She stiffened, then abruptly curved into him as if she couldn't get enough of him. For a blissful interlude, everything was heat and need.
Until too soon, she pulled away. He fought the impulse to fling her onto the chaotic bed behind him and prove once and for all that they should stay together.
But beneath animal hunger lurked the vestiges of an honorable man, and he'd promised her time. So with agonized reluctance, he released her.
As she backed away, she stumbled. He caught her elbow to save her from falling. She was trembling. "Don't make me wait too long, Fenella."
Sucking in a shaky breath, she shook her head. Then to his surprise she touched his cheek in farewell and gave him a dazzling smile that set his heart somersaulting. "Your last card was an ace, my dear."
Before he could react to that astounding statement, she was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
"Fen, I saw Brandon on Monday. He was with Anthony Townsend," Caroline, Lady Beaumont said from her seat near the fire. "You didn't tell us he was in Town."
"Anthony? I mean, Mr. Townsend," Fenella stammered, color stinging her cheeks. She avoided the lovely brunette's questioning stare by pretending vast and unlikely interest in a plate of cucumber sandwiches. The three dashing widows met for afternoon tea in Helena, Countess of Crewe's luxurious drawing room in Berkeley Square.
"No," Caro said on a rising note. "Not…Anthony. Brandon. Shouldn't he be in school?"
"Um," Fenella said from beside the tea tray, completely caught out. She'd kept the events of those overwhelming days over a week ago to herself. She was so muddled and troubled that putting her tumultuous emotions into words was completely beyond her. Miraculously in her gossip-ridden world, news of her midnight flight from London hadn't spread. She thanked her loyal staff for that.
Helena turned from staring out into the rain. Tall, slender and black-haired, she was the pattern of elegance in her bronze afternoon gown. "Anthony?"
Fenella squirmed. Helena's curiosity was as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. "I didn't know you were acquainted with Mr. Townsend, Caro."
Caro's dark blue eyes were alight with unholy interest. "When apparently you two are on first name terms."
"I… Brand's friends with Mr. Townsend's nephew."
"That must be the other boy I saw. They were playing cricket in Hyde Park," Caro said.
Despite herself, Fenella smiled. Whatever else resulted from their adventure, it seemed Anthony had worked out how he and his orphaned charge would deal together.
"Do you know Anthony Townsend, Helena?" Caro asked.
Helena's gimlet dark gaze didn't waver from Fenella. "No, but I've got a feeling I will before too much longer."
"He's frightfully clever and rich as Croesus. Silas and he do business together, so he came to dinner last summer. Interesting man, terrifyingly dynamic, and built like a battleship. But something of a rough diamond, I'd have said. All owts and nowts and thees and thous. I had to check to see he wasn't wearing hobnail boots."
"That's not fair," Fenella said hotly. "Rather you should admire a man who's made his way with such spectacular success purely on his own merits."
"Should she indeed?" Helena said archly, as Fenella realized that like a fool she'd played straight into Caro's game.
"She…she should," Fenella said, struggling to escape confiding what had happened between her and Anthony. She'd lay no money on her success. Now Caro and Hel scented scandal, they wouldn't leave her alone this side of Christmas. She'd been an idiot not to realize how closely her world rubbed shoulders with his.
With a laugh, Caro set down her cup. "Oh, give up, Fen. You're the world's worst liar. It's one of your greatest charms. You've been acting jumpy as a cat on a stove for days. I worried that you were coming down with something. You've been looking quite bilious."
"Bilious," Fenella said flatly.
"Yes," Helena said. "It's put us off our petits fours."
"Whereas instead you've come down with a case of the mysterious and wildly attractive Mr. Townsend," Caro said. "So stop torturing us and tell all."
Distressed, Fenella regarded her two fellow dashing widows.
For days, she'd hardly slept, and when she had, she'd suffered dark and tormenting dreams where Henry became Anthony, and Anthony became Henry. Just this morning, she'd stirred before dawn to realize with horror that she couldn't picture Henry's face. Sobbing, she'd fumbled to light a candle, then grabbed his miniature that she kept beside her bed. She decided this couldn't go on. She wanted her peace back. However lonely. However dull. She'd begged Henry's forgiveness and decided to write to Anthony, refusing his proposal.