“You never told me about Eddingham or him,” Simon said, folding his arms over his chest and shifting his accusing glare to Catriona. She was sitting directly opposite him, having thrown herself clearly and without compunction into the camp of his rival. Without lowering the leather-bound book she’d dug out of her portmanteau to pass the long hours on the Great North Road, she shrugged. “Since the two of you had met before, I hardly felt a formal introduction was necessary.” “I wouldn’t have recognized him. What have you been feeding him? Ponies?” Catriona gave Simon a disapproving look over the top of her book. “It’s hardly sporting of you to mock his girth. He’s quite sensitive about it, you know.” “What is he going to do if I offend him? Eat me?” She slammed the book shut and tossed it on the carriage seat. “Why, Mr. Wescott, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! I realize that my Robert is a bonny fine fellow who is certainly worthy of your jealousy, but all the same, it hardly becomes you.”
