Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows #2)

Chapter Seven

A fter dinner, Anthony sipped his brandy and studied the lovely woman drinking tea on the other side of his drawing room. The lads had eaten with them, then retired with surprising docility which meant they were probably upstairs hatching mischief. Anthony couldn't get too exercised about the possibility when he had a bonny lass to look at, a blazing fire to sit beside, and a belly full of an excellent dinner.

Like everything else at the Beeches, the room was shabby, but with the potential for magnificence. A room in need of a woman's touch, in fact.

He wanted that woman to be Fenella Deerham.

He'd built an extravagant fortune on following his instincts. In this case, his instincts verged on madness. Her family pedigree stretched back to Adam. All his money couldn't match her aristocratic refinement.

And the highest barrier of all between them: she was still in love with her late husband.

For years, Anthony had kept a mistress, a widow of mature years, cheerful temper, and intelligent conversation, in a small house in Kensington. Eighteen months ago, she'd sent him on his way kindly but firmly, and had since married a ship's captain. He thought of Flora fondly, but without regret.

After Flora's departure, his bed had stayed empty. Too much else occupied his attention. His crushing burden of grief. His duty to Carey. A government clamoring for advice. Not to mention the demands of running a worldwide enterprise.

Then he'd found himself in a gallant lady's company, racing through the night in search of two runaway rapscallions. And his life had turned in a dazzling new direction.

Last night Fenella had cuddled up to him in the carriage's close confines. All day, tormenting little contacts had kept his blood at a constant simmer. If she was the sort of woman he was used to—earthy, practical, familiar with desire—he'd think she indicated interest.

But she was a blasted lady. He had no experience with that exotic species.

He couldn't imagine her fancying a hulking brute like him. And after they'd established such harmony, he balked at destroying their rapport with an improper proposition.

Dear Lord above, how he burned to make that proposition. There she sat, drinking tea and dreaming of sugarplums and daisies, or whatever the hell gentlewomen thought about. And all Anthony wanted was to drag her down onto the worn carpet and thrust inside her until she sobbed with release.

He'd had one victory at least. She'd suggested returning to London this afternoon, although she'd been white with exhaustion. Shamelessly he'd used Brand's need to rest after all the excitement to convince her to remain. Now she was here, he didn't want her to leave.

“Please, stop scowling at me, Mr. Townsend,” she said lightly, freshening her tea. “Is the brandy not to your taste?”

He smiled. He'd smiled more in her company than he had since William died. She had magic, this ethereal creature. “What the devil are we to do with these two rascals?”

He kicked himself when his question brought a troubled light to her blue eyes. “I had no idea Brand didn't like school.”

“He didn't want to worry you.”

“But if I knew, I could do something about it.”

“Will you send him back?”

“Not this term, at least. And that's assuming the school will overlook him running away. I'll have to bring him to London. But that's only a temporary solution.”

“You could leave him here. At least until the holidays.”

“You're not sending Carey back?”

“No. Like you, I'd rather he was here and content. At least for the moment. He's had enough sadness in his young life.”

“I'm so glad.”

Her approval made him happier than he'd felt when he'd banked his first thousand pounds. “Penny's right. Now I've got the lad, things need to change. Perhaps I'll retire and become a lazy country squire who rides to hounds all day and drinks half the night.”

She released a short laugh. “Not you. You'll set to modernizing the house. Then the gardens. Then the estate. Your poor tenants won't get a moment's peace without you pounding on their doors, forcing new roofs and the latest plumbing upon them.”

Anthony responded with a huff of amusement. “I've got a powerful fear of boredom, Lady Deerham.”

“Are you seriously thinking of moving to the country?”

“Aye. I can run my business from here if need be—London is in easy reach, as we proved last night. That's one of the reasons I bought this house—it's close to Southampton and Portsmouth, too. I just didn't imagine I'd move in until it was up to scratch.”

“It merely needs a little work.”

“More than a little. And I don't fancy living here with the builders in.”

After stewing over his nephew's welfare for months, it was satisfying to share his thoughts and plans with a sensible, warmhearted woman. The sort of conversation one would have with a wife.

Fenella would make a damned fine wife. If some chap could persuade her to look beyond her first husband.

She shrugged. “Everyone says you're as rich as Croesus. You could travel, or rent somewhere else, or go back to London.”

“And Carey?”

“He could go with you.” She paused. “Or stay with me, wherever Brand and I end up. Right now, I have no idea where that will be.”

“You're brave to the point of recklessness to offer to take him on.”

She made a dismissive murmur. “Brand would like it.”

“So would Carey, but I don't want to saddle you with my family problems. Carey's already caused a world of trouble. You must curse the name Townsend”

An enigmatic smile hovered around her full, pink mouth. Her full, pink, kissable mouth. “I certainly cursed it when a great bear of a man ripped his way into my drawing room and howled abuse.”

Heat prickled his cheeks. “I haven't apologized adequately. My behavior was unforgivable.”

The smile deepened without really taking hold. “You've grown on me since then.”

“Like mold on cheese,” he said gloomily, setting his empty glass on the spindly table at his elbow.

She laughed, as he'd intended. “More like ivy on a wall.”

It was his turn to laugh. “So will you let Brand stay here until you decide his future?”

She frowned. “I'm…I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

He jerked as if she'd struck him. She'd have hurt him less if she had. He should have expected this—after all, hadn't the differences between them been as plain as a bloody pikestaff from the start? Even so, his voice was humiliatingly rough when he spoke. “I'm sorry, my lady. I presumed where I had no right.”

Astonishment widened her eyes. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“There's no need to put your objections into words.”

“There jolly well is. What do you think I mean?”

The moment he began his awkward explanation, he realized he'd jumped to unwarranted conclusions. His uncharacteristic sensitivity was another sign of how important she was becoming. “Carey is a working man's son, whereas Brandon's blood is bluer than your bonny eyes.”

He'd glimpsed her anger before. Now it blazed like fire, fixing him in his chair as she rose, a tiny, gorgeous bundle of blistering fury. “I resent that. Carey is a fine boy, and I'm overjoyed Brandon has found a friend who is loyal, true and brave. Carey risked a lot to see Mrs. Penn, perhaps for the last time. Yet still he did it. If that's an example of a working man's son, the country needs more of them.” Her tone turned freezing. “I have my doubts about Carey's uncle, however.”

Anthony stood up and loomed over her. “Most women in your position would—”

“I'm not most women,” she said curtly, cutting him off as nobody these days dared. And bugger him if he didn't like it. “How dare you say I'm too blinded by privilege to note a man's genuine worth? And I'm not talking about how much money you've got stashed away in Child's Bank, Mr. Townsend.”

He caught her arms before he remembered he had no right to touch her. “Then what the hell did you mean when you said Brandon shouldn't stay?”

She stared up at him, eyes blue as the sky. This time, it was her turn to blush. “Don't make me explain.”

His grip tightened. “If you approve of Brandon and Carey's friendship, why shouldn't the lads stay here? I'll keep an eye on them. For God's sake, if you're unsure of my guardianship, you could stay, too. I'd certainly like that.”

With a muffled sound of frustration, she pulled free. “So would I. Can't you see that's the problem?”

Guilt stabbed him. He'd felt bad enough when he thought she scorned his humble background. This was worse. He straightened. “You're afraid I mean to act dishonorably. You have my word, Lady Deerham. You're safe under my roof.”

She exhaled with impatience. “Oh, how can a clever man be so stupid?”

“If I've made you feel uncomfortable, I can only apologize—again. I won’t bedevil you with my attentions.”

She made a nervous gesture. “I don't fear that. I'm not…averse to your attentions—and there lies my dilemma.”

His mouth gaped in shock as she flushed with embarrassment. Her slender body vibrated with tension—or was it excitement?

"What…what did you say?” he finally summoned voice to ask, while his busy mind wrestled to make sense of her astonishing confession.

Because the obvious meaning couldn't be true in any universe Anthony Townsend inhabited.

She closed her eyes and sucked in an audible breath. “I'm not saying it again.”

He spoke very clearly to avoid further misunderstandings. If he got this wrong, the consequences would be disastrous. “You're giving me to understand that…that you wouldn't object to a kiss or two?”

She stared at the floor, and her hands twined over each other in a dance of uncertainty. “It's impossible.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Her eyes flashed up. “I'm a virtuous woman. And the scandal will be bad enough already, with me taking off into the night and staying unchaperoned in your house.”

He smiled slowly. “We may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.”

She backed away. “You don't understand.”

Actually he did. Finally. “You haven't had a lover since Sir Henry died, have you?”

“Of course not,” she said hotly.

Vast tenderness flooded him, sweeping away hesitation. He'd wanted Fenella Deerham from the first. Discovering that she wanted him, too, emboldened him to meet all opposition head on. Even from a dead man.

“Fenella” he said gently, “you've been on your own for five years”

Distress turned her eyes glassy. He didn't underestimate the obstacles between them—the prospect of desiring someone new threatened to tear her apart. Let alone going on to do anything about it. “I love Henry.”

“That's well and good. But you're a vibrant, attractive woman and, forgive my bluntness, you're here and he, God rest his soul, isn't.”

“So I should leap into the bed of the first reprobate who shows an interest?” she asked bitterly.

Anthony couldn't help smiling. “I very much doubt I'm the first man in five years who's expressed his admiration” He inspected her thoughtfully. “But that's not the real problem, is it? The real problem is that I'm the first man who has aroused your interest in return.”

“That's…that's why I think we should try and avoid one another”

He commended her courage—and honesty. His laugh was wry. “That will be difficult if those two hellions continue to be best friends.”

“We could try." Desperation edged her soft voice.

When he caught her trembling hand, the contact of skin on skin made her start as if he'd burned her. “Or we could see where this takes us.”

She made a halfhearted attempt to pull away. “You mistake me. I don't want a lover.”

“Why?”

She stared at him in helpless confusion. “I have a son to consider.”

He smiled faintly and brought her hand to his lips. She gave another of those starts. “You're a woman with needs and feelings. Aren't you lonely, Fenella? Don't you miss a man's kisses, the touch of his hand, a warm body to cling to in the night?”

Not long ago she'd been pink as a sunset. Now she was pale as milk. “Stop it.”

“No.” His grip firmed. “Stay with me.”

She stiffened and spoke in a cold voice. “I'm not going to your bed with my son in the house.”

He smiled faintly. “I'm not expecting your capitulation tonight—however nice it would be.”

“Mr. Townsend—”

“Anthony.”

“ Mr. Townsend, this serves no purpose. I'm sorry I admitted my…my penchant.”

“I'm not.”

Her eyes narrowed, although unwilling amusement tugged at her lips. “It's like listening to your nephew wheedling to leave Eton. You're incorrigible.”

“I'm enchanted. Stay and get to know me. Get to know Carey. Spend a few stolen days with Brand. I promise I won't put any pressure on you.”

He saw she was tempted. “I can easily take Brand back with me tomorrow.”

“Do you really mean to split the lads up, just because our attraction frightens you?”

“Emotional blackmail won't force me into your bed, sir.”

“Anthony.”

“And I didn't give you permission to call me Fenella.”

“Lady Deerham is a prisoner of her sad past. Fenella, on the other hand, is warm and lovely and within reach.”

“So call me Lady Deerham," she said crossly. “I see why you've succeeded in business. You browbeat your poor customers into submission.”

“Does that mean you consent?”

She drew herself up and ripped her hand from his. “No, it means I'd appreciate the loan of a carriage tomorrow morning so I can return to London and do my best to scotch any talk”

“Will you leave Brand here?”

She regarded him uncertainly. “Common sense says it's best to sever all ties.”

“So Brand pays the price for your cowardice?”

Her expression turned mutinous. “You're doing it again.”

He spread his hands. “I need to use what weapons I have.”

“No, you need to wave the white flag and surrender.”

A pleased smile lifted his lips. “Ah, surrender is such a bonny word.”

Her response was unimpressed. “I shall be frank, Mr. Townsend—”

“Anthony.”

“ Mr. Townsend. I shall be frank because you seem incapable of taking a polite no for an answer.”

He snorted. “Polite?”

She ignored him and plowed on. “You're wasting your time pursuing me. I'm devoted to my late husband's memory. Please respect that and ignore my unwise admission of attraction. We met in unusual and dramatic circumstances. Neither of us really knows the other, and I suspect if we'd been introduced in a more prosaic setting, we'd find no particular affinity.”

He bowed shortly. “You're brutally clear, my lady.”

Fleeting regret darkened her eyes, but her delicate jaw set in a stubborn line. “I…I have no wish to change my life—however enticing the incentive.”

He hid a smile. The ruthless tone hadn't lasted long. “I'll call upon you in London.”

“Haven't you heard a word I said?”

“You said you mistrust any link formed in such circumstances. I acknowledge the justice of your doubts—and also that we've known each other a mere day. I shall endeavor to prove that we're attracted because of who we are, and not because we've had too much excitement.”

She threw her hands up. “Oh, you're impossible. I'll be glad to get back to my real life.”

“Will you?” he asked softly.

For a moment, she looked unsure, then her lush mouth firmed. “At least in Mayfair, I'm free of insane plutocrats and their persuasions.”

He laughed, enjoying himself. “Yet.”

He'd always intended to pursue her, but her confession of a weakness for him invited a more overt wooing. She was a grand little fighter, but he doubted she'd win when Anthony Townsend allied with her own desire against her.

“There's no point continuing. I'm tired, and you're off your head. Good night, Mr. Townsend.” With an irritated swish of her skirts, she flounced off. He let her reach the door before he spoke. “Lady Deerham, there is one more thing.”

“What is it” Annoyance roughened her voice.

A man of his size could cross the room in a couple of paces. He caught her arm and using her surprise, swung her around to face him. A gentle push and her back bumped against the closed door. “This.”

Furious eyes snapping blue fire focused on his face. “Mr. Townsend, just what on earth do you think you're doing?”

“My dear Lady Deerham, surely it hasn't been that long.”

“I'll scream,” she warned, trying to slay him with her disapproval. Unfortunately for her, he found her spirit arousing. This close she smelled like a flower garden in spring. He drew that glorious scent deep into his lungs.

“I dare you.” One hand pressed her shoulder against the door while the other caught her chin to hold her still.

Not that she was struggling. Which was dashed interesting.

“You are the most provoking man” she muttered.

“That's insane plutocrats for you” He hid a smile as anticipation made his blood rush. “Now stand still so I can kiss you.”

“Well, really," she gasped before his lips stole her breath away.