Felton forgot his mission, the happenstance with the soldiers. Nothing seemed more important than learning what she wanted. “What is it you desire most?”
She looked at him with surprise. “Not many ask. I think it has to be adventure. To see things that will nurture my art. And to be treated like a queen because of my talents, not my father’s assets.”
“You must have great talents for queenly attention.” He stared at her pleasing figure. “And your assets look fine from here.”
Her laughter was musical, caressing his ears.
Funny, bright, beautiful, Miss Cecilia had the makings of fine trouble or an adventure of a lifetime. “You will be a fine queen someday. Your king will be lucky.”
The sound of a gun blast echoed.
His heart failed. Johnson! Yeoman Johnson—his friend didn’t get away.
Felton closed his eyes. He’d have said a prayer, but soldiers were marching toward them.
At the steps of the banquet hall, she started to go inside, but he kept her hand. “Let’s enter those doors and go beyond pretense, straight to an adventure.”
“What, my lord?”
“I know this is terribly fast, and I’ve admitted to being intrigued by your dowry and assets, but I can take you across the sea for a fine adventure. The other side of the world can be great fun. Plenty to see and paint. Ma’am, you won’t be disappointed.”
“What’s the cost for this adventure besides my nice dowry, et cetera? Speak fast. We’re about to be interrupted by at least three soldiers.”
“A kiss for the man who wants to marry you.”
Her head veered from side to side. “Sure. Where is he?”
It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but a new bride was an excellent reason to leave the service . . . and to live past tonight.
“Here.”
Felton swung her around and swept Miss Cecilia into his arms. Squeezing her tight about her small waist, he kissed her. She went willingly, and they kept at it until the footsteps fell away.
CHAPTER4
CECILIACHARITYLANCE
November 25, 1812, One Year Later
My love held an unlit torch in one hand and my father’s knife in the other. The gleaming blade sparkled in the candlelight of the smallish room my husband’s family had given me to use for my art.
“Cecilia, must I do this? It feels awkward.” Felton’s lovely voice was low and raspy from the cold he returned with from his last long trip.
“Shhhh,” I said, and mirrored on my canvas the engraved gold of the knife handle and how it cast shifting reflections onto his blue-black eyes.
“The painting is taking shape, my lord. Don’t mind my delay in getting this right. Waiting an additional two months for your return means that time matters not for us.”
He looked down, taking his gorgeous eyes from me.
Dark and mysterious, those deep-set marvels made me wonder what he’d seen and what places he’d been this time.
Seems a wife should know these things after a year of marriage.
“Please, Lady Gantry. My arm is hurting.”
I ignored his complaint and picked at the savory cheese he’d brought me. The blue veining looked as if it had been fouled but it tasted rich and intense. “What is this called, my lord?”
“You needn’t be so formal, and it’s Stilton cheese. I knew you would enjoy it with toasted bread.”
