Page 33 of Tempting Mr. Townsend
A wicked thrill rippled through her. The thought of testing this remarkable man's control was undeniably intriguing.
The horses snorted and stamped their feet, impatient at the delay. Sitting so close, she felt Anthony's vibrating tension. His face might be all stern angles, but his body hinted that he hung on her answer like a man dangling over a cliff.
She'd learned that with Anthony Townsend, you noted his actions, not his words.
What did they tell her? He loved his nephew, and had shown the two boys unexpected and poignant kindness. He was willing to admit his mistakes and take the consequences—in her experience, a rare and precious quality in the male animal. He possessed powerful appetites, but equally powerful control. Last night, he'd seen her resistance was precarious. But he'd let her retire unscathed. Almost.
Even now, he didn't touch her, to avoid influencing her decision.
So, a fair man. A man of principle. A man who could give her pleasure.
She'd always love Henry. She couldn't imagine sharing that closeness with anyone else. But that wasn't what Anthony offered.
He invited her to find fleeting surcease from loneliness, a sensual exploration, a brief warmth before she returned to the cold. That warmth lured most of all. To lie in a man's arms and feel her blood rise in passion, to accept physical comfort that asked for nothing more.
Ah, that was tempting.
She licked lips dry as the Sahara and quivered with uncertainty. And desire.
Heat flared in his eyes as they focused on her mouth. Yes, he wanted her. She couldn't doubt it. But did that mean she could trust him?
“What exactly is your proposition?” she asked huskily.
One of those large, expressive hands gestured to the road ahead. “In a couple of miles, we'll reach Croydon. I've taken a room at the Rainbow and Angel. We can spend the night. If not, I'll stay, and you can proceed alone to Mayfair in a closed carriage I've arranged for your use. You'll arrive home without anyone knowing you've been in my company since you left.”
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.”
