Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows 2)

"I'm incurably faithful. I've never looked at anyone else. Because of Brandon, I have to be careful of my good name. Yet you asked, and I tumbled right into your arms. I'd say I'm suffering more than a passing attraction."

His heart rose. He could work with that. With sudden purpose, he left the bed and strode toward her. Discussion just muddied the waters between them, whereas when she lay beneath him, everything turned clear. "Then come back to bed."

She sighed again and briefly closed her eyes. "You're such a man."

"Of course I am." He scratched his chest and stretched luxuriantly. "I suspect you like that."

Her attention drifted south and his cock responded predictably. Her lips quirked. "Sometimes."

After last night, this bawdy side to proper Fenella Deerham shouldn't catch him unawares, but it still came as a charming surprise. "Only sometimes?"

She waved a dismissive hand and stared over his head. "Please stop parading around in all your glory. It's distracting me."

He sighed, but bent to collect the dressing gown from where it had fallen last night. He shrugged the heavy silk over h

is nakedness. "I know we need to sort things out. I know we have important choices to make. But we don't have to reach decisions about the rest of our lives this very minute. I'll get Carey and Brandon settled at the Beeches with some regular supervision, and I'll come up to London to court you—unless you find the idea intolerable."

"You know I don't."

Excellent. At last he approved of the discussion's direction. "I hoped. But this minute, we've got a room to ourselves and nobody will know what we do in it." He tilted one hip against the base of the bed. "And I have a powerful hunger. One night wasn't enough."

She bit her lip, and he caught a pleasing flicker of interest in her eyes, before to his regret, she shook her head. "I'm confused enough already."

"Really?"

"Really." She smoothed her blue skirts over her lap. "I'm sorry, Anthony."

"So am I," he muttered, daring to approach her. Her brittle quality made him fear that if he wasn't careful, she'd crack like fine porcelain overfired in the kiln. "What do you want me to do? I gather you've hatched some plan in that busy mind of yours."

Somber eyes studied him. That brief moment of lightness might never have existed. "It's been a mad few days. The boys running away. Meeting you. Our journey to Hampshire. What…what we did in this room."

He sat beside her and studied her. What he saw made every muscle clench in horrified repudiation. "Good God, Fenella, you're not sending me on my way forever with a fond farewell and no intention of ever seeing me again, are you? Have I really made such a mull of this?"

Her expression wasn't encouraging. "That seems the sensible option."

He caught her hand and struggled not to crush it in his desperation to convince her. "You've been sensible for five years, and all you've got to show for it is an empty bed and a lonely heart. If I've been too impetuous, too overbearing, I'm sorry—but I beg you to give me another chance."

To his surprise, she stroked his bristly cheek. As always, her touch quietened the tempest in his head. "Does this truly mean so much to you?"

"What the devil else do you think?" His grip tightened. What did his pride matter when his whole life hung in the balance? "I've never begged for anything. But I'm begging you to give me another chance. Don't you see we could build something grand between us?"

"Oh, yes." Her smile was melancholy, but her touch remained tender.

He leaned his cheek into her hand, starving for more sweet contact. "Then?"

To his regret, she withdrew her hand. If ever he'd doubted her power over him, he just needed to recall how her briefest touch soothed his demons. For one instant, he wondered if he'd be wiser to let her go. But immediately the thought of losing her made his gut cramp with denial. Whatever her ability to devastate his feelings, over the last days, she'd become essential to him.

"I ask your indulgence."

He caught her hand and lifted it for a kiss. "Anything."

"You might be sorry you said that."

"Just don't tell me you never want to see me again."

Her lips twitched. "It's not quite that bad."

That one small word "quite" struck like a knife. "How bad is it?"