Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows 2)

He'd devoted time, thought and money to her seduction. She wasn't sure whether to be offended or flattered. "So I have to decide now?"

He shook his head. "No. The carriage remains at your disposal all night. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

He knew enough about her to realize that if he tried to corner her, she'd run. She began to see how he'd parlayed a small-scale shipping line into a global concern. He knew what he wanted. More importantly, he knew what other people wanted.

"It would be wrong to agree." She meant to sound resolute, but wanton longing roughened her words.

He shifted and stared hard at her. "Why?"

"You know why. I'm a respectable widow, and mother to a son who should be the reason for all I do."

Displeasure darkened his expression. "Hell, Fenella, it's unfair to Brand to make him the sole purpose of your existence. In the long run, he won't thank you for it. We share a strong attraction. Neither of us owes allegiance to anyone else. We have a chance to see what it could be like between us. A chance away from obligations and prying eyes." He paused. "After last night, aren't you curious?"

She prayed for guidance, but all she saw was Anthony's gaze burning into hers. Despite Henry and Brand and her good name, she so wanted to say yes.

"Fenella?" Her name emerged as a ragged gasp, proving his calm was all on the surface.

"I…"

A mail coach thundered by, and she angled away from the flying dust and the passengers' eyes. The world rudely intruded on the strange interlude of the last days.

Once the vehicle was out of earshot, she turned to watch Anthony soothe the horses, restive after the clattering interruption. She touched his brawny arm.

"Take me to the Rainbow and Angel, Anthony."

Chapter Ten

* * *

Fenella sat rigid with nerves as Anthony drove the carriage into the bustling inn yard. After hours of travel, she felt crumpled and dusty and not up to these elegant surroundings. She was also convinced that her imminent fall from grace was painted all over her. But the maid who showed her upstairs was deferential, and the room she entered wasn't the red bower of sin she'd imagined, but a well-appointed chamber with a view over the back garden, stark and bare with coming winter.

Anthony followed and set his hat on a table. "Still sure?"

With shaking fingers, she removed her bonnet and glanced around the room, partly from curiosity, but mostly to avoid his unwavering gaze. "No."

He laughed and gestured to a door she hadn't noticed. She hadn't noticed much. Her mind was too busy preparing for what loomed ahead. "If you need me, I'll be in the dressing room. I've ordered dinner. It shouldn't be long."

"Dressing room?" she repeated stupidly.

"We have a suite of rooms." He pointed to another door. "The bedroom's through there."

Oh, she was a henwit. "Of course it is."

A huff of self-derision escaped her. She should have realized that this was a parlor. There was no bed. The ridiculous thing about her jumpiness was that it didn't alter her decision to take Anthony as her lover.

He stepped closer without touching her. "Fenella, I meant it when I said you're free to decide what happens. We can have dinner, then drive on together to London. Or if you ring that bell, a servant will escort you to a carriage and you can travel home alone. Or you can sleep undisturbed in the bed, and we'll finish our journey tomorrow morning."

"You seem very familiar with this inn."

He gave that oddly endearing grunt of amusement. "Rein in your rioting imagination. I've never brought another woman here. It's sometimes a convenient place to break my journey to the Beeches. You're not the first lass to take my fancy. But I'm far from a rake. I work too hard to have time to pursue an endless parade of women."

"I'm being a goose, aren't I?" she said, not surprised he'd discerned the doubt prompting her remark. He was always quick to see beneath her surface. A quality that right now struck her as unnerving rather than appealing.

When he cupped her cheek, she felt the tenderness to her toes. "A lovely goose."

He brushed his lips across hers. The kiss was a promise of what was to come, and a reminder of last night's caresses. Her fears ebbed. In their place, a hint of sensua

l anticipation swirled through her blood.