A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,76

at her—this expression pleasant rather than a smirk. “I thought your relationship was marvelous. I remember burning with envy watching the two of you.”

“You did?”

“I did.” He shifted on his seat, grimaced, and then propped one booted foot on the bench beside her. “My mother loves me and my brother very much, but she had to keep herself from showing it. My father didn’t want us coddled—not an unusual attitude for fathers to take with their sons—and he wouldn’t permit my mother to do so.”

“I have never understood that belief—that showing love somehow weakens a person, the giver and the recipient. I think my father’s love made me a stronger person.”

“I agree. But I also think it took its toll.” Honey opened her mouth and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t rip up at me, which I can see you’re about to do. Do you wish to have an honest discussion or would you like to discuss banalities? Because I’m more than willing to speak about the weather, the state of the roads, the—”

“What did you mean, about his love taking its toll?”

“Well, he raised you without any other children, he didn’t send you to school, and he made no effort to find you a mate—did he?”

Honey could not believe his audacity. “For your information he offered to send me to school but I did not wish to go.”

“And if a child refused to eat anything but chocolates, should a father agree?”

“That is hardly the same thing.”

“I think it is exactly the same. A parent makes decisions that take into consideration the welfare of their child—not just their child’s preferences. I think your opportunities were narrowed by his love.”

She crossed her arms and looked out the window. But he was having none of it. He dropped his foot and leaned toward her, his forearms resting on the long bones of his thighs. “Have you ever had a beau?”

Honey glared at him. “What does that have to say to anything?”

“Answer the question.”

More than anything, she wanted to lie. But she knew he’d spoken the truth earlier—she was a dreadful liar. “That is none of your affair.”

He sat back, his look of smug satisfaction beyond galling.

“For your information, I have known several fine young men,” she snapped. That much was true, although she’d not felt more than a passing interest in any of them.

He didn’t answer, just looked at her through slitted eyes, as if he could hear her every thought.

“What does it matter if I haven’t?” she demanded irritably. “I daresay you’ve had enough lovers to crew a ship. Has that made your life so much better? So much happier?”

Instead of answering, his expression became speculative; his lips moved but no words came out.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m trying to recall how many it takes to crew a brig—or did you mean something bigger—perhaps a galleon?”

Honey opened her mouth, closed it, and then raised her hand to smother the laugh.

“That’s better.”

She shook her head, annoyed at how he was able to manipulate her mood. “You always do that.”

“What do I always do? Head off an argument?”

“No, say and do things to disconcert me.”

“You mean like last night?” His eyelids lowered a fraction and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Her cheeks burned. “No, I mean like right now.”

His mouth twitched and he turned to look out the window.

Honey fiddled with her reticule, which lay in her lap beside a book she’d brought but not yet opened. How could a person read with somebody like Simon Fairchild a foot away?

“Why did you wish to break the journey rather than traveling all the way through?” she asked.

He cut her a glance. “Did you not enjoy your sojourn in Grunstead?”

Her face, which had just begun to cool to a normal temperature, flared. “Tell me, my lord, do you try to be provoking, or does it come naturally?”

This time his lips did more than twitch before he turned back to his window view. “I broke the journey because I don’t care to be confined for long periods of time.” The words were quiet but his tone told her plainly that he did not wish to discuss the matter. Honey could only assume it was yet another of his many scars, this one on the inside.

She picked up her book and pretended to read.

***

They settled into their spacious rooms at the York Hotel and then enjoyed a leisurely tea in their private parlor.

Simon offered to leave Honoria to rest after the journey, but