A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,68
hair, turning to the side to inspect her “crown.” The simple style suited her and she looked her best. Not that she suspected the man waiting for her would even notice.
***
By the end of the meal Simon’s spirits had, if not risen, then at least not fallen any further.
His wife had been a different person since sitting down to supper.
First, she had accepted his apology and then offered one of her own.
“I behaved badly when you offered to engage a maid for me.” She admitted while spooning soup into her mouth, her eyes downcast.
Her apology made him feel restless. He’d opened his mouth to say it was no bother, but she wasn’t finished.
“And I especially apologize for throwing your offer of friendship in your teeth earlier.” She set down her spoon and looked up. “You are correct. We are married. There is no point in making life a misery for each other. I accept your olive branch.” She hesitated and then gave him a shy smile, “Besides, I should hate to let your brother think he had forced us into something against our will and made us miserable.”
Simon laughed. “That’s the spirit, my lady.”
“Please, call me Honoria.”
Simon tried not to mind that she kept her pet name from him, but small steps were better than none.
They ate their meal and conducted careful conversation. He talked about his horses and she talked about her paintings.
Simon watched her eat the last of her berries and cream, aware the smudges beneath her eyes had not been there only a few days ago. He resolved to ease her tensions tonight. Truth be told, he’d been more than half-hard for three days thinking about their wedding night. He was a bit surprised—but beyond pleased—that she did not seem more anxious about losing her virginity. He could only assume her friend Lady Sedgewick had soothed her nerves on the topic.
Simon could have used somebody to sooth his nerves a little. He’d never bedded a virgin and had no interest in making a woman weep—especially not in bed. Still, it would just be the one night that was uncomfortable and then he would have access to her tall, willowy body on a regular basis—or at least whenever she chose to stay at Everley.
He picked up his wine and took a sip, his mouth curving into a smile. Perhaps marriage would not be so bad, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Honey had just tied on her nightcap and crawled into bed when there was a soft tap on the door that led to the corridor, not the connecting door.
She frowned. “Yes?”
“It is Simon.”
She swung her feet down to the floor and bit her lip. What did he want?
“Honoria?”
She rose, snatched her dressing gown off the back of the chair, and opened the door beyond a crack, but not much.
He held up a bottle with two glasses. “May I come in?”
“I was just getting into bed.”
His eyes flickered to her nightcap and a notch formed between his unnaturally blue eyes.
The hand holding the bottle lowered. “Please?”
Honey realized the delicate peace they’d established at dinner was in the balance. Already. She stepped back and gestured to the small sitting area before the fire.
“Have a seat.”
He held up the bottle. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
She shook her head. “I’ve already cleaned my teeth.”
He expelled the air in his lungs slowly. “I see. Well, would you mind if I had a glass.”
It did not sound like a question to her. “Please do.”
She took a seat in the chair, leaving him the loveseat. He glanced at her, the loveseat, and then poured himself a glass and sat.
“So,” he said.
She swallowed. “So.”
“You were getting into bed.”
She nodded.
“Weren’t you forgetting something?”
Honey frowned. “I don’t think so.” He took a drink of wine. A big drink. “Did I forget something?” she asked when it seemed he was finished speaking.
“This is our wedding night.” He looked up from his glass of wine, his pupils expanding, until his blue irises appeared almost violet.
Honey opened her mouth to acknowledge the truth of that statement but froze.
No.
He could not mean that. He couldn’t.
Could he?
“I thought we had begun to make up our differences over dinner,” he said.
She nodded vigorously.
“I thought perhaps we might continue to make them up in bed.”
“What?”
His eyebrows arched. “It is our wedding night. I wish to bed you.”
She felt light-headed. “But—”
“But?”
“You said you did not wish for children.”
His brows descended. “I don’t.”
“But … I thought you meant—” She didn’t want to say it. She couldn’t say it.