A Duke, the Spy, an Artist, and a Lie by Vanessa Riley

Author:Vanessa Riley [Riley, Vanessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zebra Books
Published: 2022-01-13T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 33

FELTON—THE HELPFUL HUSBAND

Cecilia touched her face. “Do I have paint on my nose? You’re staring.”

“No. You’re perfect. Still perfect.” He tugged his hands behind his back. “What may I help do, my lady? Stir colors? Tidy rags? Take you home and feed you properly?”

“I’m working, but you can go home. This will take all night.”

Maintain contact. That was Repington’s second tenet. The man could give Liverpool a run. “I’ll find a way to be useful. Being somewhat out of a profession has made me aimless. With the girls at Warwick, there are no demands of my time. Tonight, I can be out as long as I wish.”

She shrugged and started adding more details to lines she’d drawn in the upper corner.

He relaxed his shoulders, trying hard not to look forlorn or torn or concerned.

Felton was all of those things, including mourning. Ten months apart when he could’ve been with her, protecting her, loving her, finding British treats to enthrall her and make her eyes sparkle—this was time they’d never get back.

He turned to jump from the stage. The notion took him back to the beginning, jumping out that government window and gratefully meeting Cecilia.

“Tell me about your party, Cilia. I want to make sure I have enough room and provisions for them. We will be a merry group.”

“Just two, not much room at all. If that’s too much, we can take the post.”

A baby doesn’t require much space. He’d loved holding Agatha the day she was born, and Amelia was most adorable at three months when she could hold her head up. The babe had slept against his lapel. “There will be enough room for two, and more.”

She smiled at him, then stretched to the sky she’d made.

Lady Ashbrook missed a detail or two upon occasion. She could be wrong about the artist.

The changes in Cecilia could be the difference of ten months apart. None of them were bad. Who didn’t like more woman to hold?

Maybe a babe is why she left Warwick. His father was miserable, but he’d tell Felton about a child, especially a son.

Where was this babe now?

In whose care did she leave his son or daughter?

No child of his could live in Covent Garden where so much vice occurred.

Felton had to do something with his hands. The scars on his left looked very exposed. “Your platform looks unsteady.”

He moved to the base of it and poked at the limbs and struts. “Let me make this safer. A good foundation is best.”

This was his truth and he’d grown in it since watching the Duke and Duchess of Repington and the Ashbrooks navigate their married lives.

Cecilia stretched to the top of the canvas to touch up a star, then bent to her paints. The scaffold rocked, and he put his weight against it. No more ignoring her safety, even if he was mesmerized by the smooth flexing and stretching of her trim arms.

The delicate motion of her hands changed the shape of the clouds, shifted the way the light reflected on the image.

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