Page 86 of A Portrait of Love

“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 she was eager to explore.

“Anything in particular you wish to see?” he asked, leading her past bowing, liveried servants and out of the hotel lobby.

“May we ramble for a bit?”

And so they were rambling.

The populace in Brighton appeared more genteel than that in London and Simon was amused by the way passing pedestrians studiously avoided staring at his injuries. His wife, however, felt otherwise.

She gave a huff of annoyance as two passing women almost ran into a streetlamp while pretending not to gawk. “Is it always this wretched? People staring and pretending not to stare?”

He drew her closer to his left side as they passed a trio of gaping, giggling girls. “You cannot blame them.”

“Yes, actually, I can.” She flicked an affronted glance up at him and Simon realized, not for the first time, that she honestly did not seem to be offended by the wreckage of his face.

“Doesn’t it bother you to be stared at?” she demanded.

“No.” It was true, it didn’t. Although it did become rather exhausting. “But I must say I’m not accustomed to so many people.”

Her hand tightened on his forearm. “I’m sorry—why did you not say crowds bothered you?”

Nothing bored Simon faster than speaking about things like scars and injuries and anything else to do with his past.

He stopped and pointed to a straw hat in the bow window of a shop. “Do you like that?”

She blinked and for a moment he thought she might not let loose of the topic, like a terrier with a bone. But she was too curious.

She stared at the ridiculous female confection. “It is pretty,” she rather grudgingly conceded.

“I want to see it on your head.” He pulled her toward the shop entrance.

“But I don’t need a hat.”

“We are not speaking of need. We are speaking of want. Like.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear as he opened the door, “Desire.” And then gave her a gentle push into the shop.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Honey had never been in a dress shop with a man before. Well, except her father when she’d been younger.

Truthfully, she hadn’t been in many dress shops, period. She usually sent her measurements to a woman who’d been making her dresses since she was a girl. She liked pretty clothes, but when you were almost six feet tall it felt foolish to stand in the middle of a shop and pretend that anything could possibly make you look feminine.

The shopkeeper, one of the smallest women she had ever seen, gazed up at them with sparkling green eyes, her own clothing so outrageous it was difficult to look away: a bright pink silk gown with yellow ribbons for trim, and tiny kid boots of apple green; she resembled a spring garden.

She folded her hands together and smiled, as if Honey were the answer to all her prayers. “Oh, I know why you’ve come in! The hat—the red hat.”