A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,31

have done that in the past. I don’t like to do it, but if something seems off to me I don’t want to keep it. I’ve had sitters become upset by such drastic measures so it is better to wait until the end.”

“Does such a thing happen often?” the duke asked.

“Thankfully, no. But sometimes …” she chewed her lip.

“Yes?” he prodded.

“Oh, sometimes there can be—for lack of a better word—a streak of such things. My father had a dreadful streak one year. He had three commissions and ended up repainting every one of them from scratch.” She chuckled. “It was not a happy year in our house.”

Amusement gleamed in the duke’s eyes, the unexpected emotion making his plain features austerely handsome. “Ah, the temperamental nature of artists.” He cocked his head. “Yet you seem decidedly untemperamental.”

Simon glanced up from his food at his brother’s words, his smile apparent even while he chewed.

Odious man.

“I’m sorry to say it is true, I am—generally—possessed of a calm, measured demeanor.”

The duke’s eyebrows arched. “Sorry? But why?”

“Oh, it seems very unartistic to be so untemperamental.”

He chuckled at that. “Surely all that matters about an artist is the quality of their art?”

“In the end, that is true. Still, it does help to have a bit of atmosphere. Take Lord Byron, for example.”

“Lord Byron,” Lady Rebecca repeated somewhat breathlessly.

The duke pressed his lips together. “I believe I would rather not take Lord Byron.” He glanced at his daughter. “Trust me, my dear, such behavior may make for amusing reading but his behavior cannot be pleasant for those in his life.” His eyes flickered over his younger brother before settling on Honey, who couldn’t help nodding her agreement. She found Byron’s behavior repellent enough that she could not enjoy his admittedly compelling poetry.

“Temperamental people can make for a decidedly unpleasant existence.” His grace didn’t look at Simon, but his meaning was clear.

His brother paid him no mind.

Instead, Simon was staring at Honey, his gaze intense and … speculative. It was a gaze that left her feeling unsettled and slightly anxious.

Just why was he looking at her that way?

Chapter Nine

Simon was as sweaty as his mount when he and Loki trotted into the stable courtyard.

Just as he was about to dismount his cousin emerged from the stables, along with his lurching groom, Taft.

The two men appeared startled to see him.

“Be more careful next time,” Raymond snapped at his servant. “That’s all then. Be about your business, man.”

Taft scuttled back into the stables just as Wilkins came out, no doubt having heard hooves on cobbles.

“Raymond,” Simon said, nodding at his cousin and handing the reins to Wilkins. “Have trouble with your man, are you?”

Raymond scowled. “Oh, he’s as thick as a bloody plank and needs a cuffing to keep him in line.”

Simon cocked an eyebrow at his cousin’s harsh words.

Raymond had always been far too abrupt and high-handed with servants. Simon could only assume that was because his cousin had spent his first years without them and had never really learned that a gentle word worked far better than rude or demanding ones.

Raymond dropped his gaze, as though he knew what Simon was thinking, and turned to Loki.

“A lovely animal,” he said, taking a step toward Loki as if to pet him, and then wincing back when the temperamental stallion jerked away.

“You’d better keep your distance,” Simon said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice and failing. His cousin was a timid horseman and that made him a danger around a high-strung animal like Loki. “I’m afraid he’s still a bit of a savage,” he added, when he saw that his sharp words had made Raymond’s rather jowly face darken.

Wilkins took the reins from Simon, cutting Raymond a dismissive look. The stable master had no patience with a man who didn’t know his way around a horse and didn’t hesitate to show it.

Simon felt a pang of sympathy for his cousin, but Raymond really did bring it on himself. And he treated Wilkins the same way that he treated his idiot groom, Taft.

“Did he behave hiself, my lord?” Wilkins asked, rubbing the big stallions chin as if he were a kitten.

Simon scratched Loki’s slick powerful neck, pleased when the animal pushed into his touch, rather than shying away. “Not too much.”

Wilkins chuckled. “Aye, that’s right enough, Master Simon. He be broke, but not broken. Ye’ve done a bang-up job.”

“Yes, well, we’ve got more work ahead of us. But give him some extra oats,” Simon said gruffly as he turned