A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,114
turned around Bella MacLeish was with her husband. She came to the stables every day, but never up to the house. Honey couldn’t decide if she was relieved or slighted.
Not only did Bella linger around the stables, but Simon spent his days outside, as well, so Honey often saw the two of them together.
He now made a point of inviting her to ride every morning, but she had no desire to expose her lack of skill to Bella, who was achingly graceful in the saddle.
In the evenings they were no longer alone at dinner as Heyworth had settled into his new position, so that intimacy was gone, as well.
But you still have him all to yourself at night.
Honey blushed even though there was nobody to see her; yes, she had him all to herself all night, every night.
He was insatiable for her and she for him. Just when she thought he couldn’t be more shocking—he showed her some new manner of wickedness.
And she adored him for it.
No, you love him.
Fine, that was true. But there was no reason for him to know that. Although he was clearly infatuated by the things they did in bed, he did not love her. Perhaps he never would. Sometimes she thought there was a barrier in his blue eyes—a line that he couldn’t or wouldn’t cross.
So, the nights were theirs, but their days were spent apart.
Was she happy that Bella was always there—and always dressed in her scandalously snug leather breeches?
No.
But she had to admit there appeared to be nothing untoward going on. While it was unusual for women to ride astride, many who hunted—Becca, for instance—wore breeches on hunt days.
Of course, Bella wore them every day.
It was unfortunate that Honey’s studio window faced the stables. At first, she had loved being able to watch Simon come and go. Now it was like salt on a wound. Not only did she have to watch Bella, but she had to watch every male in her vicinity drop what they were doing to gawk at the other woman.
That’s not fair, Honey. Simon doesn’t gawk.
She sighed, cleaning her brush and putting it aside before she destroyed the duchess’s portrait. It was never good to paint when she was in this sort of mood.
As for Bella’s behavior? Well, she flirted with Simon, but she also flirted with Heyworth, Hume, and every other male servant or worker on the property. Or perhaps she wasn’t flirting. Perhaps that was just Honey’s gut-wrenching jealousy at work.
She loosely covered the painting and stepped closer to the window as Raymond Fairchild rode up.
Simon’s cousin had brought a second horse behind him, probably the mare the duke wanted bred. She was lovely—as black as coal, just like Loki, but daintier.
Simon emerged from the stables, Bella—naturally—two steps behind him.
That’s unfair, Honey. There is Becca, too.
All right, all right—that is true.
Becca rode over most days and Honey often watched the three of them—Simon and the two women—tearing across the countryside in a neck-or-nothing way that left her breathless.
Honey couldn’t help smiling as she read Becca’s posture just now; the younger woman did not like Bella. In fact, Honey had overheard Becca complaining to Simon, just a few days ago, that she could ride Epiphany—the huge hunter that Simon was hoping to sell as quickly as possible—in this year’s first hunt.
“You aren’t ready for him yet, Beccs,” Simon had chided. “Your father would skin me alive if I mounted you on that beast.”
“What? You think Bella is a better rider than I am?”
Simon’s eyes had narrowed at that. “Oi!” He’d snapped out crudely, no longer playful. “She’s your elder—Lady MacLeish, to you. Show some respect. And yes, by the way, I know she is a better rider. That’s not surprising since she was hunting before you were born.” He’d softened when he’d seen Becca’s crushed expression. “Come on, love,” he’d cajoled, “you’re not too big yet for me to do this.” He'd picked her up under her arms and spun her in a circle until she’d squealed.
“Stop it, Uncle Simon!” she’d breathlessly demanded, but Honey could see that she loved it. Becca was teetering on the verge of womanhood and these last glimpses of childhood had inspired Honey to make a few subtle changes to her portrait.
For all her uncle’s chiding, Honey could tell that Becca had not resigned herself to Bella’s presence.
Neither, it seemed, had Raymond, who was regarding the siren with a derisive smirk as she proceeded to inspect the horse he’d brought.