“Felton, let me think about it.” I wanted to turn but his hand caught mine. Our fingers locked and his warmth crept up my arm.
I could curl into him, flat against his white, white shirt, and the heat of his body would overcome the chill in the air.
“A simple yes or no.”
“I have people who depend upon me. I can’t—”
“Bring them. You know how big Warwick is. You will have your studio and bedchamber. I’ll stay in another wing. If we need more rooms, I’ll make them available. Just help me with the duke’s last wish. Help me say goodbye a proper way, like you wish you could have with Mr. Thomas.”
My father . . . Felton didn’t play fair. He twisted my heart, trapping it in such a thick web . . . how could I say no?
His voice was soft and tight. It was a melody of caution, the same sparse notes that he used when mentioning his father. “If you don’t do this, what chance at reconciling will I have with the duke?”
He touched my cheek, warm, searing. “I have enough regrets. He does too with his own father.”
The duke told me of his regrets. He feared dying alone like him. I understood Tramel and knew he hadn’t been good to Felton. The son would always struggle if I didn’t help.
“Please, Cilia.”
“I’ve responsibilities with the life I’ve chosen. I’m on a new adventure, one I’m crafting. One I control.”
He bit his lip. His smile was as pained as it was forced. “Let us be off to Tramel. You remember it, Cecilia. The land, the windows. I know you were happier there. You must see it one last time. One last adventure for us.”
It was impossible to ignore the pain Felton tried to hide.
And Tramel had been so good to me.
Head bowed, I conceded. “I must finish this commission before I go. I’m almost done. Then I’ll collect my friends. Then you, Felton, you promise to make things right between us. You will end our marriage, fixing our grand mistake.”
He released my hands and bowed a little. “I intend to fix every mistake.”
Turning, he trotted off the stage and moved beyond the orchestra pit. “I’ll sit and watch like a spectator. I modeled, but I never watched you paint.”
The man sat with hands stretched behind his head.
Climbing up the scaffold, I was mad at myself. He’d done it again, charmed me to returning to Warwick with him, and without a tasty snack.
Hungry, self-conscious, I blocked everything from my head. It was about the art, not handsome Felton, who seemed to be unbothered about spending days journeying to Warwick so I could see the duke, a man who loved me more than his son.
CHAPTER32
FELTON—COMMANDING THETHEATRE
The theatre chair felt hard beneath him. Uncomfortable, angry, Felton pumped his hands by his sides. How long did he have to pretend he wasn’t dying for her?
Calm.
Think.
Plan.
Well, he might look placid like a still lake, but tidal waves battered his soul. His training and all the situations he’d survived around the world hadn’t been dimmed by his retirement.
Tramel wasn’t here but he was still between them.
She’d agreed to return to gain a formal separation and to see the duke and the girls.
In desperation, he switched to Repington’s advice. The clever fellow was right again. One, agree. Two, contact. Three, win.
