Page 73 of A Portrait of Love

How she’d yearned to look like Portia Stefani. The half-Italian, half-English woman had features so bold they should have been unattractive. But there was something compelling in her flashing black eyes that was even more attractive than conventional beauty.

Honey adored the delicate, cool beauty of Freddie, or the fairy-like delicacy of Annis. Even Lorelei Fontenot, who could at best be called unusual looking with her small, triangular cat face and bushy black brows, would have been preferable to almost six feet of boredom.

She coiled her heavy braid into a coronet and secured it with a fistful of pins.

That only makes you look taller.

She didn’t care.

Or so she told herself.

Honey had believed that she’d gotten over regretting her unfortunate height and bland looks years ago. It could only be her proximity to Simon that had brought such insecurities back.

Even with his hideous scarring he was mesmerizing. He’d been a very pretty young man, but he was now a battle-scarred Odysseus back from over a decade of war.

But was he back? Had any part of the Simon she’d once known—and loved—returned? It seemed to Honey that his body was here, but other than a few lightning-quick flashes, she’d seen nobody recognizable behind his achingly beautiful eyes.

Not that she was finding this new version of Simon any easier to resist than the old. As snappish and cruel as he could be, he still enthralled her.

“Fool,” she accused her reflection, running her hands lightly over the smooth cap of hair, turning to the side to inspect her “crown.” The simple style suited her and she looked her best. Not that she suspected the man waiting for her would even notice.

***

By the end of the meal Simon’s spirits had, if not risen, then at least not fallen any further.

His wife had been a different person since sitting down to supper.

First, she had accepted his apology and then offered one of her own.

“I behaved badly when you offered to engage a maid for me.” She admitted while spooning soup into her mouth, her eyes downcast.

Her apology made him feel restless. He’d opened his mouth to say it was no bother, but she wasn’t finished.

“And I especially apologize for throwing your offer of friendship in your teeth earlier.” She set down her spoon and looked up. “You are correct. We are married. There is no point in making life a misery for each other. I accept your olive branch.” She hesitated and then gave him a shy smile, “Besides, I should hate to let your brother think he had forced us into something against our will and made us miserable.”

Simon laughed. “That’s the spirit, my lady.”

“Please, call me Honoria.”

Simon tried not to mind that she kept her pet name from him, but small steps were better than none.

They ate their meal and conducted careful conversation. He talked about his horses and she talked about her paintings.

Simon watched her eat the last of her berries and cream, aware the smudges beneath her eyes had not been there only a few days ago. He resolved to ease her tensions tonight. Truth be told, he’d been more than half-hard for three days thinking about their wedding night. He was a bit surprised—but beyond pleased—that she did not seem more anxious about losing her virginity. He could only assume her friend Lady Sedgewick had soothed her nerves on the topic.

Simon could have used somebody to sooth his nerves a little. He’d never bedded a virgin and had no interest in making a woman weep—especially not in bed. Still, it would just be the one night that was uncomfortable and then he would have access to her tall, willowy body on a regular basis—or at least whenever she chose to stay at Everley.

He picked up his wine and took a sip, his mouth curving into a smile. Perhaps marriage would not be so bad, after all.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Honey had just tied on her nightcap and crawled into bed when there was a soft tap on the door that led to the corridor, not the connecting door.

She frowned. “Yes?”

“It is Simon.”

She swung her feet down to the floor and bit her lip. What did he want?