Page 113 of A Portrait of Love

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Honey heard the connecting door open but did not move. She was facing away from the door but recognized the shadow he cast across the plush carpet beside the bed. Besides, who else would be opening the door between their rooms close to one o’clock in the morning?

For a moment she thought he could come inside—perhaps come into her bed. But the door closed with a soft click.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the blackness above her head.

Fury and shame fought for dominance in her mind and had been doing so ever since he failed to show up in the drawing room after dinner.

It would have been bad enough if he had simply abandoned her. But Mr. Heyworth had been there as well. The conversation had become more and more awkward as the other man realized Simon was not going to appear. Honoria had refused to tuck her tail between her legs and flee to her chambers. Instead, she had ordered tea when the time came and they had pretended that everything was normal.

Well, maybe this was normal. Maybe three weeks of married bliss was all she would have. But then why had he come up now—after all these hours?

She thought about today—about the woman who just happened to appear during their ride. It was foolishly suspicious to believe she could have been waiting for them—after all, what would she do, wait there all day, every day? She might have waited a year in that little gazebo by the stream without encountering anyone at all.

But there had been something in her eyes, some sly light that had said she knew exactly where to find Simon.

They’d only lingered a quarter of an hour, but it had felt like a century.

The surge of jealousy she’d experienced had infuriated her. Of all the base human emotions she despised jealousy the most. Not since she’d been a girl had she been plagued by it.

Simon had been correct when he’d said that she was the reason her father never remarried.

He’d also been right when he’d said that her father should have insisted that she go to school.

If she had gone away and had friends then she wouldn’t have relied on her father for everything. The lovers he’d taken had not all been unpleasant to her—several had been quite lovely. But, to Honey, those women had been a threat to the only life she knew.

She had never wanted to share him because he was all she had.

Was that what she was feeling right now?

Or was it just that she was upset to be caught in the middle of something she didn’t understand?

Honey sighed; she refused to let jealousy rule her—especially when she didn’t yet know if she had anything to be jealous about.

If Simon was in love with Bella—and judging from his stunned expression he certainly felt something for her—and she was a widow, then why hadn’t they married?

Simon had not acted like a broken-hearted lover when he’d asked her to marry him. She’d only been his wife for a month but she already knew that he was not the sort of man to hide his emotions. He was not stealthy or manipulative: what he felt he showed and then acted upon.

If he loved Bella, he would have married her.

So what was going on?

He hadn’t been acting strangely before their ride, or during their ride—at least not until the lovely Countess MacLeish had materialized like a fairy from a Shakespeare play.

The conversation had been amiable, vague, and that of old neighbors seeing one another after an absence of many years. But the currents beneath the words had been vicious undertows of emotion and burning, unasked questions.

Honey might not understand it, but she’d felt it.

She turned onto her side, hugging a pillow to her chest, the pain of missing him physical. They had only been together for a few weeks, how had her attachment to him grown so strong, so quickly?

She squeezed the pillow so hard it was a wonder that stuffing did not pop out of it.

What was she supposed to do? Sit here and wait for her husband to pursue his old love—who was clearly interested in pursuing him?

Honey heaved a sigh. Why couldn’t anything in life be the way one hoped and expected?

She immediately felt petty and childish for even thinking such a stupid thing. The truth was that Simon had promised her a marriage of convenience, nothing more. No matter what she might be feeling, she needed to recall that.