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Just then, Claire and his lordship walked toward them down the lane.
“Where have you been?” Marcus barked. His mood was sufficiently sour after Ainsley’s comment. Ainsley was right, but she didn’t have to say it the way she did.
“We’ve been hunting for Mayden. We found a woman who thought she recognized the miniature, but nothing came of it.” Claire shrugged. “We should get back. I’m hungry. And I want to see my children.”
Finn retrieved the painting from the bushes, hung it on the wall, motioned toward the painting, and scooped her up in his arms to put her through. She reached back to pull him in. Ainsley followed, assisted by Allen. And when Cecelia would have climbed over the edge of the painting, Marcus scooped her up and jostled her in his arms until she looked up at him.
“Stop working so hard to hate me,” he said quietly. Then he stuffed her into the painting and followed her into his mother’s parlor.
***
Cecelia was driving him mad. He’d been with her the whole day. He’d pretended to be her husband, and she’d still treated him like an interloper. Perhaps that was because she loved another. Perhaps it was because she was still sore at him because he’d left her. But he wouldn’t leave her again. Not for anything. She might as well get used to having him in her life, because she was stuck with him.
But there was still the question of the man back home. He had to find out who it was so he could take measures. He also needed to approach her father so he could ask for her hand. The man would probably say no, after the way Marcus had broken her heart. And he would have every right to. But she belonged with him, and Marcus wouldn’t take no for an answer. He could have her. He could have the title. He could have the land of the fae. He could have his family and his missions. He could. If she’d just accept him and what he had to offer her.
What did he have to offer her?
His father broke into his reverie. “Woolgathering?” Lord Ramsdale asked quietly, as he sat beside his son at dinner. Dinner had been waiting when the six of them returned.
“I suppose,” Marcus admitted.
“Want to talk about it?” his father asked.
“Perhaps another time.” He stabbed his fish with his fork and took a bite of his potatoes.
“I’m here to talk anytime you need me,” his father offered.
Marcus knew that. He did. But what Marcus wished for more than anything was to have his grandfather to talk to. His grandfather had taught him everything he’d known, and Marcus had been destined to follow in his footsteps, all the way to his place with the Trusted Few.
“I miss Grandfather,” Marcus admitted.
He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. He didn’t intend to make his father feel inadequate. “I’m sorry,” he rushed to say. But his father held up a hand.
“It’s all right,” he soothed. “He raised you. He helped to form you into the man you are now. Things didn’t get fouled up for you until I came along.”
“Fouled up.” Marcus snorted. “That’s a good way to describe it.” He inhaled deeply. “She says she’s obligated to another,” he told his father quietly, glancing at Cecelia where she was seated at the other end of the table. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes and then looked away quickly when he saw her watching him.
His father’s brows drew together. “Do you know this person?”
“She hasn’t said who he is. But she’s promised to stay in the land of the fae for him.” He took a sip of his wine.
“Hmm,” his father said quietly. “Do you think she loves another?”
Marcus shook his head. He couldn’t be certain. When he’d kissed her, she didn’t act as though she loved another. But then again, she’d always been the one for him. The only one. So, he had no comparison to make. “I think she loves me. But she’s angry.”
“At least you’re aware of it.” His father chuckled. “Most men are without a clue. We walk around as if we’re on top of the world, while the ladies want to remove our stones with a dull knife.”
Marcus choked on a piece of bread. “Beg your pardon?” he gasped out.
“Don’t ever assume your stones are safe, son,” his father said as he clapped Marcus on the shoulder. “Not when a woman has been scorned.”
***
Ainsley leaned toward Cecelia and whispered, “What happened between the two of you today? I’ve been dying to ask you.”
“Nothing,” Cecelia lied. It may as well have been nothing. Because nothing was what could come of it. But heat crept up her cheeks as she remembered that kiss.
