“You make an advance at my wife, and you call me small-minded.”
Cecilia stepped in front of Tramel, a man a little more than twice Felton’s thirty years. “He did nothing. Nothing that I didn’t want.”
“What?” Felton shoved his hand behind his back to keep from strangling his father. “How long has this been going on?”
Her eyes were distant and sad. “What’s been going on, my lord?”
“Your affair with my father.”
Her face pinched as she shoved her hand in the pocket of her heavy purple redingote. “You think . . .”
She closed her eyes and bowed to the duke. “Good day, my lord.” Then she bowed to Felton. “Goodbye, my lord, goodbye forever.”
That didn’t sound guilty or repentant. And his father’s smirk drove a dagger into Felton’s heart. “My cousin’s bleeding. There’s a stack of hidden masterpieces in your studio. You’re in my father’s arms. And he’s in love with you. I need to know what’s happening.”
Not a word left her lips. Cecilia kept walking.
He caught her arm at the doorway. “Go through this entry and head to our bedchamber. Wait for me.”
Head high, tugging her coat about her shivering limbs, she went inside.
Cecilia put up no fight. She was leaving too easily. Felton went in after her and caught her hand. “Your fingers are cold.” He entwined his thumb about hers. “I’m sorry that I accused you of such, but you haven’t denied a thing.”
With a labored breath and a shrug, she pushed his fingers away. “I know what you want, Felton. What is it that I want?”
Her tone was small, very soft, but not easy. She repeated her question from last night.
He put her hand to his chest. “To be loved and cherished like any good wife.”
With her teary gaze, she looked in Tramel’s direction, then to the floorboards. “Goodbye.”
As Felton tried to stop her, he brushed her side and felt something hard in her pocket. A knife? That sharp blade of her father’s that he’d posed with—did she cut Gladstone?
“Cecilia.” Felton called after her again, but she kept walking.
Tramel’s blasted laughter started slow but soon raged. “Well done, Gantry.”
The duke’s powerful hands slapped together, slow loud pounds. “You’ve lost her, lost her for good, my boy. Well done.”
“Tell me now what this is? Why were you trying to seduce my wife?”
The tall man sat on a bench framed by white snowdrops, winter jasmine, and dark evergreen bushes beginning to collect snow. “You had a goddess and couldn’t keep her. You’re a fool. Just like me.”
Felton’s breath steamed the cold air. “Cecilia will calm down, and I’ll wear the toga and all will be fine.”
“You’re odd, son, but those endearing quirks won’t work this time. Ashes to ashes, you’ve burned it all down.”
“Tramel, why are you trying to destroy my marriage?”
His father stretched his arms onto the back of the bench and smiled with a know-it-all curl of his lips. “For you to be my son, you’re terribly insecure.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Not one that you want, but it’s an answer. Gantry, if you weren’t my son and I was ten years younger, I’d take her from you and enjoy every minute. The lass is so trusting and kind, and you’re so easily manipulated. You’re the perfect kind of fool to drive her straight to my bed.”
“Stop it, Tramel.”
“Oh, my goodness. She does feel good in my arms, small and round. Gives me life thinking of her. Maybe I’m not so old. You think my shaking hand could feed her better cheese? Something smuggled from France.”
