His puzzled look would be comical if I didn’t know how heavy the ugly vases were or how they could’ve hurt him. “You’re right. This place is not safe.”
He closed his eyes and grew comfortable on my leg as though it was a pillow. “Glad I didn’t trip and fall onto you. Here I’m wanting to protect you. Can’t do that if I’m bumbling.”
Blinking, he searched the big room—the empty crib and the one bed. “Where are your friends?”
“Gone. They must’ve started their day.”
He frowned. “Before eight? Are you testing me? You didn’t have to make up people.”
If I let him think Enna and Noah were lies, was that better than telling him the truth? And he definitely wouldn’t want to hear I sent my family away from his. It was safer.
“Cecilia, if you say they are out, I believe you. We can wait for them, or maybe we head out on our own.” He turned his face to my hip and the heat of his breath scorched the thin wool of my gown straight to my thigh.
This was bad. Felton slipped beneath my coat and put his hot cheek to my leg.
“My lord, I no longer wish to go. Your cousin, your whole family will be there. You have enough family.”
He half smiled. “You don’t want to see Tramel anymore?”
“I’ll remember him in his strength, the picture of kindness. I’m tired. I need to sleep. Then I need to look for my next commission.”
His eyes became saucers, wide, even a little panicked. “But what of our bargain? You’re to go with me, then I finalize a legal separation.”
“It’s almost been a year. I’ve survived this in-between state. Sooner or later, you will grow tired of hanging on. You’ll annul this marriage to go to your next adventure, the next person to enjoy your bed. I need no bargain.”
He sat up and stared. His hands were deliberate, respectful, but caressing my knee. “You’re the only one I want.”
It was hard to think with palms on me and his fingers guiding me to all the memories, our memories, the ones that were good.
His blue-black gaze burned, intense like an eclipse when the moon was draped in shadows, like in 1810.
He took my hand and towed me to him. “I know what it is you want.”
“Felton—”
“It’s no joke. I know this time.” His hands about my waist slid me closer. Another minute, I’d be on his lap.
“My lord, I’m tired. You need to get on the road and go back to Tramel and tell him you tried.”
“I’ll help you get what you desire if you come with me.” He eased to my side, his lips on my ear. “Revenge.”
I pressed against his coat. “Felton?”
“You want to kill Jeremiah Gladstone. I’ll help you do it.”
“You’ve a concussion of the skull? Or maybe it’s me. I’m asleep and this is a dream.”
“You need to dream of me again, Cilia. You know I can do this. I can be an instrument of your desire. I’ll take you to Warwick. I’ll teach you how to kill and get away without consequences.”
“How can you do that, Felton?” I scrambled to my feet. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
His breathing was labored when he rose, but he came toward me and towed me into his embrace. “I’ve been in service to the Secretary of War and the Colonies. I am, or was, Lord Liverpool’s man to gather intelligence to advance His Majesty’s interests around the world.”
Stretching, I fingered his skull again, looking for bumps. “You’ve been hit too hard on the head.”
“You have to believe me.”
“Felton, I didn’t hit my head. This is fantastical.”
