A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,53
silence.
And then Simon’s shoulders slumped. “Christ.”
The duke nodded and straightened, his arms falling to his sides. “I will give you a few moments together.”
And then he strode from the room.
***
Damn, damn, damn, damn. The words were like the insistent cawing of crows in Simon’s head.
He turned to the woman. To Honoria.
She was staring across the room at him with the terrified eyes of a prisoner at the dock.
Christ. Fortunately, he did not speak the profanity out loud, this time.
He ran a finger around the disaster that was his cravat, wondering why he was so bloody hot when the room felt as frigid as a tomb.
Simon forced a neutral expression onto his face. Or at least as neutral as a man with half of his face in ruins could appear.
“Will you sit?” he asked. She looked as skittish as an unbroken filly, and rightfully so. She’d found herself trapped between two men who’d been fighting each other for almost fifteen years.
Tonight Honoria Keyes had become a casualty of their war.
She sat and Simon lowered himself into the chair across from her. Best not to sit beside her as it seemed like that led to trouble. Still, hard to imagine what worse trouble there could be other than this.
His gaze flickered over her wrinkled gown and loose hair and he cleared his throat. “Miss Keyes—”
She held up one hand, palm out. “Stop,” she said, just in case he did not understand her gesture. “I know what you are about to do, and there is no need. I won’t say yes in any case.”
Simon felt oddly affronted. “What?”
“I would not marry you no matter what the incentive or motivation.”
Well, hard to misinterpret those words.
Simon couldn’t help smiling at her fiery spirit. “You know my brother is correct. Word will leak out, somehow. It always does. Even if he threatens those men with dire consequences.”
“I understand. But his grace does not understand me. He does not understand that I can weather this storm. My father left me enough money to never need to paint another portrait.” Her angry gray eyes flickered over his person. “I will not be pressured into a hasty marriage with a man who does not want me.”
Simon tried to hide the almost crippling relief her words brought, but some of that must have shown through because her expression turned even grimmer, which he’d not believed possible.
“Don’t worry, my lord. I wish to be shackled to you even less than you wish to be chained to me.”
Simon flinched at the raw loathing in her eyes.
She stood, and his body automatically followed. She held out a staying hand, her gaze bleaker than the Outer Hebrides in winter. “I showed myself in; I will show myself out.”
And in a rustle of golden silk, she was gone.
Simon slumped back into his chair, his mind a whirl of shame, regret, and relief. He dropped his head into both hands and shook it slowly back and forth. He couldn’t have said which emotion was strongest.
***
Honey’s eyes blurred with tears and she all but ran from the room.
“Ooooff!”
Strong hands gripped her shoulders and kept her from toppling backward.
Honoria recognized the duke’s face through her tears of rage.
“Steady on, Miss Keyes,” he murmured, not unkindly, releasing her once she was steady.
“I’m sorry, your grace, I should have looked where I was going.”
He ignored her apology. “I am sorry about the way this has come about, ma’am, but I am pleased that you will soon become a part of this family.”
She gave a better, slightly hysterical laugh. “Thank you, sir, but I will not marry your brother.” She turned on her heel and began the journey to her room.
“Miss Keyes.”
She stopped because he was the sort of man a person naturally obeyed.
But she refused to turn around.
The hallway was carpeted so she could not hear his footsteps. But she was not surprised when his voice came from right behind her.
“I’m afraid you must marry my brother, Miss Keyes.”
What little remained of her control shattered and molten anger oozed through the cracks. Honey spun around. “I beg your pardon, your grace, but I must do no such thing. You may control this household and those who live in it, but you do not control me.”
His eyes narrowed in a way that made her throat so tight it was hard to breathe. How had she ever believed this man was bland or nondescript? He was like the razor-sharp edge of a blade, like the venom-slicked fang of a snake.