Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows 2)

She surged to her feet, then wished she hadn't when the room reeled alarmingly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Greaves move to catch her, but Mr. Townsend was too quick.

As his arm curled around her waist, she sank into all-encompassing masculinity. For one lost moment, she drew strength from that bear-like embrace. She was so upset, she could almost forgive his rudeness if he folded her close and told her that all this was just a horrid joke.

"Oh, curse me for a right impulsive fool. I'm sorry, lass." Through the fog in her mind, she was vaguely aware that he didn't sound angry anymore. Instead he sounded kind and concerned. And the Yorkshire accent was remarkably soothing now that he'd stopped shouting. "I shouldn't have blurted the news out

like that, but after talking to the school, I assumed I'd find them safe and sound under your protection."

Fenella blinked fiercely to bring the room into focus and told herself to be strong. She couldn't fall into a hysterical heap. Brand needed her. She made a feeble attempt to push free. "Please…please let me go."

"Can you stand up?" Deep-set, disconcertingly perceptive eyes studied her. "You were close to collapsing."

"Well, I'm perfectly steady now," she snapped, irritation reviving her spirit.

"Very well," he said gruffly, but his huge hands lowered her into the chair with surprising care. Given his earlier behaviour, she'd expect him to drop her like a stone. He inspected her briefly before, apparently satisfied with what he saw, he turned to Greaves. "Brandy for her ladyship. She's had a shock."

Thanks to you , she wanted to retort, but restrained herself. She didn't want to risk another outburst. They didn't have time to bicker. They had to find Brand and Carey. With an unsteady hand, she took the glass from Greaves and strove to come up with a coherent plan.

"I'm sorry for shoving my way in here—I thought you were part of some ridiculous scheme to keep Carey from me. The lad's never settled to having me as his guardian." With a sigh, Mr. Townsend subsided into his chair and spoke almost like a reasonable man. At least the china on the mantelpiece stopped rattling. "I've been worried sick ever since I found out Carey and Brandon had gone."

Fenella struggled against the urge to shriek and run in panicked circles. She needed more information, and at the moment, the domineering Mr. Townsend was her only source. Inhaling to calm rioting nerves, she made her first proper assessment of the man sprawling opposite her. Despite first impressions, he wasn't by any means a yokel. He was dressed in the height of fashion, and the grand surroundings didn't appear to overawe him.

He remained eye-poppingly large. Well over six feet and built like a prizefighter, he was all solid muscle. She thought of a Clydesdale. No, something more predatory and fast-moving. An oversized panther, perhaps.

While not handsome by society's standards, his square-cut features and glittering eyes expressed vigor and determination enough to conquer the world. His nose had been broken at some stage, and his jaw looked to be chiseled from granite.

He was far and away the most daunting creature she'd ever encountered.

Still, that rugged face was strangely fascinating. It was a wrench to look away toward Greaves. Whatever happened next, she'd shared enough private business with the servants for one night. "That will be all, Greaves."

Her butler warily eyed Mr. Townsend. "It might be prudent if I stay, my lady."

Mr. Townsend was at least thirty years younger and a good four stone heavier than her butler. Although she appreciated Greaves's gallantry, Fenella's voice firmed. "I believe our visitor has forsaken his impulse to violence."

As she'd intended, her remark brought a pink tinge to Townsend's tan. Heavens above, he looked like he'd spent his life baking under a tropical sun somewhere out in Sumatra or the Cape Colony.

Once they were alone, Fenella folded trembling hands in her lap. She battened her fear for Brandon deep down inside her and set out to wrest control of this meeting from her visitor. She might want to scream and weep, but she was her son's only help. After five lonely years of widowhood, that role was familiar enough to be second nature. "Tell me everything."

"I became my nephew's guardian about six months ago." To her relief, Mr. Townsend had calmed considerably. "My brother William and his wife Jenny drowned in a yachting accident last summer."

Henry's death had made her tragically familiar with grief. She heard the unspoken pain behind Mr. Townsend's prosaic explanation. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you. I was in Canton at the time."

Fenella hadn't been wrong about his travels. "Canton?"

"The family runs a trading concern. You've probably heard of us."

With a shock, she realized that he must be part of Townsend and Co. In fact, something about his air of command led her to guess that he was Townsend and Co. "You're Anthony Townsend?"

Even in aristocratic circles, Anthony Townsend's enormous fortune aroused envy. If she wasn't in such a spin about Brandon, she'd have made the connection earlier. The Townsend trading empire spanned the globe and influenced the destiny of nations.

He frowned. "Didn't you know?"

"You neglected to introduce yourself, sir."

Another faint flush. In circumstances less dire, she'd almost enjoy putting this arrogant creature to the blush.

"I beg your pardon. Again." He leaned forward, dangling big hands between thighs like tree trunks. The chair squeaked in protest at the movement. Good Lord, he was a giant. "I assumed you'd made the connection when you talked about Carey. You clearly know my nephew."