Page 133 of A Portrait of Love

Honey waved and watched until the carriage disappeared.

She smiled at her butler as he shut the door, forcing herself to ignore the questioning look in his eyes. “Good night, Hume.”

“Good night, my lady.”

“Excuse me, my lady.”

Honey turned to find Heyworth descending the stairs; he’d changed into his riding leathers.

“I’m going out to the Turnbull farm.” His handsome face darkened and he dropped his gaze, staring at his gloves as he pulled them on. “I worry that perhaps his horse pulled up lame and he is stranded. It is a very long walk on foot. I’ll bring a mount with me, so that—”

The door swung open and Honey and Mr. Heyworth turned at the sound.

Simon stood in the doorway, dusty and disheveled. He smiled at Honey, his expression wry. “I supposed I missed dinner?”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Simon could see that his wife was very unhappy and worried; he could not blame her.

He was enraged, even though he’d had three hours to do nothing but sort out his anger.

But right now, he was starving and his blisters had blisters. He turned to Hume, who was hovering. “Could you please have a tray sent up to my chambers? Something cold is fine.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Simon turned to Heyworth once the butler had left. “You’ll need to send a wagon to fetch Saturn.”

Honey raised her hand to her mouth and Heyworth stared.

Simon gestured to the leg of his breeches.

Because he wore leathers that had been died dark brown, the blood stains had not immediately been apparent; Honey saw them now.

“My God, Simon—is that blood?” She grabbed his coat and pulled him closer to a nearby candelabrum.

Simon’s lips twitched; as angry as he was, he couldn’t help being amused by the sight of his steward blushing as the lady of the house bent low to stare at her husband’s groin.

“It is not mine, love,” he said.

His voice brought her back to herself, and she straightened up, blushing as furiously as his steward. “What happened?”

“Somebody shot in my direction—by mistake, I expect. No doubt whoever it was didn’t expect anyone to be out on that remote path so late. Probably a poacher.” Simon grimaced, sickened as he recalled the equine scream of pain just before Saturn staggered and fell.

“Thankfully, the horse didn’t suffer, but I couldn’t get my foot out quickly enough, so it’s a bit sore.” He lifted his injured leg—his left, of course—and winced.

“Come,” she said, shaking off her shock. “Let’s get you upstairs.” She turned to the footman who’d just appeared. “Have a bath brought up to his lordship’s room immediately.”

“Very good, my lady.”

“Here,” she said, thrusting her delicate shoulder beneath his arm. “You can lean on me.”

Simon could walk well enough—he’d done so for hours—but he found that he liked being coddled by his wife.

“I’ll be off if you don’t need anything?” Heyworth said.

“Just collect Saturn—don’t go looking for anything,” Simon warned as he limped toward the stairs. “We’ll comb the area tomorrow and speak to the sheriff.”

Heyworth nodded and left them alone.