Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows 2)

She stood on rubbery legs. It took a worrying effort of will to release Anthony's hand. Everything about him was so big and warm. Her deepest instinct was to cuddle up against him and let him protect her from the cold, nasty world. When right now, the greatest threat to everything she'd ever believed about herself was Mr. Anthony Townsend.

"You're remarkably jolly," she said in a sour voice.

He shrugged. "As you said, with the boys upstairs, we couldn't go too far."

"Oh, Lord," she breathed in horror. She'd completely forgotten Brand. What on earth was wrong with her? She blushed when Anthony bent to retrieve the neck cloth she'd removed and cast aside.

He continued as lightly as if they'd just ended a casual hand of piquet. "All in all, it's a promising start."

"A promising start?" she asked on a rising note, hating that the dowager was back.

He opened the door. "I look forward to seeing where we go from here."

Her eyes narrowed as her spirit stirred. "From here, Mr. Townsend, I'm going back to London." She marched past him into the hall. "While you, sir, can go to the devil."

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"You can't find your room," Anthony said softly, standing beside her in the cavernous space. It was a pity that Fenella's splendid exit ended with her staring in confusion at the staircase.

"If I ask you, I'll have to get off my high horse."

"Aye." He lit two candles from the branch on the ancient sideboard and passed one to her. "But I promise to contain my smugness until you're safely inside your chamber."

She regarded him doubtfully. "Perhaps you should call a maid."

"On my honor, you're safe. The lads are effective chaperones."

"You'll think my hesitation is absurd, given what we just did."

He offered his arm and to his relief, she accepted it. He'd already noticed she didn't hold a grudge. "I think you're entirely charming. Surely you know that."

His declaration troubled rather than pleased her. "You're very kind."

I'm very besotted.

What was the point of fighting? It was true. It had been true from the first. He kept the thought to himself and began to outline his plans for the house. By the time they arrived at her room, her smile was almost natural. "Thank you. I'd never have found my way."

"Sleep well, Fenella." He smiled back as he reached past her to open the door. Then because he couldn't resist, he kissed her gently.

In the flickering candlelight, he studied her bonny face. He saw signs of exhaustion and strain. And reluctance and confusion. A hint of guilt.

And deep in the blue eyes, a longing that called him as inexorably as the moon drew the tide. His heart kicked with futile excitement. After all, right now he couldn't do anything about it.

"Good night," she whispered. As she disappeared behind the door, he heard her murmur, "Anthony."

He stared at the closed door. Much as he burned to follow her into that room, now wasn't the time. His blood might beat with the primitive urge to conquer and possess, but he wasn't an impetuous boy. Every instinct screamed that if he pushed now, he'd lose any chance with her.

Fenella Deerham had ceded more than she wanted to. He must be satisfied with that—and hope that if he won her trust, she might yet give him everything.

First he needed to lure her back toward life. He didn't resent her love for her first husband—or no more than any man wanting a woman who still dreamed of another lover. He even found it in himself to be glad that she'd known a good man's love. She deserved it. Hell, she deserved everything good in the world.

But Deerham was dead. While Fenella was alive, and unless Anthony deceived himself, attracted.

Because the prize was worth winning, he'd proceed cautiously. But in this empty hallway close to midnight, he vowed to raise Fenella Deerham out of sorrow into the bright sunlight of joy.

Chapter Nine

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