Calm.
Think.
Plan.
All of this was a little hard, knowing Cecilia had been at Warwick being daily poisoned by his father’s forked tongue. “What is it you want, old man? Except for my children, you’ve taken everything that matters.”
“Never had use for little ones, or a son whom I thought weak and sickly. And you took all that mattered to me. My dearest wife died birthing you. That can make one resentful.”
“Making Cecilia hate me is how you avenge something I couldn’t control?”
Tramel pulled higher onto his pillow. “My being cynical and hateful to you has been irrational. I’ll admit that. But you’re my legacy.”
“Facing your mortality has made you reconsider your unimaginably cruel life. You’ve always wanted me to suffer unless I did exactly as you wish. Can’t be strong and your puppet.”
His father sighed. “That’s the rub of it all. And Cecilia, beautiful Cecilia, has helped me see another side of things. She says we are similar. I wonder, when she closes her eyes, who does she see? Who does she hope for?”
Calm.
Plan.
Kill.
“What is it that you want, Tramel? I could go away and return when you’re in the grave.”
“Tell Cecilia I value the intimacy of her friendship. Tell her.”
Kill.
Bury the body.
Dance on the grave.
Felton slapped the post of the footboard. “I’ll try to hurry her along to attend your mourning party.”
His vision was beginning to blur from pure rage. He forced his legs to turn. “Good day.”
“Wait. Cecilia is at risk. I need you to help her. Bring her here.”
With fingers on the brass door pull, Felton paused. “Why? So she can again be your caged painting bird?”
“No, so I can give her what she most desires.”
This low whisper did as his father surely intended. It drew Felton back into the room to park at the old man’s side. “What would you know of that?”
“You do still want her. I expected you’d annul your union or divorce her, with the lady being gone so long, but you didn’t. You still care. Thus, you can save her from jeopardy. I can’t help her this time.”
This time? Felton’s heart ticked faster, readying to explode and splatter red on the endless gray walls. “What danger? What desire?”
The palsy slowing the movements of the man’s face made it seem as if his lips half dragged to a smile. “She still won’t talk to you. Just me. There’s comfort in that.”
The duke never did anything without a reason. Felton merely had to offer him something to loosen his tongue. He moved to the window and marveled at the view to the cliffs. “I was delayed collecting a new piece of art. Cecilia’s art.”
“Art, you say?”
“Yes.” He stopped tugging the curtain and again faced his father. “Lady Gantry painted a piece in June. I know she was out of the country. Was it Demerara? Was that where her adventure was?”
A snowy brow raised. “Has her technique greatly improved from what you see in the studio?”
