She started to the door. “Gladstone is my way to have my own. I should be happy that you, brother, went to Demerara and snatched up your wealthy bride. You beat him already, be satisfied with that.”
“Jane, you almost deserve the whoremonger.” Felton wrenched off his black tailcoat. “He’s a cad. You’re better than this.”
“This is her influence.”
I put on my painting smock, which was folded, seams together, as I had left it on the snack table. “Perhaps it is. Gladstone hurt my family. For his crimes, he needs to die. And you, as awful as you are, Lady Jane, you deserve better. You just want him because you’re scared and he’s settling scores.” Pivoting, I caught Felton’s gaze. “He’s not done.”
“Brother, wake up. She’s defaming my betrothed. There’s no depths to which she will not sink.”
“Jane, remove yourself. This is Lady Gantry’s studio. I’m her gatekeeper.”
She threw up her hands and slunk away, down the hall.
Felton slammed the door. It banged. He pounded it then locked it.
More harsh sounds.
I should’ve thrown my hands over my ears, but I finally knew how to finish this portrait.
He went to my adjoining bedroom and returned with sheets.
“What are you doing, Felton?”
His boots flew off, followed by his waistcoat. Then his shirt sailed over my head. “I’m going for the toga. I know I was on the verge of saying something stupid. The least I must do is pay for that, and Jane.”
Bare chested, arms displaying all the scars of his childhood, my jaguarete stood in front of me. “I received a report that the artist who sold the Port Royal painting was with child. I know you’re housing a beautiful baby boy with the Duke and Duchess of Repington. His Grace says the boy’s handsome like me.”
“Noah is not yours.”
Felton blinked a few times. I knew it wrong to tell him so little of the truth, but I couldn’t risk the secret of Noah’s parentage when doubt had crept into my heart.
Ten, nine, eight. I counted and waited to see what would rise, Felton’s jealousy or his faith in me.
Three, two, one. I searched his face, his shiny blue-black eyes, to see the flame behind the lantern. Was love snuffed or had it broken free from the glass?
CHAPTER57
FELTON—A FOOL FORLOVE
It was a universal truth that a fool doesn’t deserve a loyal wife and a loyal wife doesn’t need a fool. In his circumstance, he’d decided to be fortunate and a fool and keep his wife.
Felton couldn’t respond as he stood draped in a sheet, bared and scarred in front of Cecilia. The evening sun had set, lowering the dark curtains of night.
She had that look in her eyes, where she waited for an argument, or evidence to have no faith in Felton. He didn’t want to respond to those doubts, just her love.
Draping the cloth over his ruddy shoulder, he looked down at his bare, scarred feet. “Should you sketch me here or should I go to the window for better lighting? I don’t want you to miss my best attributes.”
“Do you not care what I said? Noah is not your son.”
Tears were in her eyes. Her lips trembled like that day she left him.
His father had cut Gladstone and had meant to kill him.
For a moment he’d returned to that December day. Gladstone’s disheveled clothes. Tramel wanting to kill him. Gladstone not saying a word about that attack.
Perhaps there was a greater secret that forced his cousin’s hand.
Not Felton’s son. But had the Lance family eyes.
