Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows 2)
A smile lit his dark eyes. "There should be hot water in the bedroom. I'll tidy up and meet you in here for dinner. No need to hurry. We've got all night."
And with that her fears, momentarily soothed, flared again.
* * *
After dinner, Anthony stood in the dressing room and met his troubled dark gaze in the cheval mirror. The stupidest fellow in England could see that Fenella was still skittish. He sighed, wishing she threw herself into this arrangement as wholeheartedly as he did.
Although what the hell else did he expect? They weren't far removed from strangers, and she still mourned her husband.
Ever since she'd agreed to share his bed, he'd burned to sweep her up in his arms and show her how much he wanted her. Making the offer, he'd been half convinced that she'd say no. But to his astounded joy, she'd consented.
All evening, she'd maintained a brittle composure. The effort she needed to bolster her courage, while admirable, was far from flattering. He had the unwelcome impression that she approached tonight like some foul-tasting medicine. Necessary, but unpleasant.
Now it was late, and she was still here. He merely needed to leave the dressing room, cross the parlor, and knock on the bedroom door.
Standing before the tall mirror, a vermilion silk dressing gown covering his nakedness, he admitted the stark truth. Tonight mattered because Fenella mattered. More than any woman before, and he had a bleak suspicion, more than any woman to come. What happened between them in this inn set the course for the rest of his life, good or ill.
He turned away from his reflection. Usually when embarking on a new venture, he knew exactly where he headed. Fenella had him in such a spin, he couldn't tell which way was up.
All he knew was that he wanted her more than he'd wanted anything in his life.
* * *
At Anthony's knock, a quiet word invited him into the bedroom. Carefully he eased the door open, like a mortal entering an enchanted kingdom.
In awed silence, he stopped on the threshold. For a long time, the only sound in the room was the fire crackling in the hearth. His head was swimming before he realized he'd forgotten to breathe. He sucked in a great gust of air and struggled to say something coherent.
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." The reverent whisper resonated like a vow.
Her lips, pink satin, curved in a smile. "Thank you."
In the firelight, she was exquisite. Rich gold hair tumbled around her shoulders—what a glorious privilege to see it unbound. She wore a sheer white nightgown, and as she stepped forward, the way it clung and flowed around her slender body set his unruly heart cartwheeling.
She stopped about a foot away and fixed eyes brimming with mystery and shy passion upon him. "I want this, Anthony. When I'm with you, I don't feel lonely anymore."
"Oh, Fenella," he said, moved by her confession. He set his hands around her waist, reveling in her slim strength, and drew her up for his kiss.
After last night, her eagerness was familiar, but the freedom in her response was new. His tongue swept into her mouth, and when she greeted him without hesitation, animal hunger jolted him. He buried his hands in the luxuriant hair and angled her face up for a kiss of unabashed carnality. She followed where he went, until the unforgettable moment when she thrust her tongue into his mouth and a hum of enjoyment emerged from her throat.
Anthony backed her toward the bed. Fenella was a creature of light and fire. Not afraid, but his equal. He loved that. Although in the last few days, the differences between them had mattered less and less, and what counted now was that he was a man in thrall to a woman, and that woman wanted him back.
He couldn't mistake her desire. Her greedy hands explored his chest and shoulders, bunching the silk against his skin until the dressing gown crumpled to the floor.
Her eyes devoured him with considerably more enthusiasm than she'd shown for the excellent dinner he'd watched her pick at. "Mr. Townsend, you are magnificent. I'm quite overcome."
Her blatant sensual interest—and admiration—filled him with pride. He loved that his big, muscular body pleased her. He'd feared she'd recoil from his size and vigor.
But he couldn't mistake the avid hunger in her eyes. Or in her touch as she flattened both hands on his broad chest with its thatch of black hair.
"Mmm," she murmured appreciatively.
Hell, these throaty murmurs tested his control. His cock, hard and erect, twitched. He clenched his hands in the flimsy lawn covering her hips as he fought the urge to push her down and plunge into her.
"I'm very large," he said, almost in apology.
She bit her lip in hesitation, then to his astonishment, her glance fell to his dick, stiff and heavy and insistent. "Yes, you are."
His heart crashed to a stop when she slid one of those soft lady's hands down his belly, setting every muscle jumping. And curled her fingers around him. "Lucky me."