“Yes. You did.” His smile was broad, big enough to fill the stage. “Pleasant walk? I know you enjoy walking.”
“It was, but it’s getting crowded.” My stomach rumbled. The noise sounded like the trumpets in the orchestra pit.
Tossing on his waistcoat, Felton whipped up his coat. “Knowing you, you haven’t given a thought to nourishment. What if I go find something for you to eat?”
Why did my hungry stomach tighten at the thought of him feeding me? “Um. No, my lord. You needn’t bother, but do leave and come back in the morning.”
“I’m prepared to spend all night with you. I love watching.”
Was Felton tormenting me on purpose?
Cruel for the handsome—
“What say you to a little cheese toast? With good crusty bread, slathered in creamy butter.”
Everything in my middle churned. “No bother. The old masters suffered for their art.”
Gripping my hand, he led me up the stairs. “It’s my pleasure. Slowing down, taking time. Touching and tasting—I see the value in all of this now.”
My cheeks felt hot, but I shouldn’t fall prey to his teasing words.
After spinning me out of my coat and lining up the edges, he laid it gently on the stage. “I will take my time and look for the constellations you taught me. Remember lying awake in Jamaica? What was that twinkling planet?”
My face fevered. He purposely brought up us watching Mars blink red and white in the late night sky while we lay together in a hut in Kingston. It was romantic.
“Cilia?”
“Oh. Mars. Food. Thanks. More work to do, my lord.”
“Felton. Call me that as you’ve always done when you’re not cross. I’m your Felton, and you shall always be my Cilia. Your gentling accent is the only way to make that name, Felton sound strong and amorous. I love it, Cilia.”
Only he called me that.
And I liked his middle name, so different from his ordinary first one of David.
“But . . .” Felton said, biting hard on his lip, a gust of hot air fleeing his nostrils.
Now my hand shook. “And here it comes.”
“It’s not very practical to do a large canvas, so much labor and it lasts for a month. Then it’s torn down or replaced or heaven forbid painted over.”
“It’s the purview of the manager to want new and better.”
“I’m a fan of old and reliable. Is that what the manager at the King’s Theatre does? I suppose it’s better than your talent being hidden under a sheet. Or sold for pennies in the market.”
He’d said he discovered my art in my studios, but I hadn’t mentioned the ones I sold. “You truly are a spy, nosing around. I’m surprised you didn’t just appear.”
“Retired, but I waited for an invite. I want you to trust me, like when we met.” He still had my hand from helping me onto the stage. He put his thumbs to work making circles on my wrist. “Your hand still tenses in the same spots.”
That feeling, that old draw started in my heart.
“And I’d love to be selfish and have every piece of your art forever.”
“Like father, like son.”
A tremor set in his cheek. “I can see why Tramel and I are in agreement.”
He released me, and I climbed the scaffold. It didn’t rock. Felton had made it sturdier. “How long will it take for us to get to Tramel?”
