A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,18

like his cousin Raymond than he did the rest of his family.

“Simon,” the duke said, taking advantage of the break in conversation and fixing Honey with his cool gaze. “This is Miss Honoria Keyes, who has come to paint Cecily and Rebecca. Miss Keyes, this is my brother, the Marquess of Saybrook.”

Simon paused in the act of loading his plate with food and turned his body toward her, as if his neck were unable to do the work. His golden eyebrow arched, the one on the scarred half of his face lifting only halfway.

In the well-lighted dining room, she could see the gouges and wounds were bad enough on their own, but their puckered edges tugged on the healthy skin, distorting his image like an old, pitted looking glass. One long red scar ran perilously close to the bottom lashes of his left eye. He’d been fortunate that his eye had been spared, although she doubted that he would feel that way.

They held each other’s gaze and Honey saw recognition gradually shift his features.

“So that’s who you are?” His teeth flashed white in his tanned, scarred face. “Honey.” He gave a delighted laugh.

The duke cleared his throat and Simon glared at his brother’s disapproving expression, what little humor he’d felt quickly draining from his face. “What the devil are you frowning at, Wyndham, that’s her name.”

All eyes turned to Honey.

She could control her expression, but not, unfortunately, her skin. Her face heated and Simon Fairchild’s smirk grew along with her flaring color. She cut him a look of cool dismissal, but that just made him grin more.

“Little Honey Keyes, all grown up,” he said, chuckling.

“Simon,” the dowager murmured.

“You know each other?” Raymond asked, looking intrigued.

Simon just laughed and threw back the rest of his wine. Honoria had never seen a man drink so much, so fast. Even her father’s wild friends had behaved with more decorum. At least around her.

When it appeared that Simon would not answer Mr. Fairchild’s question, Honey said, “Yes, we met when he was sitting for a portrait with my father.”

“Ah, interesting,” Mr. Fairchild said, although nobody else looked particularly interested.

“Miss Keyes has just finished painting Viscountess Heath.” The duke sounded as calm as ever, but Honoria thought there was a tightness around his mouth that hadn’t been there before his brother’s arrival.

“Is that so?” Simon asked, pausing with his loaded fork half-way to his mouth. He gave an evil-sounding bark of laughter. “Heath, eh? I remember her.” He shot the duke a look of pure mischief. “Why the devil would Heath want her image memorialized? Isn’t she the one who—”

The dowager’s fork clattered against her plate and the duke spoke over the din. “You are thinking of his prior wife, Simon.” His tone was as sharp and brittle as a shard of obsidian. “Lord Heath recently remarried.”

The marquess grunted. “Ah, he turfed out the old wife and got himself a young, pretty, fecund one, did he? Giving you ideas, Wyndham?” The look he gave his brother was unpleasantly suggestive.

The duchess gasped and frost swirled around the duke; he appeared to grow larger. “You will recall where you are, Simon.”

Lady Rebecca looked confused and Raymond’s avid gaze flickered between the brothers as if he were watching a badminton match.

Simon gave an ugly chuckle. “As if I could ever forget. You know how to get rid of me, Wyndham; I’ll leave anytime you like, Brother.” He forked the food into his mouth, looking gratified by the duke’s silent glower.

The rest of the table was poised and waiting for whatever gem Simon might deliver next, but he took his time before appeasing anyone’s curiosity, chewing and swallowing several mouthfuls before taking another barbaric gulp of wine, waving for the footman to refill his glass and turning his flaming blue gaze on Honoria.

“Your father did a fine job on my portrait.” He raised his scarred hand in a vague gesture that encompassed his face and person. “But things have changed, as you can see. Perhaps you could make some changes to your father’s work? Or maybe you’d like to take a run at me yourself? Yes, that’s a better idea; we could hang them together, sort of a before and after thing?” His tone was taunting and his eyes glinted with either anger or intoxication or both. He turned away so that she could see only the damaged left side. “I daresay I’d make a captivating subject.”

Before Honoria could open her mouth, or even think of anything to say,