A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,123

him to Lindthorpe.”

Bella didn’t argue or hesitate—she nodded and ran for the door.

“And Bella?” Honey called out just as Bella opened the door.

The other woman glanced over her shoulder.

“Bring a doctor, too.”

Once again Bella nodded, and then she was gone.

Heyworth stepped toward her. “Lady Saybrook, what is—”

“Meet me in five minutes in the stables.” Honey strode toward her chambers. “Fetch two pistols and saddle whatever horses Bella doesn’t take. Rebecca, you stay put—go to the library,” she called over her shoulder.

“But—”

“Don’t argue!”

“You want pistols my lady—?” the steward gasped.

“Just do it, Mr. Heyworth—there is no time to explain right now, my husband’s life might be in danger.”

Chapter Forty

After half an hour of riding hell-bent-for-leather, Simon’s temper had begun to abate and he slowed Bacchus to a canter.

What in the name of the hell was he doing rushing off half-cocked like this?

You’re thinking with your fists, Simon, just as you always do.

He grimaced at the all-too-apt description.

It’s time to leave the past in the past. Whatever Wyndham did with Bella, it no longer matters. You are married and in love with a wonderful woman. You are going to be a father.

His face creased into a smile at the thought, the joy in his chest so intense that he felt like he would burst at the seams.

But then Wyndham’s face thrust itself into his mind’s eye and he recalled how his brother had looked Simon in the face all these years, lying and manipulating the entire time.

It was true that what Wyndham and Bella had done with each other no longer mattered. But what his brother had done to him was something they needed to discuss—if not resolve—the sooner the better.

Besides, he thought as he glanced at a passing road marker; he was almost to Lindthorpe and there was no point in turning back now.

It would probably always bother Simon that his brother had betrayed him, but it was a long time ago and Wyndham’s life had been a such a misery at the time. Lord knew that Bella had been enough to tempt any man.

Whatever Wyndham had done, his brother was essentially an honorable man—Simon believed that with every fiber of his being. Wyndham would have suffered mightily for his sins all these years.

As for Bella? Well, she’d certainly been punished more than she deserved for her part in the indiscretion.

The more time Simon spent with her, the more he learned that her marriage to MacLeish had not held much pleasure.

Bella’s letter from all those years ago had mentioned a hefty dowery—which he now knew to be the courtesy of Wyndham’s guilty conscience.

Based on what Bella had said about her dead husband, Simon suspected the money might have been even more of a lure for the penniless Scotsman than a beautiful young wife, especially one who’d been pregnant with another man’s child.

It was all sordid and sad and desperate.

And it had nothing to do with his current life.

Simon sighed as a weight seemed to lift from his heart; he would confront Wyndham with the truth and he then would forgive him.

He looked up from his thoughts to see that the turnoff to Lindthorpe was just ahead; he’d certainly made excellent time.

The driveway to duke’s newest house was shaped like a horseshoe, with huge old oaks marching down both sides of the narrow drive. There were various hedges surrounding the house and grounds, giving one the feeling of entering a cave.

The Palladian-style house was of recent vintage—built sometime early in the last century—and a great deal smaller than Everley.

As he rode up to the entrance, Simon was surprised to see no sign of workmen or activity—not even a gardener.

He dismounted and tied off Bacchus before heading toward the entrance. Not until he was almost to the big, metal-strapped door did he notice that it was open a crack.

“Wyndham?” he called out.

He paused, but there was no answer.

As he reached for the doorhandle his gaze flickered to the light-colored flagstone at his feet. The hairs on the back of Simon’s neck stood on end and some primitive part of his brain identified what he was looking at before Simon even recognized the red smear as blood.

His body reacted without prodding from his mind and he shoved the door while flinging himself through the opening.

He landed with a bone-jarring thud just as a pistol shot rang out. Bits of plaster rained down on him and his body again acted on instinct, rolling to the side, out of the doorway opening

“Simon!” It was Wyndham’s voice

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