Page 38 of Tempting Mr. Townsend
He settled more comfortably against the pillows. Life offered a man nothing finer than a cozy bed on a cold night and his woman dozing in his arms. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve this happiness, but he meant to hold on to it. And to Fenella.
She shifted again and pressed a drowsy kiss above his heart where she'd kissed him before. The instinctive tenderness made his heart cramp with unfamiliar but devastating emotion. He'dnever felt like this before. She shook his world to its very foundations.
Cuddling up again, Fenella brushed her cheek against his chest with open affection. She hadn't spoken at all when he'd been inside her, although her moans and sighs had been the sweetest of music. Now, her voice emerged thick with sleep.
“Oh, Henry, my darling, I love you so much.”
Chapter Twelve
Anthony cracked open heavy eyelids to find Fenella Deerham on the window seat, staring outside into the dawn. She wore the blue traveling gown that had become so familiar.
After her tender declaration of love, he'd stayed awake for hours, staring at nothing. But eventually he must have dropped back to sleep. Not long ago if his gritty eyes were any indication.
She looked beautiful. She always did. And desperately sad.
That was no surprise. He wasn't exactly on top of the world himself. Despite a night of the best sex he'd ever had.
Anthony wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Fenella vowing her love to another man while she lay in his arms. Probably he should be angry, but she'd never hidden her allegiance. He was definitely hurt. Moving inside Fenella, he'd felt closer to her than to anyone in his life. It was like they shared the same breath.
The sting of discovering he was as prone to romantic illusion as the next man lingered, much as he told himself to grow up and get over it. After all, she'd made no promises, least of all eternal devotion.
The problem was all his, damn it. Because somewhere in the last two days, his immovable, stubborn soul had set itself to win Fenella Deerham.
Who was still in love with a dead man.
And given her steadfast heart, always would be. That left Anthony wanting to rampage around like a wounded bear and break things.
When she looked toward the bed, the ache inside him sharpened to agony.
“You've been crying,” he said austerely.
She wiped her cheeks with shaky hands. The childish gesture roused a poignant tenderness he had no idea what to do with. “You're awake.”
“Aye.” He pushed up against the pillows and regarded her from under lowered brows. “I'm sorry I made you cry.”
She shook her head. “I was dreaming of Henry. I often do, but…last night it was like he was with me.”
He winced at her honesty. That primitive urge to create mayhem strengthened, but he beat it back. It wasn't Fenella's fault that she wanted someone else. A temper tantrum from a man she saw as a fleeting presence in her life wouldn't change that. “I know.”
She looked baffled. “How on earth do you know that?”
He shrugged and stared moodily across the room at the dead fire. What an apt symbol for what lay between him and Fenella.
Except his fire wasn't anything like doused. He still wanted her like the very devil.
“You talk in your sleep.”
A blush colored her cheeks, so she looked about sixteen, instead of like a woman who had married and borne a child and lost her beloved husband. She must have looked like this when she'd married Henry. Lucky dog.
“I'm sorry,” she said, with a poor attempt at lightness. “That must break some rule against mentioning former lovers in the presence of your current one.”
He didn't respond. It was too excruciating to wonder if she'd ever suspected that the man making love to her in the earlymorning hours was Anthony and not her husband's ghost. Instead he asked a question, even if he knew the answer. Sod it. “So what happens now?”
To his surprise, she didn't announce her intention to have nowt more to do with that lovelorn lout Anthony Townsend. Instead she settled troubled blue eyes on him. How he hated to see the spiky lashes and pink eyelids. “What would you like to happen now?”
He straightened his legs under the sheets, folded his arms over his bare chest, and spoke words that until now he'd never linked together. “I'd like to marry you.”
She paled and recoiled against the windowsill. He supposed that was answer enough. Self-derision tightened his lips as pain stabbed deep.
