Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows 2)

Fenella sat squeezed next to Anthony in his sporty carriage. Night was falling and they were still more than an hour from London.

She thought the journey down had been awkward. She'd had no idea. Now the big, warm body wasn't a stranger's—far from it, she knew so many intimate things about him, from the taste of his kiss to the scent of his skin—and she wished herself a million miles away.

"Damn it, woman, stop wriggling," he growled. "It's like being tied in a sack with a dozen eels."

"You didn't have to drive me," she pointed out, folding gloved hands in her lap to hide their shaming tendency to tremble.

"Aye, I do. If you're so all-fired keen to get back, I'll see you arrive safely."

He sounded grumpy. So did she. "We've risked enough scandal."

In the fading light, she saw his lips turn down in derision. "Then the damage is done. You might as well have stayed."

"You know I couldn't."

"I know no such thing. Brand would like it."

Brand would indeed like it. So, unfortunately, would she. The regrettable truth was that she'd fled the Beeches because she was afraid, not because she guarded her reputation.

"Brand got a fair share of what he wanted anyway, considering how much trouble he and Carey caused," she said grimly.

She'd given in to her son's pleading and left him behind. She couldn't send him back to school, whatever accusations of coddling that invited from her monumental companion.

Last night she'd gone to her lonely bed, determined to leave at the earliest possible moment. Yet somehow the morning had dwindled away in spending time with the boys and trying not to dwell on last night's kisses.

It had been a wrench to leave her son. It always was. Even now when they might find a way to live under the same roof. Perhaps this escapade would end happily for Brand at least. Except somewhere in the last twenty-four hours, the idea of a quiet, rural hideaway for Brand and her had lost its charm.

Curse Anthony Townsend and his kisses.

"You've forgiven them," he said. "You forgave them the minute you saw they were safe."

"So did you," she said, stung at the implied criticism.

A grunt of self-derisive amusement escaped. "I waited at least another five minutes."

Despite weariness and bad temper, she laughed. Odd how Anthony could do that.

She had no trouble diagnosing the root of his crankiness. She suffered the same malady. A bad case of sexual frustration. She'd lain awake all night, restless and longing for more kisses.

For more than kisses.

"You think they'll be all right?"

"I'm only away overnight, and the place is packed with servants—including Penny, who won't let them get away with any mischief, however ill she is. And they both know they've escaped lightly after their escapades. They're on their best behavior." He drew the horses to a halt under a spreading oak and faced her with a serious expression.

"What is it?" she asked, suddenly nervous. "Why have we stopped? Is something wrong?"

"I hope not." A wry smile quirked his lips. "I'd like to talk to you."

She frowned. "The boys."

He shook his dark head. "No. Not this time." He subjected her to a searching look. "I have a proposition."

Oh, dear Lord. She knew exactly what was coming. Forbidden excitement shivered through her. "Mr. Townsend…"

For once he didn't object to the formal address. Instead he went on in a measured, reasonable voice, as if what he suggested wasn't purest madness. "You mention scandal, but nobody except the staff at the Beeches know where we've been these last days. Nobody at all knows where we are now. We're free in a way we won't be free once we resume our daily lives."

"Freedom doesn't mean license must rule." She twined her hands together as an army of elephants started capering in her stomach.