“Sirs, please stop.” Panic sounded in her tone, but Felton had to carry out his threat.
“Which half do ya want for the cheap price, Smithers? Say the pieces ya gonna pay for.”
Hands waving, Smithers stepped to him. “Don’t do that. It will take too long to get a proper one made. She should get less. My patrons may not like what one of these people painted.”
The man winked like somehow two males should be in league to cheat a woman.
A quick dip in his pocket, Felton pulled his knife and picked up the edge of the canvas. “Ya want only the bottom. Bottom it is.”
“Now wait. You can’t do that.” Purple in the face, coughing like his lungs would explode, Smithers sobered.
“Pay her,” Felton said again. “She’s worth her wages.”
“So loud. Too loud.” She held her ears. “Men overtalking me. Smithers wants to be cheap. My hired help just wants this transaction done. Smithers, you owe me two guineas, pay me one and a half, then we’re done.”
“Fine.” Grinning, Smithers dug into his purse and pulled out the coins. “I think this is fair. You’re not giving me what I wanted. But I’m sure your muscle here will take care of anything extra you need.”
Putting the jingling coins into her pocket, Cecilia nodded, clutched her brushes and smock bundles and started up the aisle, running again.
She was good with being cheated?
Growling at the fool manager, Felton threw on his greatcoat and gave chase. He followed in silence until they were on Brydges Street.
“Cecilia, order me to get all your money.”
She stopped and turned to Felton. Squinting a little, she put a hand to his cheek and shook her head. “That’s kind, but it’s not worth the trouble.”
“But you spent so much time. Your art is worthy. Let me battle.”
“The theatre community is small. The Smitherses of the world will say I’m difficult. If that becomes my reputation, I won’t make enough to pay rent and buy food for my household. I stuck my hand out to get what I could. For now, it’s enough.”
He caught her wrist and resisted the urge to kiss it—across the palm that bore stains of silver paint or along the sensitive skin between her knuckles. “Say the word, and I’ll fight for you. That’s what you want. That’s what you always wanted, for me to fight for you, to prove how much I admire and care.”
“Wanted. Not what I need now.” Tears laced her lashes. “Please, Felton. I must get to my party, or has the urgency for leaving changed?”
“Cecilia, let me help. You needn’t fret about the rents. I have money now. My investments have worked. I could give you anything, anything that you want.”
Swiping at her face, she glimpsed at him like he was a stranger, not the man who’d fed her sweets, gotten her coffee, and stayed alert with her all night.
“No, you won’t, my lord. You wouldn’t know how to give me things that last.”
“Lasting? Let me say what’s lasting. Cecilia, I l—”
Her small hand, smelling of paint, covered his mouth. “Don’t.”
“What, don’t say what’s obvious? That I love you. That I probably fell in love the moment we met on that Demeraran street. I’m in love with you. This’s lasting.”
“Will you say anything to manipulate me?”
Cecilia ran up the street.
Felton had forgotten the rules of engagement. Declarations too early would doom things. “Wait. Please ignore.”
She stopped. “I forgot my bucket of paint. Now Smithers has everything but my brushes.”
“I’ll go back and get it for you.”
“No, my lord.” Her voice had more of her accent. “Sometimes you can’t go back.”
