Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows 2)

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Fenella snatched her hand free and stared at him in shock. The voluptuous languor lingering from that heated bout in the hay trickled away to leave a chill on her skin. "About Henry? Why? Surely you're not jealous of a dead man."

Anthony's gaze didn't waver as he shook his dark head. "That's not why I'm asking. Although you need to know that I have been jealous of him. Unforgivably so. Because he has your steadfast love." His spoke in that deep velvet bass that always made her shiver with feminine awareness. "But I'm not jealous of him anymore. Today I reckon I no longer need to be."

After rolling around under Anthony in the full light of day—in a stable, no less—she shouldn't be able to muster a blush. But her cheeks stung nonetheless. Her eyelashes flickered down and she pretended interest in dusting off her dark green merino skirts.

"If you no longer consider him a…rival, why do you want to know about him?"

He shrugged. "For many reasons. Because he was dear to you, and I care about what you care about. Because he's Brandon's father." He spoke slowly and very deliberately, as though he picked his way through a jungle of words to find precisely the right one. "And because I believe you need to make some ritual act to let him go. We owe homage to his ghost. Only once we pay that homage can you turn your face to a life with me."

The breath jammed in her throat. What staggering generosity of spirit. Every time she thought she understood Anthony Townsend, he revealed some new and marvelous aspect of his character.

Still, she balked at praising an old lover to the skies when she'd just surrendered to a new one. "For heaven's sake, I just let you tumble me in a haystack. I couldn't be more committed."

"Indulge me, my darling." He cupped her jaw and kissed her with a thoroughness that made her toes curl. "I don't want any shadows hanging over us."

The unfamiliar, unexpected endearment bolstered her courage. "He'll always be part of my life."

Anthony's smile was irresistibly sweet. He held his arm out. "Come here. You're too far away."

She accepted the invitation without hesitation. Once she was curled into his side, she murmured, "You mightn't like what you hear."

Anthony's laugh was a comforting rumble. "What? Because he was a good man? You misjudge me. I'd never wish you unhappy—and I'm grateful that you had someone worthy of you."

She tilted her head back to meet his intense dark stare. "When it comes to good men, I've been lucky twice over."

He kissed her gently. "I'll do my best, lass. I swear that on my life."

The kiss vanquished her misgivings. But because talking at length about Henry hurt, even five years after his death, she faltered at the beginning. "It's an ordinary story. Our fathers were best friends at Eton. Henry and I knew each other from babyhood."

Anthony settled her more comfortably against him so she felt safe and cherished in a way she hadn't since she'd received the devastating news from Waterloo. "A bit like Carey and Brand."

The reminder of her beloved son made continuing easier. "Yes, like that. You could say the match was arranged, but by the time we wed, we were so mad for each other, that wasn't important. Henry was all I'd ever wanted."

"Handsome?"

She dissected the question for any resentment, but all she heard was friendly curiosity. "As an angel. Especially in his regimentals. But his looks weren't what made him so special. He was by nature a contented man. I think that was his greatest gift—happiness." She pressed her cheek to Anthony's heart, finding strength in its steady beat. "I'm not explaining this very well."

He shaped one hand to her jaw and cradled her face against his chest. "You're doing fine."

Uncanny how his strength flowed into her. "But Henry was a soldier and England was at war. In our eight years, we rarely had more than a few months together at a time. I'd worked up the nerve to follow the drum with him in Spain when I fell pregnant."

How long it was since she'd thought of Henry in his prime. His early, heroic death had tainted every happy memory. Which suddenly struck her as a pity. And vilely unjust to a man who deserved to be remembered with a smile.

"So you spent most of your life missing him?"

She wasn't surprised Anthony understood. "Yes. Although there's a difference between knowing someone can come home and knowing you'll never see them again. And he was tired of war well before Waterloo. When we thought Boney was finished in 1814, Henry was so looking forward to coming home to Brand and me. And more children. We would both have loved that." Her voice broke, and she blinked away tears.

His arm tightened. "Do you want to stop?"

"Do you want to hear more?"

"Aye. But not if it's too difficult."

Fenella pressed closer. His protective warmth had lured her from the first, even when he'd been shouting at her. "It's easier to tell you than I thought it would be."

"You describe a paragon."