the full light of day—in a stable, no less—she shouldn't be able to muster a blush. But her cheeks stung nonetheless. Her eyelashes flickered down and she pretended interest in dusting off her dark green merino skirts.

  "If you no longer consider him a…rival, why do you want to know about him?"

  He shrugged. "For many reasons. Because he was dear to you, and I care about what you care about. Because he's Brandon's father." He spoke slowly and very deliberately, as though he picked his way through a jungle of words to find precisely the right one. "And because I believe you need to make some ritual act to let him go. We owe homage to his ghost. Only once we pay that homage can you turn your face to a life with me."

  The breath jammed in her throat. What staggering generosity of spirit. Every time she thought she understood Anthony Townsend, he revealed some new and marvelous aspect of his character.

  Still, she balked at praising an old lover to the skies when she'd just surrendered to a new one. "For heaven's sake, I just let you tumble me in a haystack. I couldn't be more committed."