"I won't hold you up," she said evenly.
"Of course you will." He leveled a telling look upon her. "I mean…look at you. You'd crack with one careless touch."
Her eyes narrowed. "Looks can deceive, sir. I've borne a child. I've lost a beloved husband. I've made a life for myself." Well, at least, thanks to Helena and Caro, she was trying to turn that last claim into reality. "Don't patronize me, Mr. Townsend. A moment's weakness does not a weakling make."
"My dear Lady Deerham, you can't go traipsing off into the night with a man you don't know. There will be a scandal."
"Believe me, sir, your reputation is safe." If he called her his dear lady again, she'd go after him with a fire iron. "And even if it's not, I promise you don't have to marry me."
He didn't smile. "You speak lightly, but you haven't considered the consequences. My reputation in society doesn't matter a tinker's damn. Nobody's likely to worry about my suitability for Almack's. You, on the other hand, move in more discriminating circles."
It was a good argument, she gave him that. But not good enough when her beloved son was in danger. "I'm coming with you."
"You can trust me with Brandon, you know."
Surprisingly, some deep instinct insisted that, despite his rough edges, Mr. Townsend was a good man. In his care, Brand would be safe. But for heaven's sake, she was Brand's mother, and only crushing him in her arms and giving him a good scolding would banish her terror. "I know."
If she expected gratitude for her trust, she was disappointed. He folded his arms over his broad chest and regarded her like an insect. "Then let me do this. I'll send word as soon as I find them."
"You won't do that because I'll be right beside you."
"No, you won't. And nothing you say will sway me, madam."
Madam was almost as grating as my dear Lady Deerham. "Very well."
He looked relieved. "Excellent. I knew you'd see sense."
She rang for Greaves who appeared so swiftly that he must have been standing outside the door. "Have my gig readied."
"What the devil?" Mr. Townsend snapped. "You said you weren't coming."
"Not with you. I'll follow close on your heels."
"Don't be absurd. You won't keep up."
"I could beat you to Eton with one hand tied behind my back."
Exasperation turned those craggy features forbidding. "Brave words. If I didn't think you'd risk your damned fool neck, I'd take you up on the challenge."
With so much at stake, Fenella couldn't falter. "So you'll take me."
"Not on your life."
"We'll be discreet."
His snort was dismissive. "Aye, and of course nobody will pay a lass like you a scrap of attention when we stop to ask after the scamps."
"We'll manage."
That square jaw jutted with obstinacy. "I'll be on my own."
She summoned a saccharine smile, despite her urgency. "And I'll be just behind you."
"You're a blasted stubborn wench, Lady Deerham."
"I am." Strangely the remark pleased her. It was an improvement on madam or his dear Lady Deerham. Somewhere in the last six months, she'd grown a backbone—and she liked it. Before meeting Caroline and Helena, she'd been contemptibly compliant. "Whether you intend to take me or not, I'm leaving for Eton within the next quarter of an hour."
He folded his arms and tilted one eyebrow in disdain. She raised her chin and faced him down, although it was rather like scowling at Ben Nevis and expecting it to melt into a puddle.
"There's no room in my carriage for a maid, my lady. And I've neither time nor inclination to swap my rig for a larger vehicle. We'll be completely alone. You and I. All night."
Fenella recognized the potential for scandal. She hardly cared. "Sir, two young boys are lost somewhere out in the darkness. With or without you, I will find them. Compared to my son's safety, I couldn't give a…tinker's damn for my social standing. Or your nitpicking."
He looked rather startled at her language, despite his own tendency to curse. Too bad. She'd swear like a sailor if it achieved her end of joining him. She wasn't at all sure what she thought of Anthony Townsend. But she was positive of one thing—in the case of trouble, Mr. Townsend was big and mean enough to handle anything life flung at him. If anyone could track Brand and Carey down, it was this large, belligerent male.
"This is a mistake."
That sounded like he might relent. "The mistake is delaying our departure."
He gestured toward her yellow gown with a contempt her modiste's best efforts didn't deserve. "You'll need to change."
He'd yielded, although he was yet to admit it. She hid a triumphant smile. She faced hours in this mercurial man's company. Silly to get him offside. Or more offside. "I'll be quick."
"You'd better be."
The smile at last proved unstoppable, although she hoped it wasn't as smug as it felt. Extraordinary to smile at all. Defying Mr. Townsend bolstered her courage. "You'll take me, then."
His sigh was long-suffering. "Not if you're more than five minutes getting ready—and very much against my better judgment. God help us both."
Chapter Two
* * *
Anthony stared helplessly at the ravishing blond sylph in blue who imagined she could stand up to him. And against all expectations, seemed to have prevailed.
His family was respectable. His father had been a mine manager, so he'd been brought up with a modicum of decency. He'd never gone hungry. He'd had a good education. He'd had an adventurous life, discovering the world and its wonders.
But never in his travels had he seen anything to match Lady Deerham.
Since he'd made his fortune, many a lordling had been eager to take advantage of his business acumen. But ladies remained an unfamiliar breed. Especially ladies like this, as fragile as a new rosebud or the Venetian glass he imported to such great profit. When he'd stopped shouting long enough to notice what she looked like, his mind had immediately turned to custard.
When his brain resumed working, all he knew was how huge and clumsy and unrefined he was compared to her graceful perfection. It was like Caliban yearning after Ariel, if Caliban was a great bear of a blockhead with a booming voice, and hands like dinner plates, and the manners of a stevedore. By rights, she should shrink from his uncouth presence.
But this creature of air and light possessed surprising courage. No common sense at all, of course, or else she'd see that her plans were totally unsuitable.
He definitely knew one thing about gentlewomen. Rules hedged them about, tighter than the strapping on a bale of fine merino wool from New South Wales.
But somehow despite being a foot shorter and half his weight, she'd forced an agreement from him. Another item to add to his list of facts about the nobly born female. They were damned slippery customers.
"Mr. Townsend?"
He must be gawping at her as if she'd clouted him on the noggin with a cricket bat. Which was a fair description of his state. "Aye, you can come. But cause any trouble and I'll unload you at the first inn we come to and send a carriage to collect you when everything's over."
"That's a bargain." Her smile intensified the sensation of having been hit with a blunt instrument.
Dear Lord above, but she was pretty.
She was completely out of his sphere and pointless to want, but nobody could stop a man from taking pleasure in a bonny lass.
When he was alone, he lifted her untouched brandy and downed it in one gulp. Even though he was a fellow of generally abstemious habits.
The liquor hit his throat with a hot burst and shocked him back to the current moment. But as he went outside to check the horses, he could swear he wasn't the same man he'd been half an hour ago.
* * *
Anthony had to give Lady Deerham credit. She was downstairs in not much more than the unreasonable five minutes he'd specified. Thank God they delayed. As they descended her front steps toward his curricle, a horseman raced into Curzon Street and flung him
self down before them. In the torchlight, he looked filthy and frantic and travel-weary. All the sudden activity made Anthony's highbred horses shift restlessly in their harness and the footman holding their heads spoke in a low voice to calm them.
"I'm looking for Lady Deerham," the man gasped as another footman ran down to catch the sweating horse. "I've come from Eton College."
Hell, don't let this be more bad news. The rider's manner immediately discounted any chance that the lads were safely back at school. "What is it?" Anthony automatically stepped nearer to Lady Deerham.
"I am Fenella Deerham," she said with admirable dignity. Between the torches and the full moon, Anthony couldn't miss how the blood drained from her porcelain complexion.
"My name's Harley." The man snatched off his hat and bowed quickly, before he fumbled in his coat. "I'm a porter at the school. I've got a letter from the headmaster, my lady."
Anthony was standing close enough to hear her indrawn breath. Without thinking, he took her arm in case she felt faint again. Inside, he'd been astounded how his pulses had leaped at the brief contact. Now he braced for that automatic physical response.
"I'm Anthony Townsend," he said sharply. "Have the lads been located?"
"No, sir." Harley located the letter and extended it toward Lady Deerham.
"But there's news?" Her voice was artificially calm, and Anthony found himself yet again commending her courage.
"We found a letter addressed to you in the outgoing mail. The headmaster took the liberty of opening it. It's enclosed with Mr. Keates's note."
"Thank you." Trembling, Lady Deerham ripped open the letter. Shoving the accompanying papers at Anthony, she feverishly read Brandon's message.
She looked up with appalled eyes. "They've gone to see Carey's old nurse. She's sick."
"At least that explains why they ran away. Mrs. Penn is the closest thing to a mother Carey has left," Anthony said somberly. He turned to Harley. "Surely it would have been better to contact me than trouble her ladyship."
Harley tugged his hat between his hands and looked ill. Anthony Townsend's displeasure generally had that effect, although it hadn't subdued valiant Lady Deerham. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Townsend, but Mr. Keates said you'd most likely be here. If not, I had instructions to ride to your offices once I'd seen her ladyship." He stopped torturing his hat and fished another letter from his coat. "This is for you."
"Has the school sent someone after the boys?" Lady Deerham asked.
"They don't know where they've gone," Harley said.
Anthony took the letter addressed to him. A quick glance confirmed that it contained the same information, if less carefully phrased. "They don't know, but I do."
"Where?" Lady Deerham turned a wide, troubled gaze on him.
"I've recently purchased an estate outside Winchester. I settled some of my brother's staff there, including Mrs. Penn."
Relief flooded the blue eyes. "So we know where to find them."
"If they make it that far."
"Brandon's clever."
"Not clever enough to stay put, damn it. Both of them are completely pudding brained. If Carey had an ounce of good sense, he'd have told me what was going on. He must know I'd take him down to see Penny in a flash."
"Perhaps he didn't know you were due back in England." She passed him her son's letter. "Brand went with Carey because he couldn't let his friend make such a journey alone."
In the back and forth of trying to keep Lady Deerham safely at home, his rage and worry had retreated. Now, seeing her distress, he returned to wanting to shut both boys away on short rations until Christmas. "You sound like you approve," he said sharply.
"I don't. I want to box his ears for putting me through all this. But he's acted from a good heart."
"A good heart and a thick head," Anthony snapped, seeing no excuse for the boys' lack of consideration.
"That's not fair."
"What's not fair is a bairn coddled to the point where he imagines he can do something unforgivable like this and face no consequences."
She'd been pale with fear. Now twin flags of color marked her slanted cheekbones.
"It is you, sir, who is unforgivable." Her voice was sharp and precise enough to etch glass.
He regretted his bluntness the moment he spoke, although he stood by his opinion. Only child of a clinging, overindulgent widow? Stood to reason that the lad was spoiled. Perhaps it was a good thing he and Lady Deerham were likely to remain strangers. "No matter. I'll send your son back to you, shall I? Instead of letting him face the punishment he deserves at school?"
However hackneyed the image, he'd thought of her eyes as limpid pools. Now they flashed blue lightning and any idea of limpid vanished forever.
"You won't send my son anywhere, Mr. Townsend. I'll come with you to collect him, and make my own arrangements to bring him home."
Not this again. Silly wench didn't know when she was beaten. "Now we know where they're headed, there's no reason for you to join me. I give you my word I'll find the lads."
The audible scoff was incongruous coming from such a refined creature. "As if I'd trust you with my son, Mr. Townsend. You're likely to coddle him into a beating."
When he'd learned her Christian name, just now, he'd thought it suited her. Now he wasn't so sure. A Fenella should be amiable and obedient, not a raging virago. Better she'd been called Boadicea.
At the top of the steps, the butler cleared his throat. "My lady, shall I take Mr. Harley into the kitchens for some refreshment after his long ride? And there's no need for the footmen to stand in the cold if you and the gentleman wish to continue chatting."
Anthony had lost all awareness of his surroundings, including the audience for his quarrel. An avidly listening, curious audience as one quick glance at Harley indicated.
This time, Lady Deerham flushed with chagrin. Never in his life had he met a female with such an expressive face. A quality he regretted now she glared at him with bitter dislike. She turned to Greaves. "Yes, of course take Mr. Harley. And please bring the gig around."
Anthony barely bit back a growl, but he had the sense to soften his voice. "Don't be a little fool. You don't know where my estate is."
"Outside Winchester, I believe you mentioned," she said with a poisonous sweetness that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. "I'm sure even a little fool can manage to find her way from there."
She was right, blast her. The prospect of her trailing him all the way to the Beeches was insupportable. For the first time when he surveyed her, his impulse wasn't a mad urge to fall to his knees and worship her extraordinary beauty. Instead he fought the overpowering need to give her a good shake until she conceded he was in charge of the rescue mission. She should jolly well obey his instructions, and stay fiddling with her embroidery in her pretty jewel box of a townhouse, while he rode off to slay dragons.
He retained just enough self-awareness to recognize the essential absurdity of that thought. But only just.
So instead of flinging this troublesome female over his shoulder and marching inside to lock her in the attics, he did something almost as shocking.
"Oh, for pity's sake," he snarled, catching her firmly by the willowy waist and tossing her up into his curricle.
"Mr. Townsend!"
"Be quiet and hold on," he said curtly, rounding the carriage and leaping into the driving seat.
"Good luck, my lady," the butler said, stepping forward and sliding a valise into the back of the curricle. Right now Anthony might want to strangle Lady Deerham, but he had a suspicion he could come to like her butler.
"You're kidnapping me," she said under her breath as Anthony grabbed the reins. His two fine chestnuts shook their harness until it jingled. They were as impatient to be on their way as he was.
"You wanted to come," he grunted. "Now time is of the essence. We know the lads' destination, but they've got miles to cover first."
She directed a doubtful frown at his grip on the rei
ns. That pricked at his vanity. She clearly fancied herself as a whip, although he couldn't imagine this ethereal creature controlling much beyond a sleepy pony.
She's controlled you, hasn't she?
He ignored the snide voice in his mind and shouted to the footman holding his horses' heads. "Let them go."
"Godspeed, my lady," the butler called as Anthony clattered off at a punishing rate, two runaways to find, and a sulky fairy princess fuming by his side.
Chapter Three
* * *
As they sped through the freezing night toward Hampshire, Fenella was almost glad that Mr. Townsend gave her such good cause to dislike him. It helped to distract her from picturing what might happen to Brand and Carey. Every time she thought of her son alone and unprotected—and she couldn't think of much else—her stomach cramped with nausea.
Dear God, let Brand be safe.
At this hour, the roads were mostly empty, although farmers would soon be on their way into London with their produce. Winter hadn't yet stuck its claws into the year, but the wind whistling around her ears as they plunged through the night promised frosts ahead. With every shiver, she prayed that the boys were somewhere safe and warm.
Fenella wasn't by nature a sullen woman. Pique didn't come easily. With every mile they covered, the distance between her and her monumental companion became increasingly awkward.
Not, alas, the physical distance.
Mr. Townsend was such a…substantial figure that the cramped seat crushed her up against him, closer than she'd been to any man since Henry's death. Inevitably, as their bodies rubbed together in the jolting carriage, his radiating heat and the clean, salty scent of his skin became part of her landscape. She could believe that he'd docked today. He smelled like the sea.
He didn't smell like a villain and a bully. He smelled like a healthy male in his prime, and much as she fought it, that evocative scent reminded Fenella how she'd missed a man's physical presence over the last lonely years. After Henry's death, she'd missed his cheerfulness and unwavering devotion. She'd missed sharing her joys and sorrows with him. She'd missed his love.
Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows) Page 2
