Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows #2)

Chapter Fourteen

A nthony 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. 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 incendiary 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 happened. 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.” He 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 ones. “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.”

“Indulge me, my darling.” He cupped her jaw and kissed her with a thoroughness that made her toes curl. “I don't want any shadows hanging over us.”

The unfamiliar, unexpected endearment bolstered her courage. “He'll always be part of my life.”

Anthony's smile was irresistibly sweet. He held his arm out. “Come here. You're too far away.”

She accepted the invitation without hesitation. Once she was curled into his side, she murmured, “You mightn't like what you hear.”

Anthony's laugh was a comforting rumble. “What? Because he was a good man? You misjudge me. I'd never wish you unhappy—and I'm grateful that you had someone worthy of you.”

She tilted her head back to meet his intense dark stare. “When it comes to good men, I've been lucky twice over.”

He kissed her gently. “I'll do my best, lass. I swear that on my life.”

The kiss vanquished her misgivings. But because talking at length about Henry hurt, even five years after his death, she faltered at the beginning. “It's an ordinary story. Our fathers were best friends at Eton. Henry and I knew each other from babyhood.”

Anthony settled her more comfortably against him, so she felt safe and cherished in a way she hadn't since she'd received the devastating news from Waterloo. “A bit like Carey and Brand.”

The reminder of her beloved son made continuing easier. “Yes, like that. You could say the match was arranged, but by the time we wed, we were so mad for each other, that wasn't important. Henry was all I'd ever wanted.”

“Handsome?”

She dissected the question for any resentment, but all she heard was friendly curiosity. “As an angel. Especially in his regimentals. But his looks weren't what made him so special. He was by nature a contented man. I think that was his greatest gift—happiness.” She pressed her cheek to Anthony's heart, finding strength in its steady beat. “I'm not explaining this very well.”

He shaped one hand to her jaw and cradled her face against his chest. “You're doing fine.”

Uncanny how his strength flowed into her. “But Henry was a soldier and England was at war. In our eight years, we rarely had more than a few months together at a time. I'd worked up the nerve to follow the drum with him in Spain when I fell pregnant.”

How long it was since she'd thought of Henry in his prime. His early, heroic death had tainted every happy memory. Which suddenly struck her as a pity. And vilely unjust to a man who deserved to be remembered with a smile.

“So you spent most of your life missing him?”

She wasn't surprised Anthony understood. “Yes. Although there's a difference between knowing someone can come home and knowing you'll never see them again. And he was tired of war well before Waterloo. When we thought Boney was finished in 1814, Henry was so looking forward to coming home to Brand and me. And more children. We would both have loved that." Her voice broke, and she blinked away tears.

His arm tightened. “Do you want to stop?”

“Do you want to hear more?”

“Aye. But not if it's too difficult.”

Fenella pressed closer. His protective warmth had lured her from the first, even when he'd been shouting at her. “It's easier to tell you than I thought it would be.”

“You describe a paragon.”

She smiled wistfully. “I'm sure I've idealized him. Of course he had his faults. A tendency to accept a superficial impression as fact. Impetuosity. And he was nowhere near as clever as you are. But that didn't spoil the man he was. He brought sunshine wherever he went.”

“And you feel like you've lived in night ever since.”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry you lost him, Fenella.”

“So am I.” Then she surprised herself by saying, “He'd have liked you. Despite your apparent differences, both of you have…integrity. It's a rare and precious quality.”

“Thank you.” His lips brushed the top of her head. “I think I'd have liked him, too, although I'd envy him his pretty wife. He sounds like an exceptional man. I can see why you've clung to his memory all these years.”

Fenella made herself sit up and meet Anthony's eyes. She didn't underestimate how hard it must be for him to hear her loving recollections of another man. Yet he did this for her—so that she could join him in a new life. “I thought I'd grieve forever.”

“And that's no longer the case?” he asked slowly.

“I'll always miss Henry and regret his loss. But I've changed out of all recognition since the night this big brute of a man stormed into my parlor and shook me from my torpor.”

Anthony smiled at her as if she was a miracle of creation. “You know I love you, don't you?”

At the quiet declaration, her heart stuttered into stillness. Then it began to beat deliberate and hard, like a military drum marking a slow march. She took Anthony's powerful hand in hers and stared into that roughhewn, fascinating face. She saw intelligence and strength and kindness.

And, yes, love.

“I hoped.”

“And can you imagine ever loving me?”

She gave a huff of amusement, although she knew what it had cost him to ask the question. “Don't be a nitwit, Anthony. Of course I love you. It took me completely by surprise because it's not at all like what I felt for Henry. Our love was like a beautiful clear lake, unruffled and calm. When I'm with you, I feel like I'm aboard a great ship on a storm-tossed ocean. It's exciting and daring and reassuring, all at the same time. And I feel like I'm heading for somewhere wonderful and exotic.”

“Oh, my darling," he murmured and kissed her softly on the lips. “I don't deserve you.”

She pulled away and regarded him sternly. “Of course you do. I was blessed to find love in my first marriage, and I've been doubly blessed to find it in my second." Her voice roughened. “And I feel Henry would approve. He was never a jealous, covetous man.”

Anthony kissed her again and rose to his feet, extending his hand to help her up. “I know two people who will definitely approve.”

“The boys?” She laughed with almost unbearable gladness. “Oh, yes. They'll vote for anything to save them from going back to Eton. To think, we’ll all live here as a family on your beautiful estate.”

He raised her hand to his lips. “We have a lifetime of love ahead, my darling.”

She stepped into the shelter of his powerful body. The cold, lonely days were over at last. She was in love with Anthony Townsend, and the world glowed warm and full of light. “I can hardly wait.”

THE END