Page 124 of A Portrait of Love

“Enola,” he said in a low, wondering voice, breaking the brittle silence that filled the room. “What a pretty name.” He dropped his hand and turned to Bella.

The sultry beauty gave him an innocent smile that didn’t fool Honey for a minute: she had purposely engineered this scene.

Honey realized she was a spectator in her own drawing room and moved toward the untouched tea tray.

For the next quarter of an hour, she smiled and made tea and distributed biscuits, nodding when appropriate and even answering the few questions directed her way.

When the women rose to leave, it was Simon who walked them out to their carriage.

Honey slumped back in her chair, staring at the remains of the tray.

Part of her wanted Simon to just return to the stables and they could pretend this hadn’t happened.

Part of her wanted to shout and throw things at him, and demand why he had not warned her.

And part of her wanted to pack her valise and get on a mail coach and go home.

They’d talked about separate lives before they’d married. Perhaps it was now—

She heard Simon’s distinctive, uneven tread before the door opened.

Honey could not make herself look at him.

“You are angry with me,” he said, taking the seat he’d just vacated.

Her head whipped up at his weary words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just wanted to speak to her alone—to make sure she knew that I wouldn’t tolerate her games. Bella has always been a bit, er, mischievous. In any case, the visit was harmless and I didn’t mean for my actions to appear secretive.”

“I’m not talking about your visit to Lady MacLeish,” she spat—although that did rankle. “I’m talking about the girl.”

“What about the girl?” he asked, but she could see that he was not as sanguine as he was attempting to sound.

“Don’t,” she said with a withering look.

“Fine. So, the child looks like a Fairchild—is that what you mean?”

“She could be your female double, Simon.”

His distinctive blue eyes widened. “Are you accusing me of fathering Bella’s child?”

Honey snorted and threw up her hands, as if to say, how could I not.

His frown deepened and the chill in his blue eyes was enough to make her shiver. “The child is not mine, Honey.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps it is one of the many things you claim not to remember?” she snapped, and then bit her lower lip, wishing she could take the words back.

He stood and came toward her. Honey shot to her feet, refusing to have to look up at him.

“How dare you?” he said, his voice menacingly soft.

“What am I supposed to think?”

“Good God! You could think dozens of other things—none of them as insulting to me as what you just said. Can you really believe I’d parade Bella and her daughter in front of you if the girl were mine?”

Honey sucked in a breath but caught an ill-advised retort before it slipped from her mouth.

He nodded, even though she’d not spoken. “I see you believe me capable of such cruelty—not only to you, but to the girl, if she really was my daughter.” He took a step closer, until she felt the heat from his body. “As bad as my memory might be, I know that I have never put my cock in Bella MacLeish.”