PortraitofPassion by Lynne Barron

give him one quick
look over her shoulder. In her eyes he saw a promise. He knew she saw the same
in his hot gaze.
    Then she turned away and slowly walked forward and turned to
the right and was gone.
    Simon bent forward, resting his hands on his knees, and
dragged air into his lungs. Christ, she was amazing. He tried to remember if he
had ever been so aroused by a mere kiss and knew he had not. He had been close
to coming. He would have come in his trousers like a schoolboy, grinding
against her if they hadn’t stopped when they did.
    He had no idea how long he stayed there, bent over, waiting
for his erection to subside. When he straightened, there stood Henry, watching
him with a smile.
    “Good God, man,” he said with a great booming laugh. “You’re
amazingly lost.”
    “Yes,” Simon agreed with a smile. He was amazingly lost and
beginning to suspect that he may not want to be found.
    “Come on then. Beatrice won and it looks as if you’ve lost.”
    “What?” Simon cried. Surely she could not have made it out
first.
    “She was sitting upon the bench, pleased as a cat in the
cream, when I emerged with Olivia right behind me.”

Chapter Six
     
    The next morning as Beatrice cantered through the park with
Gerald, one of Bertie’s grooms at her side, she reflected on the events of the
previous day. She laughed remembering the look on Simon’s face when she had
opened the door to greet him.
    “I’m sorry, Miss,” Gerald said. “Did you say something?” Bea
turned to look at him and slowed her mount to a walk. He was a handsome young
man with wavy black hair and eyes so dark as to appear black. He spoke with a
slight Cornish accent, reminding her of Tom Jenkins. Reminding her of home.
    “Oh no, Gerald, just thinking,” she replied with a smile.
    “Of something that tickled your fancy?” he asked, smiling in
return.
    “Just so,” she agreed.
    “Me mum used to do the very same thing, just start into
giggling outta the clear blue. Pa teased her something fierce.”
    “Where are your parents now?” she asked. She had spent a
good amount of time in his company, as Bertie insisted she take him with her
when he was unable to join her for her morning ride. She had agreed with two
conditions. The first was that he did not wear livery, but rather his own
riding clothes, as she did not want to draw attention to them on their rides.
The other stipulation was that he ride with her, not behind her as convention dictated.
She had never become accustomed to servants hovering around and behind her in
silence. She preferred to have a companion.
    “My father passed on some five years back, Miss Beatrice.
Mum went to live with her sister in Surrey. They share a tidy cottage and take
in some mending to help ends meet. Both their husbands were navy men, so they
receive a small annuity from the crown, but it’s not near enough.”
    “No, I don’t suppose it is,” Bea replied. “And you send what
you can, I’ve no doubt.”
    “That I do,” he said. “I’m most lucky to be working for the
viscount. He pays a mighty fair wage, enough to help me mum and still some left
over to treat myself, and he doesn’t work us too hard. Not like some of them.”
    “And to what do you treat yourself?” Bea asked with a grin.
“Besides your fine clothes?” She eyed the perfect fit of his buckskins and
black coat. He was finely dressed and could easily be mistaken for a young
gentleman about town.
    “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said before furtively
looking about as if to be certain there were no eavesdroppers nearby.
    Beatrice threw back her head and laughed, his play-acting
was that funny.
    “But this secret must not make the rounds,” he went on.
    “I’ll not tell a soul,” she promised. Then getting into the
spirit of his game, she looked about the park. As they had set out at first
light, there were only a few other riders about. “And I see no spies lurking
behind the trees.”
    “Well, if you’re