Page 34 of Tempting Mr. Townsend
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 thingabout 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 sensual anticipation swirled through her blood.
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.
