“I intend to help you do what you must.”
She frowned, her soft lips thinning. “That means you’re going to try to talk me out if it.”
“I’ll advise. I’ll train you. If you kill, you’ll do it right.”
“You pompous fool. You think it just a whim. Just like you assumed my art was.”
“That’s your fault—the whim part, not the pomposity. All you showed me was the soldier and jaguar. You kept your art from me. You have secrets too, ones only Tramel or the girls are privy to, not me. Why is that, Cilia?”
“They were around, Felton. You only came for a visit, a laugh, and a shared bed.”
“It was quite a bed.”
She closed her eyes, then opened them with shiny tears. “I don’t want to be a joke. Tramel took me seriously. He’d kill for me if he could. I should’ve let him. Then all would be done. We could both move forward.”
“Why did you stop the duke? With his connections, he’d get out of any inquest. I doubt he’d serve any length of a sentence with all the secrets and influence he possesses.”
“Didn’t think it well for Tramel to kill your cousin on your patio.”
The day she left.
The blood on his cousin’s collar. It was Tramel who struck at Gladstone, not Cecilia.
“Gladstone was horrible, disrespectful. But it’s been ten months. Why can’t you move forward?”
“If someone killed Jane, would you laugh it away? At least you could visit her grave to tell her you forgave her killer.”
“Certainly not. I’d seek justice in the courts.”
“That’s what you’re afforded on English shores—justice. Not for me. Me and my family don’t matter here. I only have a memory of my sister dying in May to take with me.”
Links to the mystery—of all the things she said, and didn’t—came together. “Are you trying to tell me you want to murder my cousin because he murdered Helena?”
“Jeremiah Gladstone killed my sister. He needs to die.”
Before he could stop her again, she knocked on the ceiling, signaling Watson to stop. As soon as the carriage slowed, she popped out and started running.
“Cecilia. Come back. It can be dangerous in unknown woods.”
Without a second thought, Felton reached in the compartment under the seat, whipped out his case and pulled his pistol, then jumped down and gave chase. He wasn’t letting his wife out of his sight, and he needed to know how his cousin, who’d been in the country since December, was responsible for Helena’s May death.
CHAPTER44
CECILIA—THEHEADYHOWLINGWOODS
Red and gold maple trees waved at me, beckoning. The land was green and rocky, but I had to get away and let the cold air chill the heat, the hate in my thoughts.
“Lady Gantry, stop.” That was Felton’s voice, loud, giving orders as if to troops. He’d decided to give chase this time. That was new.
I lifted a finger to the wind and went in that direction.
“Cecilia Lance, the terrain can be dangerous.”
Head down, with my hands pinned to my chest, I kept moving.
“Cecilia Charity Thomas Lance.” His tone sharpened, like my papa’s.
It was silly to run like a child in the woods, but it felt freeing and safer than being in his carriage and letting a little lust lull us into thinking all was well.
