A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,118
wine to wash the food down.
“It’s outrageous,” he agreed. “But last year’s brutal winter and this year’s lingering chill have been damnably hard on people. Both Wyndham and I have opened up more land to hunting—but not near where Saturn was shot. It’s bloody irresponsible to hunt so close to a road, no matter how lightly trafficked it is.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What can I do? When people learn that one of my horses was killed nobody in their right mind will come forward to take responsibility. I can only hope it will be enough to stop such dangerous behavior in the future.” He cut her an intense look. “That bullet came closer to me than any during the war, Honey.”
There was a sort of wondrous horror in his voice.
Honey just felt sick.
“Can you imagine that?” he asked, visibly stunned. “To spend over a decade at war and then die from a stray bullet on my own land?”
Honey grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard. “Don’t.”
His eyes met hers and he seemed to come back to himself. He laid a hand over hers. “Why, I believe you’d miss me, Lady Saybrook.”
“That isn’t funny,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
His expression shifted from teasing to concerned and he leaned toward her, caressing her cheek. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up a damp finger.
She sniffed and pulled away. “Nothing.”
But he wouldn’t release her. “Don’t cry, Honey.” He stood and pulled her up and into his arms. “I didn’t mean to worry you—the bullet didn’t hit me. I’m fine. I’ve always been fortunate when it comes to bullets—it’s cannons and cannon balls I have to worry about, and there aren’t many of them in East Shropshire.”
Her tears were running freely now, and she pushed her face into his neck. “This bullet didn’t hit you, but the last one did, Simon.”
She felt him chuckle. “So, it did. I’m guessing I’ve now had my full complement of stray bullets, love. Please don’t cry, Honey.” He held her at arm’s length, tipping her face toward his. “It was an accident, sweetheart. And I am as fit as a fiddle—except for a few blisters.” He smiled and brushed a tear from her cheek.
“You should finish your supper,” she said, mortified by her emotional display. Only Simon could make her come apart this way.
He shook his head and then winced.
“What is it?” she demanded. “Are you hurt?”
He grimaced. “A bit of chaffing on my left side from all that walking,” he admitted.
“Lie down on the bed and I shall put on your salve.”
His beautiful lips curled up at the edges, his sinful smile causing the predictable reactions in her body. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered.
Honey froze like a startled hare, her heart pounding at the hungry glint in his eyes.
Simon stepped away from her and pulled the sash that held his robe closed, shrugging the heavy brocade garment to the floor.
Honey wasn’t surprised to see that he was erect—she rarely saw him any other way.
“Turn around,” he said, “I’ll be your maid.”
“Simon, you need to—”
“Hush and turn.”
Honey complied.
He nibbled at the back of her neck while his fingers worked on her gown. “You smell so good,” he murmured, thrusting his hard shaft against her lower back, the heat of him scorching even through several layers of dress. “What is it?”
“It’s lemon verbena soap,” she said, her voice quivering.
“Mmm,” he nuzzled, his hips lazily thrusting.
“You need your salve first.” She’d meant the words to sound like an order, but they came out more like a plea.
He chuckled and pushed her dress to the floor. A moment later he had her out of petticoat, stays, and chemise, down to only her stockings and shoes.
He dropped to his haunches and Honey stared down at his broad, muscular back as he removed her slippers and rolled down her stockings, his motions gentle and almost worshipful.
His body was every bit as much of a canvas as those she stretched and prepared. He was raw, masculine beauty, the scars and burns only adding to his appeal. Her heart ached for the painful story his battered skin told—as clearly as any painting—and she loved him with a fierce, almost primal desire.
He stood, his eyes black with need. “I want—”
Honey shook her head. “Salve, first. Go lie on the bed.”
His expression went from lusty to shocked to delighted. “Yes, ma’am.”
He pulled back the bedding and sprawled out like a starfish, his erection jutting proudly.