Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows #2)

Chapter Ten

F enella 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 sensual 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.

* * *

At Anthony's knock, a quiet word invited him into the bedroom. Carefully he eased the door open, like a mortal entering an enchanted kingdom.

In awed silence, he stopped on the threshold. For a long time, the only sound in the room was the fire crackling in the hearth. His head was swimming before he realized he'd forgotten to breathe. He sucked in a great gust of air and struggled to say something coherent.

“You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen” The reverent whisper resonated like a vow.

Her lips, pink satin, curved in a smile. “Thank you.”

In the firelight, she was exquisite. Rich gold hair tumbled around her shoulders—what a glorious privilege to see it unbound. She wore a sheer white nightgown, and as she stepped forward, the way it clung and flowed around her slender body set his unruly heart cartwheeling.

She stopped about a foot away and fixed eyes brimming with mystery and shy passion upon him. “I want this, Anthony. When I'm with you, I don't feel lonely anymore”

“Oh, Fenella” he said, moved by her confession. He set his hands around her waist, reveling in her slim strength, and drew her up for his kiss.

After last night, her eagerness was familiar, but the freedom in her response was new. His tongue swept into her mouth, and when she greeted him without hesitation, animal hunger jolted him. He buried his hands in the luxuriant hair and angled her face up for a kiss of unabashed carnality. She followed where he went, until the unforgettable moment when she thrust her tongue into his mouth and a hum of enjoyment emerged from her throat.

Anthony backed her toward the bed. Fenella was a creature of light and fire. Not afraid, but his equal. He loved that. Although in the last few days, the differences between them had mattered less and less, and what counted now was that he was a man in thrall to a woman, and that woman wanted him back.

He couldn't mistake her desire. Her greedy hands explored his chest and shoulders, bunching the silk against his skin until the dressing gown crumpled to the floor.

Her eyes devoured him with considerably more enthusiasm than she'd shown for the excellent dinner he'd watched her pick at. “Mr. Townsend, you are magnificent. I'm quite overcome.”

Her blatant sensual interest—and admiration—filled him with pride. He loved that his big, muscular body pleased her. He'd feared she'd recoil from his size and vigor.

But he couldn't mistake the avid hunger in her eyes. Or in her touch as she flattened both hands on his broad chest with its thatch of black hair.

“Mmm,” she murmured appreciatively.

Hell, these throaty murmurs tested his control. His cock, hard and erect, twitched. He clenched his hands in the flimsy lawn covering her hips, as he fought the urge to push her down and plunge into her.

“I'm very large,” he said, almost in apology.

She bit her lip in hesitation, then to his astonishment, her glance fell to his dick, stiff and heavy and insistent. “Yes, you are.”

His heart crashed to a stop when she slid one of those soft lady's hands down his belly, setting every muscle jumping. And curled her fingers around him. “Lucky me.”

Despite the dizzying heat, a growl of amusement escaped. “No, lucky me .”

He caught her hand and pressed his lips to those fluttering fingers. “I want to see you.”

When he kissed her lips, her fevered enthusiasm made his blood pound. Reluctantly he raised his head. She was as addictive as wine. Her face was flushed and lovely, and her expression spoke surrender. But for all her boldness, he caught a shadow of earlier shyness.

“You're a gift” he murmured.

“Then pray, unwrap me,” she whispered.

How he delighted in these hints of saucy humor. Carefully he gathered the nightdress in his hands. Slowly he slid it upward, knuckles brushing smooth, still unseen skin over thighs and hips and flanks. With a sudden tug, the garment was over her head and on its way to a distant corner. He caught her supple waist and lowered her to the bed.

Urgency rang through him like a volley of trumpets, but he delayed long enough to snatch an incendiary glimpse of her. Nothing in his heated fantasies matched the pure white perfection of Fenella Deerham, lying bare and impatient for his possession.

She was all long, lissome lines, stronger and leaner without clothes than she looked in her fashionable gowns. Slim grace, subtle curves, high pointed breasts shaped to fit his hands.

He came down over her, supporting himself on one arm while his hand began a wanton exploration. Her skin was soft and smooth, and the color of new cream. He cupped one delicious breast, and his thumb brushed the beaded pink tip.

As her nipple tightened to a pebbled raspberry point, her eyelids flickered down and her breath escaped in jagged gasps. In a plea for more, she moved restlessly on the sheets.

Slowly, although his craving built like a great crescendo, his hand drifted down her flank to her hip. She was shaking. So was he.

She rolled toward him and pressed her hot face into his chest. Her hands ran up and down his arms. Husky murmurs spurred him on. His hand trailed down to her buttocks, then around to part her thighs.

He stroked her slick cleft, tracing the secret valleys and rises. Her musky, female scent intoxicated him. With a shuddering gasp, she shifted onto her back to offer him access. Again he marveled at her generosity. When his thumb found the hard little knot of her pleasure and she jerked in response, he set out to tease and arouse.

She tautened under his caresses and when he slid one finger, then two into her, she whimpered. Gently at first, then with increasing urgency, he worked her. The needy clench of her muscles around his fingers threatened to blast him to ash. His balls tightened to the point of agony, but still he lingered to ensure her readiness.

She'd waited so long for a lover's touch. By God, he'd make the wait worthwhile, or his name wasn't Anthony Townsend.

He bent to take one pink nipple into his mouth. Flicking with his tongue, scraping his teeth over the sensitive peak, until she cried out and raised her hips to meet his seeking hand.

After an interval of delightful torture, she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled until she had his attention. With the salty taste of her skin tangy on his tongue, he looked up.

“Don't wait.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “I want you so much.”

“I want you, too,” he murmured. How profound the simple words became when spoken to the right woman.

He angled himself up and kissed her. She made a discontented sound against his lips and deepened the contact, but he pulled away.

Anthony was in such a lather to be inside her, his control shredded to tatters. He was sharply conscious of his proportions, and he feared hurting her, despite her ardor. Gently he spread her legs and, using his hand to guide his entry, slid inside her.

Dear Lord, she was tight. She panted and dug her fingernails into his bare shoulders until he felt the sting. The hell of it was, he wasn't sure he could stop. Not now, poised on the edge of bliss.

His balls burned to complete the joining. Every muscle coiled until he feared he'd explode like an overheated chestnut in a fire. His heart pounded so ferociously, it must rattle the windows.

Fenella tugged at his hair again. Given her dreamy expression only moments ago, her uncompromising stare surprised him. “Anthony,” she said clearly. “I won't break”

“What the devil?”

Her hands framed his face, and she stretched up to kiss his mouth with an unfettered eagerness that threatened to blow his head off. “I appreciate your consideration, I really do.”

“That's good,” he said doubtfully. By God, it was difficult to talk and rein in his ravenous urges at the same time. He was close to forgetting that she was lovely and refined—and unused to great brutes heaving about on top of her.

“But you're driving me mad with frustration,” she said.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

The softness in her eyes set his heart thumping in a whole new rhythm. “You won't hurt me. I've done this before. Remember?”

“Not for a long time,” he mumbled, and despite his most valiant efforts, his hips jutted forward.

“Far too long.” She kissed him again, briefly but with devastating effect. “It's unkind to make me wait any longer”

“Fenella…” he began, but she arched up on a sigh of surrender and this time, not even the end of the world could stop him taking what he wanted.

On a groan of helpless delight, Anthony thrust deep and felt her open in fervent welcome.