The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(38)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“At what?”

“At himself.” Rosalind turned to her. “In the mirror. Just . . . watching his reflection. But he wasn’t looking at his wig or his clothes like another man might. He was staring into his own eyes.”

Lucy frowned. “That’s strange.”

The other woman nodded. “And I knew then. He wasn’t happy. His darkness isn’t an act; it’s real. There is something that drives Simon, and I’m not sure it will ever let him go. I certainly couldn’t help him.”

Uneasiness washed over Lucy. “So you married Ethan.”

“Yes. And I’ve never regretted it. He was a wonderful husband, gentle and kind.” She looked at her sleeping daughter. “And he gave me Theodora.”

“Why did you tell me this?” Lucy asked softly. Despite her calm words, she felt a surge of anger. Rosalind had no right to make her doubt her decision.

“Not to frighten you,” Rosalind assured her. “I just felt that it would take a strong woman to marry Simon, and I admire that.”

It was Lucy’s turn to gaze out the window. The carriage had finally started again. They’d soon be back at the town house where there’d be an array of exotic foods for luncheon. She was famished, but Lucy’s mind wandered back to Rosalind’s last words: a strong woman. She had lived all her life in the same, provincial place where she’d never been challenged. Rosalind had seen what Simon was and prudently turned aside. Was there hubris in her own urge to marry Simon? Was she any stronger than Rosalind?

“SHALL I KNOCK, MA’AM?” the maid inquired.

Lucy stood with the maid on the front steps of Simon’s town house. It rose five stories tall, the white stone gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. The town house was in the most fashionable part of London, and she was conscious that she must look a fool standing here dithering. But she hadn’t seen Simon alone for ages now, and she felt a desperate need to be with him. To talk and to find out . . . She laughed nervously under her breath. Well, she guessed she needed to find out if he was the same man he’d been back in Maiden Hill. And so she’d borrowed Rosalind’s carriage and come here after their luncheon.

She smoothed a hand down her new gown and nodded at the maid. “Yes, please. Go ahead and knock.”

The maid lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall. Lucy watched the door expectantly. It wasn’t as if she didn’t see Simon—he made sure to dine at least once a day at Rosalind’s town house—but they never had a moment alone. If only—

The door was pulled open, and a very tall butler looked down a beak of a nose at them. “Yes?”

Lucy cleared her throat. “Is Lord Iddesleigh in?”

He lifted one shaggy eyebrow in an incredibly haughty way; he must practice nights in front of a mirror. “The viscount is not receiving visitors. If you will leave a card—”

Lucy smiled and walked forward so that the man was forced to step back or let her run into his belly. “I am Miss Lucinda Craddock-Hayes, and I am here to see my fiancé.”

The butler blinked. He was obviously in a quandary. Here was his soon-to-be mistress demanding entry, but he probably had orders not to disturb Simon. He chose to bow to the devil in front of him. “Of course, miss.”

Lucy gave him a small, approving smile. “Thank you.”

They entered a grand hall. Lucy took a moment to look around curiously. She’d never been inside Simon’s town house. The floor was black marble, polished to a mirror finish. The walls were also marble, alternating black and white in panels bordered in gilt curlicues and vines, and the ceiling . . . Lucy blew out a breath. The ceiling was all gold and white with painted clouds and cherubs that appeared to hold the crystal chandelier that dangled from the center. Tables and statues were set here and there, all of them in exotic marbles and woods, all decorated lavishly in gilt. A black marble Mercury stood nearby to Lucy’s right. The wings on his heels, his helmet, and his eyes were all gold. Actually, grand didn’t quite describe the hall. Ostentatious was the better word.

“The viscount is in his greenhouse, miss,” the butler said.

“Then I will see him there,” Lucy said. “Is there a place my maid might wait?”

“I will have a footman show her to the kitchens.” He snapped his fingers at one of the footmen standing at attention in the hallway. The man bowed and led the maid away. The butler turned back to Lucy. “If you will come this way?”

Lucy nodded. He led her down the hallway toward the back of the house. The passage narrowed and they went down a short set of stairs; then they came to a large door. The butler started to open it, but Lucy stopped him.

“I’ll go in alone, if you don’t mind.”

The butler bowed. “As you wish, miss.”

Lucy tilted her head. “I don’t know your name.”

“Newton, miss.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Newton.”

He held the door open for her. “If you need anything more, miss, simply call me.” And then he left.

Lucy peered into the enormous greenhouse. “Simon?”

If she wasn’t looking at it right now with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed such a structure could exist, hidden in the middle of the city. Rows of benches disappeared into the darkened end of the greenhouse. Every available surface was crowded with green plants or pots of soil. Underneath her feet was a brick walkway that somehow felt warm. Condensation dewed the glass at her shoulders. The glass began at waist height and vaulted overhead. Above her, the London sky had already begun to darken.

Lucy took a few steps into the humid air. She didn’t see anyone in here. “Simon?”

She listened but heard nothing. Then again, the greenhouse was awfully big. Perhaps he couldn’t hear her. Surely he’d want to keep the hot, moist air in. She pulled the heavy wood door closed behind her and went exploring. The aisle was narrow, and some of the foliage hung over it, forcing her to push through a verdant curtain. She could hear dripping as water condensed and ran off hundreds of leaves. The atmosphere was heavy and still, musty with the smell of moss and earth.

“Simon?”

“Here.”

Finally. His voice came from up ahead, but she couldn’t see him for the obscuring jungle. She pushed aside a leaf larger than her head and suddenly came out into an open space, lit by dozens of candles.

She stopped.

The space was circular. The glass walls flew up into a miniature dome, like the ones she’d seen in pictures of Russia. In the center, a marble fountain played softly, and around the outside were more benches with roses. Roses blooming in winter. Lucy laughed. Reds and pinks, creams, and pure whites, the roses’ heavy scent filled the air, topping off the sense of wonder and delight. Simon had a fairyland in his house.