Portable treats like a hearty cheese would delight Lady Gantry. Felton went to the kitchen to see what might loosen her tongue and tell him how his cousin was responsible for Helena’s death.
CHAPTER42
CECILIA—LIKEOLDTIMES
Ioffered a yawn and then curled again into the strong arms that held me. The heat radiating from this man was wondrous. Loved dreaming of my big bed in Demerara with the windows open during the rainy season. A fresh breeze filtered inside, and I bundled under the bedclothes. It was beautiful and warm. I missed . . .
What?
Springing up, I saw Felton’s face, his cheesy grin. Then I realized I had curled against his chest while I slept, and he let me.
“Afternoon, Lady Gantry.” He tied back his hair, then he buttoned his shirt. “You’re a heavy sleeper, but your fingernails against my skin, they do bring a sweet torment.”
Watching as he closed up his shirt, I realized it was his bare chest against my cheek.
“I don’t remember you being such a heavy sleeper. Changes.”
A shiver coursed through me. Not exactly one of pleasure. More of pure prickling embarrassment. “Why are your shirt and waistcoat undone? What happened?” His grin burst like the vase, shooting spurts of laughter. “With my coat and that blanket, you generate a lot of heat. I needed to cool off a bit before you pounced again. Who again is the jaguar?”
Felton’s chest was solid and smooth with finger-worthy definition, not a hair, no pox or scars like the mottling upon his arms and legs. In addition to his heat, it was one of the best things to lie in bed and touch his heart. He was an iron, a bed warmer, a firepit. Pure flame.
When he was with me.
When my heart was fully his.
When some missive from Lord Liverpool didn’t take him away. He could’ve been killed, slain in some field, or on an island far away, and I might never have known.
Scooting farther away, I shook my head. “I couldn’t have unbuttoned all of that.”
“If you insist. That’s our secret. You like secrets.”
“Stop grinning.”
That only made him show more teeth.
With my hands covering my face, I turned to the window. Outside were trees. No city buildings—townhomes and theatres and mews. No more cobbled streets. “How long have we been driving?”
“About three hours. We’re out of London. We’ll stop soon to rest the horses.”
Three hours. I’d been lying against Felton that long.
“Cecilia, you look a little flushed.”
I drew my arms over my head. I didn’t want to hear his voice, and the smug insinuation that we’d found one another again.
“You must be hungry. You haven’t eaten since early morning.” He picked up a basket from the floor. “Let’s see what Cook has procured for us.”
Digging into the contents, he pulled out a pile of blackberries. Placing one of the purplish morsels to his lips, he gulped it. “Oh, very sweet, a little tart.”
He slid halfway to me and held out the fruit.
It looked good and my mouth watered.
“They are very good, Cecilia. Too good.”
He took back the offering and bit the berry. Purple, almost indigo juice painted his lower lip. He did it again, and then lifted another one to me. “Don’t miss the pleasure. Neither this blackberry, nor I, bite.”
That wasn’t true. Not the way he used to like my earlobes.
