Page 116 of A Portrait of Love

***

Simon was grateful that his new wife was not churlish or tending toward grudges—not that he deserved easy forgiveness.

Still, it was fortunate she was understanding because he did have a tendency to focus on one matter to the exclusion of all others.

And if he’d fibbed a little by neglecting to mention the other issue that had consumed his thoughts last night? Well, he believed that it had been better to pass along a small falsehood than to hurt her.

Wasn’t it?

Besides, his conversation with Bella today had put to rest any concerns he might have had about lingering feelings for her.

Other than a certain nostalgic fondness and admiration for a beautiful woman, he’d felt nothing for her when he’d sat in the shabby sitting room at Frampton Park.

Not only was his own mind settled, but, after today’s conversation, Bella now knew that Simon was very married.

He knew that Bella didn’t love or yearn for him; he’d recognized the familiar glint in her eyes: she’d been hoping for a bit of sport—a diversion from what likely a very mundane existence.

The only sport he’d offered her was the use of one of the new hunters he’d bought, a fine mare he intended to breed as soon as his new stud was delivered.

Bella was one of the most skilled equestriennes he’d ever seen. Hell, she was a better rider than most men.

Simon had planned to pay a rough rider this hunting season as he had several hunters he wished to sell. This way he could pay Bella, even though money had never been mentioned.

She’d told him that her husband had been hunting mad and she’d gone with him every year, so he knew she’d kept up with the sport.

Apparently, MacLeish had been deeply dipped and when he’d died the ancestral home had gone to a cousin, since Bella and her husband had only had one daughter.

She’d been forced to move back in with her parents because all MacLeish’s personal property had gone for debts.

Since Bella was too bloody poor to even own a riding hack, he’d opened his stables to her, as well. Not only was it a small kindness that he could well afford, but he wanted her in top fettle if she was going to be hunting one of his horses this year.

Like most females who hunted seriously, Bella rode astride. His niece Rebecca did, as well, at Wyndham’s insistence. Simon was proud that his stiff brother valued his daughter’s health over a bit of scandalous clothing. It was just too damned dangerous to hunt on a woman’s pleasure saddle, in Simon’s opinion.

There would be plenty of riders with the local hunt who would recall Bella from years ago. He couldn’t help smiling at the thought of how she would shake up many of the parochial men—and then ride them into the dirt.

Simon saw that Honey was looking at him and realized he’d been woolgathering rather than entertaining his wife.

“Wine?” he asked, picking up the bottle that had been decanting.

“Yes, please.”

He was eager to talk of something other than himself, Everley, his stables project, or his family. “How was your day? You’ve been working on Becca’s portrait.”

She took a sip, looking pleased by the vintage. “I worked on her portrait and began stretching a canvas for the duchess’s.”

“You don’t mind working on two at once?”

“Not at all. Preparing a canvas is easy work that needs to be done. It is perfect for those times you cannot bring yourself to focus.”

Simon didn’t have to ask what had been disturbing her focus. “I see there were a great pile of letters for you this morning. I’m assuming one or two are from Lady Sedgwick and Ingram. Are the others also from your teacher friends?”

The countess and Miles Ingram had despised him—he’d seen that straight away. Of course, Ingram had good reason to dislike him. He wondered if Honey’s other friends would loathe him, as well. It surprised him to realize that he’d much rather her friends liked him. Or at least didn’t take him in active dislike.

She swallowed her oyster and dabbed her plump lower lip with her napkin, the action making him harden. Of course, that wasn’t anything unusual; the juxtaposition between his wife’s cool outward appearance and the firebrand she was in private kept him in a state of arousal whenever he was around her.

“Indeed,” she said. “It was an unprecedented nine letters.”

Simon chuckled. “Lord, I scarcely have nine acquaintances. All from teachers?”