The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(26)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“Because it’s true.”

She shook her head. “You are very, very important to me, and I’ll cry for you if I want.”

The corner of his mouth curved up tenderly, but he didn’t mock her silly speech. “I am humbled by your tears.”

Lucy looked away; she couldn’t bear to hold his gaze. “The shooter, is he . . . ?”

“He’s gone, I think,” Simon murmured. “A rather rickety farmer’s cart came along the road, drawn by a swaybacked gray. The cart was filled with laborers, and it must’ve scared the shooter off.”

Lucy puffed out a laugh. “The Jones boys. They’ve been useful for once in their lives.” Then a sudden thought struck and she leaned back to look at him. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” He smiled at her, but she could tell by his eyes that his thoughts were elsewhere. “We’d better get you home and then . . .”

She waited, but he’d trailed off again, thinking.

“Then what?” she prompted.

He turned his head so his lips brushed across her cheek, and she almost missed his words. “Then I need to leave this place. To protect you.”

“SHOT AT!” CAPTAIN CRADDOCK-HAYES roared an hour later.

All at once, Simon could see the iron hand that had commanded a ship and men for thirty years. He half expected the diamond segments in the windowpanes to rattle right out of their lead frames. They were in the formal sitting room of the Craddock-Hayes house. It was prettily decorated—puce-and-cream-striped curtains, similarly colored settees scattered here and there, and a rather nice china clock on the mantel—but he preferred Lucy’s little sitting room at the back of the house.

Not that he’d been given a choice.

“My daughter, a flower of womanhood, a meek and dutiful gel.” The captain paced the length of the room, arm batting the air for emphasis, bandy legs stomping. “Innocent of the ways of the world, sheltered all her life, accosted not half a mile from her childhood home. Ha! Haven’t had a murder in Maiden Hill in a quarter century. Five and twenty years! And then you show up.”

The captain halted in midpace between the mantel and a table set with naval bric-a-brac. He drew an enormous breath. “Scoundrel!” he blasted, nearly taking Simon’s eyebrows off. “Ruffian! Cad! Vile endangerer of English, ah, er . . .” His lips moved as he searched for the word.

“Wenches,” Hedge supplied.

The manservant had brought in the tea earlier, instead of Betsy or Mrs. Brodie, apparently to deny Simon the succor of female sympathy. Hedge still lurked, fiddling with the silverware as an excuse, listening eagerly.

The captain glared. “Ladies.” He transferred his glower to Simon. “Never have I heard of such villainy, sirrah! What do you have to say for yourself? Eh? Eh?”

“I say you’re quite right, Captain.” Simon leaned back wearily on the settee. “Except for the ‘meek and dutiful’ part. With all due respect, sir, I’ve not noticed Miss Craddock-Hayes to be either.”

“You dare, sir, after nearly causing my daughter’s death!” The older man shook a fist in his direction, his face purpling. “Ha. Have you packed off from this house before the hour’s gone, I will. I’ll not stand for it. Lucy’s the very heart and soul of this community. Many people, not just me, hold her dear. I’ll see you run out of town on a rail, tarred and feathered, if I have to!”

“Cor!” Hedge interjected, his emotions obviously stirred by the captain’s speech; although, it was hard to tell whether from fondness for Lucy or the prospect of seeing a member of the nobility on a rail.

Simon sighed. His head was beginning to hurt. This morning he’d experienced the most bone-chilling fear he had ever felt, wondering if a bullet would kill the precious creature beneath him, knowing he would go mad if it did, terrified he would be unable to save her. He never wanted to feel that helpless dread for another’s life again. Of course, he hadn’t had much actual contact with the ground since Lucy’s soft limbs interposed themselves between his body and the earth. And hadn’t that been wonderful in a heart-stoppingly god-awful way? To feel what he’d vowed he never would—her face next to his, her rump snug against his groin. Even in the midst of his horror that this was all his fault, that his very presence had put her life in danger, even with layer upon layer of good English cloth between them, even then he’d responded to her. But Simon knew now that his angel could get a rise out of him if he were ten days dead, and it certainly wouldn’t be of the religious variety.

“I apologize most profusely for putting Miss Craddock-Hayes in danger, Captain,” he said now. “I assure you, though I know it does little good at this late date, that had I any inkling she would be imperiled, I would’ve slit my own wrists rather than see her harmed.”

“Fffsst.” Hedge made a derisive sound, oddly effective despite its wordlessness.

The captain merely stared at him for a very long minute. “Ha,” he finally said. “Pretty words, but I think you mean them.”

Hedge looked as startled as Simon felt.

“Still want you out of this house,” the captain grunted.

Simon inclined his head. “I already have Henry packing my things, and I’ve sent word to Mr. Fletcher at his inn. We will be out within the hour.”

“Good.” The captain took a seat and contemplated him.

Hedge hurried over with a cup of tea.

The older man waved him away. “Not that bilge water. Get the brandy, man.”

Hedge reverently opened a cupboard and brought out a cut-glass decanter half-full with a rich amber liquid. He poured two glasses and brought them over, then stood looking wistfully at the decanter.

“Oh, go ahead,” the captain said.

Hedge poured himself a scant inch and held the glass, waiting.

“To the fairer sex,” Simon proposed.

“Ha,” the older man grumbled, but he drank.

Hedge tossed back his brandy in one gulp, then closed his eyes and shuddered. “Wonnerful stuff, that.”

“Indeed. Know a smuggler on the coast,” the captain muttered. “Will she still be in danger once you leave?”

“No.” Simon tilted his head against the back of the settee. The brandy was fine, but it merely made his head worse. “They’re after me, and like the jackals they are, they’ll follow the scent away from here once I leave.”