I stopped fretting about what he thought of me being a little thicker, a little fluffier here or there. I was beautiful and would never be one of the thin maidens Lady Jane strived to be.
Nonetheless, it was nice hearing him say it.
He pulled me tighter against him. “You have a pretty cow.”
“Excuse me.”
“The calf.” He draped his arm over my hip. “I don’t think I’ve seen one with so many spots on its face. Wonder what her parents looked like.”
“I hope we didn’t eat them.”
Our chuckles blended and soon Felton’s wondrous heat scorched my cold limbs like a coal stove. I put my hand to his bare arm, right atop the scars at his elbow.
“Guess you truly like jaguars.”
“Did you know that the jaguarete spots are little rosettes that add to his beauty? They help him blend with nature and have empathy for his surroundings.”
“Beauty and empathy, aye? Never thought of things in such a manner.”
“You need an artist’s eye, my lord.”
He put a long kiss at the base of my neck, his teeth slightly raking the skin at my hairline. “No, just need an artist. Tomorrow this is how things will go. I’ll have Moomoo bathed and boarded in my carriage. You’ll refresh yourself in the room that Watson is currently enjoying. Then we leave together. We need to make up enough time to get to Stonehenge.”
“Stonehenge?”
“You always wanted to go.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“It is, but this is training, Cecilia. We need to plan out your mission. I haven’t forgotten our bargain. Gladstone killed Helena—”
“He needs to die.” The refrain came to my lips automatically, and in my head I could paint the scene of his dropping to the ground.
“I don’t know how to rehabilitate someone who could do such evil. If you want to be the one to bring justice, I’ll not stop you.”
“No one is better able to help me complete this mission without being caught than one of the spies from the Department of War and the Colonies.”
“I won’t allow you to ruin the rest of your life trying to make a man pay.” His words sounded rich like sweet marmalade.
“Does the same go for sons with grudges against fathers?”
“Cilia.”
“Tramel never did anything untoward, and deep down he respects you.”
Felton turned, taking his heat with him. Then I wondered if all his talk of forgiveness outside the barn, before we crossed the threshold, was just talk.
Before I could ask, he again pivoted to me and rested his cheek upon mine. “There’s an obligation between fathers and sons. Sometimes it is strained, but it’s always there.”
Always with fathers and sons? Even the ones they’d never known? I wanted clarity, but I didn’t want to make him uneasy when I had a great need to warm my toes on his thigh.
I relaxed against him again, enjoying the smoothness of his chest. My hands may have had a mind of their own, again touching my personal lantern.
His heat needed to burn up the niggling concern that Noah, Gladstone’s son, would one day ask about his father, the man I had to kill.
CHAPTER52
FELTON—A GOODROMANSOLDIER
