His hands went again to my waist, and he leaned in and kissed me. His mouth was rugged, demanding in a way. Felton scooped me up, making my gaze level to his. This hold gave him better access to my bosom, the thick curve of my hips. I was solid, no wilting lily.
I liked my porridge as much as pudding. Slay me with mammee apples and custards and cheese, and now marmalade.
Drat. Now I was hungry for food and my husband.
“Cilia, Jane and Tramel need to stop meddling. You must give me one more chance. I’ll do better.”
His words kissed at my throat and lodged right there where his teeth raked my skin. I wanted him to leave my chambers, but I clung to his chest. My body was winning over my soul.
“Tomorrow. After Jane’s recital, I’ll speak to them all. I’ll make changes. They’ll know how I adore you. That I’m proud of your jaguars and togas or anything else you paint. Please, Cilia, may I stay? Then I will know I’m forgiven.”
It wasn’t like I could say no. I was hungry after all, and Felton was the most delicious, warmest thing in the world . . . when he was with me.
Closing my eyes to all the reasons why we didn’t work, I clasped my palm about his neck and let him carry me away.
We gave in to this sensation, this something-like-love emotion. Nothing tasted so sweet, felt so strong or so safe. I refused to think of how long these feelings would last or when I’d starve again.
CHAPTER11
FELTON—WAIT. WAIT, I’M INLOVE
December 4, 1813
It was terribly inconvenient to fall in love with your wife when her excitement for being wed had waned.
Felton stared at the doorway, looking for his dear Cecilia to float into the music room. As soon as she came, he’d take her hand and in the midst of all his family he would publicly declare his love.
Well, this plan sounded good, sounded as if it would convince everyone that Cecilia was not just his wife in name only but his life partner, a big part of his heart.
If he hadn’t been so cynical and doubting of these feelings, he would have confessed before he left this last time. Then she’d not doubt his declaration now.
Before Jane’s recital, Cilia was emotional in the dining room. Felton had interrupted her and his cousin Jeremiah Gladstone, steeped in conversation. Whatever the fool said, it couldn’t undo two days of love and marmalade.
Cecilia and Felton were united. No one would come between them.
Yet where was she?
His wife should be here by now.
He’d stared at the doorway hoping to enjoy her movements. Graceful, with wide hips that made flat gowns drape like she’d worn an extra petticoat, his Cilia sauntered across any threshold like violins played.
Listening to a young woman, a friend of Jane’s, exhibit on the pianoforte, his hands sweated. His heart had never felt like this, full and fearful and dare he say, free.
Adjusting his cravat that seemed to tighten with each shift of his arms, he sampled a breath and closed his eyes. Thoughts of the first time he saw Cecilia floated. Her spunk and graciousness made him willingly become a fortune hunter.
Today he’d stop being afraid and just admit that he had fallen for his Cilia.
Aunt Nelly clapped her hands, bringing Felton’s attention to the crowd of relatives and social visitors gathered. Her pinched nose rose. “My niece, Lady Jane Lance, will now entertain us.”
The crowded room, piled with chairs and dozens of people he didn’t know eating and drinking his expensive wines, seemed wasteful. He studied this room with the light. It would make a grand studio, one to rival the Tramel’s at Warwick.
His sister Jane had told him when he came into possession of his own home, one separate from their father, that he’d need a music room to appear civilized.
He didn’t realize that meant expensive curtains of yellow silk and a glossy mahogany pianoforte only used for Saturday teas.
Jane’s taste was as expensive as Aunt Nelly’s. If he’d been more present, he would’ve recognized the insult it was to give Cilia acloset, as she termed it.
It must be more humiliating knowing their present situation, leasing a house in Mayfair, wouldn’t have been possible if not for the income he’d made investing her dowry. His fortune was under Tramel’s control and wouldn’t be liberated until the man’s death.
