Page 151 of A Portrait of Love

Her arm tightened around him. “Don’t punish yourself over this, Simon. It doesn’t do anyone any good.” She hesitated, and then said, “The duke is one of the most formidable men I’ve ever met. It will take more than a single bullet to stop him.”

Simon gave her a weary smile. “You’re right, love. He’s tough. I just wish I’d said I was sorry for misjudging him when I had the chance this morning.”

“You had a few other things to worry about,” she said drily. “Like saving both your lives.”

“No,” he said firmly, “it wasn’t me who saved us, it was you. Raymond would have shot me if not for you.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “You didn’t just save me and Wyndham—you saved yourself and our unborn child. If Raymond had gotten away with this—” he shivered, sickened at the thought of what might have happened.

She stroked his cheek. “He didn’t get away with it, and Wyndham will pull through.”

“Once again thanks to my clever wife, who thought ahead enough to send for a doctor as well as a sheriff.”

“I’ll only take part of the thanks; the majority of it goes to Bella.”

“She must have ridden like the wind to get them here so quickly. Loki earned a double serving of oats for the rest of his life.”

And the doctor had arrived not a moment too soon, either.

Simon had been at wit’s end when the three had thundered up.

Wyndham had lost consciousness and his heartbeat was so faint that Simon could barely feel his pulse.

The doctor hadn’t bothered to move the duke to a bed before he began working on him.

While Simon had been with Wyndham, Honey had stayed with Raymond, who’d died in the arms of the woman he very likely would have killed.

Simon knew he should feel something at the other man’s passing, but all he could muster was relief. At least Raymond had done one good thing before dying; he’d confessed to putting the poison in the duke’s liquor decanters—within the sheriff’s hearing.

Raymond’s confession had gone a long way to helping Simon explain the two dead bodies and various gunshot wounds to the sheriff.

The man had agreed to wait until the duke could give testimony to announce an official cause of death for either Raymond or his groom.

Simon had also told the sheriff about Raymond’s valet, but he suspected they would never catch the man.

It had slipped Honey’s mind to tell anyone about Heyworth, and so the steward had surprised everyone when he’d come limping out of the woods about an hour after Bella and the two men arrived.

It seemed the steward had been caught in a snare—so there was a poacher, after all. The accident hadn’t just mangled Heyworth’s foot, his pride was considerably damaged from leaving his mistress to fend for herself.

Simon wasn’t sure he could ever forgive the man for bringing Honey and their unborn child into such danger.

Unfortunately, his wife had read his expression correctly and had already threatened him with dire deeds if Simon sacked Heyworth.

Honey stood up from the arm of his chair and held out her hand. “Come to bed—you need sleep. You can trust your brother to Doctor Powell and the dowager.”

Simon had sent for their mother, knowing she would want to be by Wyndham’s bedside. She was a capable nurse and had cared for their father in his last years.

Honey was right; Wyndham was getting the best care possible.

He stood, but instead of following her to bed, he wrapped his arms around her, gazing down into her lovely gray eyes. “How did I ever get so lucky,” he murmured, kissing the tip of her nose.

She blushed and squirmed, shy at his praise.

“There is a tradition among soldiers; if you save somebody’s life, it then belongs to you.”

She cocked her head, the slightest of smiles on her lips. “Are you saying that you now belong to me?”

“Utterly and completely.”

“Hmmm. How interesting. What do you think I should do with you?”