The Serpent Prince
Page 11

“How thoroughly disgusting,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
“Nothing. What could she do, after all, against a giant snake?”
“Well, surely she—”
He cocked a stern eyebrow at her. “Are you going to keep interrupting me?”
She pressed her lips together as if to quell a smile and started peeling her apple. He felt warmth spread through him. This was so comfortable, sitting here with her and bantering. A man could relax to the point that he forgot all his cares, all his sins, all the butchery he had yet to do.
He took a breath and shook the thoughts away. “Angelica’s flock of goats began disappearing one by one, and she was at her wit’s end. True, she lived alone, but sooner or later the king’s steward would come to take count of the goats, and then how would she explain their depleted numbers?” He paused to take a sip of wine.
Her straight, solemn brows were drawn together as she concentrated on peeling the apple with a small knife and fork. He could tell by the pinch of her brow that she wanted to object to Angelica’s lack of fortitude.
He hid a smile behind the wineglass. “Then late one night, a poor peddler woman came knocking at the stick shack’s door. She displayed her wares: some ribbons, a bit of lace, and a faded scarf. Angelica took pity on the woman. ‘I haven’t a coin to my name,’ she told her, ‘but will you take this pitcher of goat’s milk in trade for a ribbon?’ Well, the old woman was glad enough to make the bargain, and she said to Angelica, ‘Since you have a kind heart, I’ll give you a bit of advice: If you capture the skin of a snake, you’ll have power over the creature. You’ll hold his very life in your hands.’ And with that, the old peddler hobbled away before Angelica could ask her more.”
The lady had stopped peeling her apple and was looking at him skeptically. Simon raised his eyebrows, sipped the wine, and waited.
She broke. “The old peddler woman just appeared out of the blue?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that?”
“Why not?”
“Sometimes I have the feeling this story is being fashioned as you tell it.” She sighed and shook her head. “Go on.”
“You’re sure?” he enquired gravely.
She gave him a look from under terrifying brows.
He cleared his throat to cover a laugh. “That very night, Angelica crept to the cave. She watched as the giant serpent slithered from the dark recesses at the back of the cavern. It circled the blue-flamed fire slowly, and then there appeared the nude silver-haired man. Angelica crawled closer and saw that a great snakeskin lay at the man’s feet. Before her courage could leave her, she leaped forward and snatched the skin in her arms.” Simon ate a bite of the pie, chewing slowly to savor the flavor.
He looked up to see Miss Craddock-Hayes staring incredulously at him. “Well?”
He blinked innocently. “Well what?”
“Stop teasing me,” she enunciated distinctly. “What happened?”
His cock jumped on the word teasing, and an image formed in his demonic brain of Miss Craddock-Hayes stretched nude upon a bed, his tongue teasing her nipples. Christ.
Simon blinked and pasted a smile on his face. “Angelica had the Serpent Prince in her power, of course. She ran to the fire in the brazier, intending to throw the snakeskin into the blaze and thus destroy the creature, but his words stopped her. ‘Please, fair maiden. Please, spare me my life.’ And she noticed for the first time that he wore a chain—”
She snorted.
“With a small, sapphire crown hanging from it,” he finished in a rush. “What?”
“He was a snake before,” she said with exaggerated patience. “With no shoulders. How could he have worn a necklace?”
“A chain. Males don’t wear necklaces.”
She merely stared at him in patent disbelief.
“He was enchanted,” he stated. “It stayed on.”
She started to roll her eyes, but then caught herself. “And did Angelica spare his life?”
“Of course.” Simon smiled sadly. “Celestial beings always do, whether the creature deserves it or not.”
She carefully set aside what remained of her apple and wiped her hands. “But why wouldn’t the snake be deserving of salvation?”
“Because he was a snake. A thing of darkness and evil.”
“I don’t believe that,” she said simply.
He barked a laugh—too sharp and too loud. “Come, Miss Craddock-Hayes, I’m sure you read your Bible and know of the snake that deceived Adam and Eve?”
“Come, my lord.” She tilted her head mockingly. “I’m sure you know that the world isn’t that simple.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You surprise me.”
“Why?” Now, inexplicably, she was irritated at him. “Because I live in the country? Because my circle of friends doesn’t contain the titled and sophisticated? Do you think only those who live in London are intellectual enough to explore beyond the obvious in our world?”
How had this argument happened? “I—”
She leaned forward and said fiercely, “I think you are the provincial one, to judge me without knowing me at all. Or rather, you think you know me, when in reality, you do not.”
She stared a moment longer at his dumbfounded face and then got up and hurried from the room.
Leaving him with a painfully aching erection.
Chapter Five
“He’s late!” Papa said the following night. He glared at the clock on the mantelpiece and then turned his glare on the rest of the room. “Can’t tell time in London, eh? Just wander about, showing up whenever a body wants?”
Eustace tsked and shook his head in sympathy with Lucy’s father—a rather hypocritical gesture since he was known to forget the time on occasion himself.
Lucy sighed and rolled her eyes. They were all assembled in the front sitting room, waiting for Lord Iddesleigh so they could go into supper. Actually, she wasn’t all that anxious to see the viscount again anyway. She’d made a fool of herself the evening before. She still wasn’t quite sure why her anger had suddenly boiled over; it had been so sudden. But it had been real. She was so much more than daughter and nursemaid; she knew that deep within herself. Yet, in tiny Maiden Hill, she could never become who she wanted to be. She was only dimly aware of who she might become, but stuck here, she knew she’d never discover herself.
“I’m sure he’ll be down presently, sir,” Mr. Fletcher said. Unfortunately, Lord Iddesleigh’s friend didn’t sound sure at all. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I ought to go—”
“What an exquisite company.” Lord Iddesleigh’s voice came from the doorway.
Everyone swung around, and Lucy almost let her mouth hang open. The viscount was magnificent. That was the only word for it. Magnificent. He wore a silver brocade coat embroidered in silver and black on the turned-back sleeves, skirts, and all down the front. Underneath was a sapphire waistcoat with vining leaves and multicolored flowers lavishly embroidered all over. His shirt had falls of lace at the wrists and throat, and he wore a snow-white wig on his head.
The viscount strolled into the sitting room. “Never say you have all been waiting for me.”
“Late!” Papa exploded. “Late for my supper! Sit down promptly at seven o’clock in this household, sir, and if you cannot . . .” Papa trailed off and stared fixedly down at the viscount’s feet.
Lucy followed his gaze. The viscount wore elegant pumps with—
“Red heels!” Papa shouted. “Good God, sirrah, think you this is a bordello?”
The viscount had made Lucy’s side by this time, and he languidly lifted her hand to his lips as her father sputtered. He looked up at her, his head still bowed, and she saw that his eyes were only a few shades darker than his snowy wig. He winked as she stared, mesmerized, and she felt the wet warmth of his tongue insinuate itself between her fingers.
Lucy inhaled sharply, but the viscount let go of her hand and whirled to face her father as if nothing had happened. She hid her hand in her skirt as he spoke.
“A bordello, sir? No, I confess that I never mistook your home for a bordello. Now, had you decorated the walls with a few paintings depicting—”
“Shall we go in to supper?” Lucy squeaked.
She didn’t wait for an assent; the way the conversation was progressing, there would be all-out warfare before supper was ever begun. Instead she seized the viscount’s arm and marched him into the dining room. Of course, she would never be able to physically force Lord Iddesleigh to go where he did not wish to go. Fortunately, he seemed content to let her lead him.
He bent his head close to hers as they entered the dining room. “Had I known, sweeting, that you desired my company so devoutly”—he pulled out a chair for her—“I would’ve damned Henry and come down in my smallclothes.”
“Ass,” Lucy muttered to him as she sat.
His smile widened into a grin. “My angel.”
Then he was forced to round the table and sit across from her. As everyone else found their places, Lucy let out a small sigh. Maybe now they could be civil.
“I’ve often wanted to visit Westminster Abbey in London,” Eustace said rather pompously as Betsy began ladling out potato and leek soup. “To see the graves of the poets and great men of letters, you understand. But I’m afraid I’ve never had the time on the occasions I’ve traveled to our wonderful capital. Always busy with church matters, you know. Perhaps you could give us your impressions of that magnificent abbey, Lord Iddesleigh?”
All heads at the dinner table swiveled in the viscount’s direction.
The lines around his silver eyes deepened as he fingered his wineglass. “Sorry. Never had a reason to enter the dusty old mausoleum. It’s not my cup of tea, really. Probably a terrible moral failing on my part.”
Lucy could practically hear Papa and Eustace agreeing in their minds. Mr. Fletcher coughed and buried his face in his wineglass.
She sighed. When her father had invited Eustace to sup with them, Lucy had welcomed the diversion another guest would provide. Mr. Fletcher, although pleasant, had not been able to stand up to Papa’s grilling and had looked quite wan by the end of the noon meal on the previous day. And the viscount, while he could withstand her father’s obvious nettling, did it only too well. He drove her father into red-faced incoherence. She’d hoped Eustace would provide a buffer. Obviously, this was not to be the case. To make matters worse, she felt an absolute drab in her dark gray gown. It was well cut but so plain as to be nearly a rag next to the viscount’s finery. Of course, no one she knew dressed so ostentatiously in the country, and Lord Iddesleigh really ought to feel self-conscious to be so out of place.
On that thought, Lucy raised her glass of wine defiantly and stared at the viscount sitting across from her. A puzzled look flashed across his face before his habitual expression of ennui resettled.
“I could give you a colorful description of the pleasure gardens at Vaux Hall,” Lord Iddesleigh mused, continuing the topic Eustace had brought up. “Been there on too many nights to recall, with too many people I’d rather not recall, doing too many things . . . well, you get the picture. But I don’t know that it’s a description quite fit for mixed company.”
“Ha. Then I suggest you not give it,” Papa rumbled. “Not that interested in the sights of London anyway. Good English countryside is the best place in the world. I should know. Been around the world in my day.”
“I quite agree, Captain,” Eustace said. “Nothing is so fine as the English rural landscape.”
“Ha. So there.” Papa leaned forward and fixed a gimlet eye on his guest. “Feeling better tonight, Iddesleigh?”