Again, I gripped the side. “Stop, or we will fall.”
He kept going. “We’ll do it together, we both will. We’ll be a pained wreck.”
That didn’t sound like cautious Felton, wanting to risk injury.
The platform swayed and hit my canvas.
“My art! You’re going to ruin it. My lord, I wish you to back away from the stage.”
“I wish you back.”
He stretched out his hand. “Come to me, Cecilia. Join me here unless you’re frightened of us standing together.”
“I’ve no time to be distracted or told that my worries or fears are overblown.”
His brow arched and climbed a little higher. “Overblown? Not me. Overbearing would describe a different Lance.”
When he was midway up the creaking started. “Felton, you know this is not safe.”
“When has anything between us been safe? We’re an adventure, remember.”
More pings and moans from the scaffold meant it would fall. “Not that I have such talent, but I do wonder if Michelangelo had such problems. In the midst of finishing his commission, did he suffer a spouse giving chase?”
“Not sure he had a fool to run from.” He jumped down. “I won’t put you at risk. Never will.”
He banged on a strut. “Come down and at least let me fix this. I want you safe, so that you can finish another masterpiece.”
I’d never seen him so determined to help unless he fed me. “Am I your new mission?”
Instead of answering, he took off his waistcoat, then touched the bindings and nails holding the wood braces. He wasn’t leaving.
“I’ll come down. Then say what you have to and leave. I must finish this commission tonight.”
His head nodded. “It’s the afternoon. How late will you work?”
“As long as it takes, my lord.”
“That doesn’t sound safe.” He hung his head, his shoulders drooping.
No, no, nope. The tender part of my heart couldn’t be drawn in. Staying distant from all the Lances was my only way to keep Noah safe. Felton’s cousin, hateful man, would have more say in England over his son’s welfare.
My descent was slow, but I ran to the one side of the drop. He remained on the other, facing the audience and orchestra pit. Cowardly, but my art would protect me from those Noah-like eyes trying to carry me away.
“Slide the papers. I’ll sign to formalize our divorce. I’m ready for the end.”
There was no response, just the shadow of him touching the landscape I’d painted.
“Please, sir, I’m ready.”
“Cecilia, we’re still married. I’ve no plans to change this.”
“Well, the woman in the square doesn’t look like the type to wait. You should hurry.”
He chuckled and the drop rippled. “And here I thought I was the jealous one. Lady Ashbrook is newly married and quite happy. She’s a friend. I think I’m beginning to understand much better how such friendships work between men and women, between a father and daughter-in-law.”
Was that true?
Felton no longer felt threatened by Tramel?
