Page 23 of Tempting Mr. Townsend
And the highest barrier of all between them: she was still in love with her late husband.
For years, Anthony had kept a mistress, a widow of mature years, cheerful temper, and intelligent conversation, in a small house in Kensington. Eighteen months ago, she'd sent him on his way kindly but firmly, and had since married a ship's captain. He thought of Flora fondly, but without regret.
After Flora's departure, his bed had stayed empty. Too much else occupied his attention. His crushing burden of grief. His duty to Carey. A government clamoring for advice. Not to mention the demands of running a worldwide enterprise.
Then he'd found himself in a gallant lady's company, racing through the night in search of two runaway rapscallions. And his life had turned in a dazzling new direction.
Last night Fenella had cuddled up to him in the carriage's close confines. All day, tormenting little contacts had kept his blood at a constant simmer. If she was the sort of woman he was used to—earthy, practical, familiar with desire—he'd think she indicated interest.
But she was a blasted lady. He had no experience with that exotic species.
He couldn't imagine her fancying a hulking brute like him. And after they'd established such harmony, he balked at destroying their rapport with an improper proposition.
Dear Lord above, how he burned to make that proposition. There she sat, drinking tea and dreaming of sugarplums and daisies, or whatever the hell gentlewomen thought about. And all Anthony wanted was to drag her down onto the worn carpet and thrust inside her until she sobbed with release.
He'd had one victory at least. She'd suggested returning to London this afternoon, although she'd been white with exhaustion. Shamelessly he'd used Brand's need to rest after all the excitement to convince her to remain. Now she was here, he didn't want her to leave.
“Please, stop scowling at me, Mr. Townsend,” she said lightly, freshening her tea. “Is the brandy not to your taste?”
He smiled. He'd smiled more in her company than he had since William died. She had magic, this ethereal creature. “What the devil are we to do with these two rascals?”
He kicked himself when his question brought a troubled light to her blue eyes. “I had no idea Brand didn't like school.”
“He didn't want to worry you.”
“But if I knew, I could do something about it.”
“Will you send him back?”
“Not this term, at least. And that's assuming the school will overlook him running away. I'll have to bring him to London. But that's only a temporary solution.”
“You could leave him here. At least until the holidays.”
“You're not sending Carey back?”
“No. Like you, I'd rather he was here and content. At least for the moment. He's had enough sadness in his young life.”
“I'm so glad.”
Her approval made him happier than he'd felt when he'd banked his first thousand pounds. “Penny's right. Now I've got the lad, things need to change. Perhaps I'll retire and become a lazy country squire who rides to hounds all day and drinks half the night.”
She released a short laugh. “Not you. You'll set to modernizing the house. Then the gardens. Then the estate. Your poor tenants won't get a moment's peace without you pounding on their doors, forcing new roofs and the latest plumbing upon them.”
Anthony responded with a huff of amusement. “I've got a powerful fear of boredom, Lady Deerham.”
“Are you seriously thinking of moving to the country?”
“Aye. I can run my business from here if need be—London is in easy reach, as we proved last night. That's one of the reasons I bought this house—it's close to Southampton and Portsmouth, too. I just didn't imagine I'd move in until it was up to scratch.”
“It merely needs a little work.”
“More than a little. And I don't fancy living here with the builders in.”
After stewing over his nephew's welfare for months, it was satisfying to share his thoughts and plans with a sensible, warmhearted woman. The sort of conversation one would have with a wife.
Fenella would make a damned fine wife. If some chap could persuade her to look beyond her first husband.
She shrugged. “Everyone says you're as rich as Croesus. You could travel, or rent somewhere else, or go back to London.”
