The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(63)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“Think you I would choose his daughter over mine?”

“I—”

“We would’ve lost the house.”

Christian looked up.

“Yes.” Sir Rupert nodded. “It was as bad as that. We would’ve had to retire to the country. Your sisters would’ve lost their seasons. You would’ve had to give up that new carriage I’d bought you. Your mother would’ve had to sell her jewels.”

“Were our finances so dire?”

“You have no idea. You get your quarterly allowance and never think where it comes from, do you?”

“Surely there are investments—”

“Yes, investments!” Sir Rupert pounded on the desk again. “What do you think I’m talking about? This was an investment—an investment upon which our entire future depended. And Ethan Iddesleigh, who never had to work a day in his life, who had his entire fortune handed to him on a silver platter when he was but a babe, wanted to stand on principle.”

“What principle?” Christian asked.

Sir Rupert breathed heavily. His leg was hurting like the very devil and he needed a drink. “Does it matter? We were on the brink of destruction. Our family, Christian.”

His son merely stared at him.

“I told the others that if we got rid of Iddesleigh, we could go ahead. It was a short step from there to getting Iddesleigh to call out Peller. They dueled and Peller won.” He leaned forward and pinned his son with his gaze. “We won. Our family was saved. Your mother never even knew how close we’d come to losing it all.”

“I don’t know.” Christian shook his head. “I don’t know if I can accept that you saved us this way and left Ethan Iddesleigh’s daughter fatherless.”

“Accept?” A muscle in his leg spasmed. “Don’t be a fool. Do you want your mother in rags? Me in the poorhouse? Your sisters taking in washing? Principles are all well and fine, lad, but they don’t put food in your mouth, do they?”

“No.” But his son looked doubtful.

“You are as much a part of this as I am.” Sir Rupert fumbled in his waistcoat pocket before rolling the ring across the table at his son.

Christian picked it up. “What’s this?”

“Simon Iddesleigh’s ring. James had it taken from him when his thugs almost killed him.”

His son raised incredulous eyes at him.

Sir Rupert nodded. “Keep it. It will remind you of whose side you stand on and what a man must do for his family.”

He’d raised Christian to be a gentleman. He’d wanted his son to feel at home in the aristocracy, to never fear that he’d make a faux pas and give away his plebeian origins—as he himself had feared as a young man. But in giving him this confidence, this assurance that he need not worry about finances, had he weakened his son?

Christian stared at the ring. “He killed Walker this morning.”

Sir Rupert shrugged. “It was only a matter of time.”

“And now he’ll come after you.”

“What?”

“He knows about you. Walker told him that you were the fifth man.”

Sir Rupert swore.

“What are you going to do?” His son pocketed the ring.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? What do you mean? He’s tracked down the others and forced them to call him out. He’ll do the same to you.”

“I doubt it.” Sir Rupert limped around the desk, leaning heavily on his cane. “No, I sincerely doubt it.”

WHEN SIMON ENTERED THE BEDROOM that night, the house was quiet and dark. Lucy had begun to wonder if he was coming home at all. She’d spent the afternoon waiting, futilely trying to read a book she didn’t even remember the title of. When he hadn’t arrived home at their usual dinner hour, she’d supped alone. And then, determined to speak to him when he did return, she’d gone to bed in his rooms. Now she sat up in his big mahogany bed and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Where have you been?” The question was out before she could stop it. She winced. Maybe she didn’t want to hear where he’d been.

“Do you care?” He set a candelabra on a table and shrugged off his coat. The blue silk was gray in places, and she saw at least one tear.

She tamped down her anger. It wouldn’t help right now. “Yes, I care.” And it was true. No matter what, she loved him and cared about him and what he did.

He didn’t reply but sat down on a chair by the fire and removed his boots. He stood again and took off his wig, placing it on a stand. Rubbing both hands vigorously over his head, he made the short hair stand on end.

“I was about.” He stripped off his waistcoat, throwing it on a chair. “Went ’round the Agrarians’. Looked at a bookstore.”

“You didn’t go hunting for Mr. Fletcher’s father?” That had been her fear all this time. That he was off making the arrangements for another duel.

He glanced at her, then stripped off his shirt. “No. I like to take a day of rest between my slaughters.”

“It’s not funny,” she whispered.

“No, it’s not.” In only his breeches, he poured out a basin of water and washed.

She watched him from the bed. Her heart ached. How could this man, moving so wearily yet gracefully, have killed another human this morning? How could she be married to him? How could she still care for him?

“Can you explain it to me?” she asked softly.

He hesitated, one arm raised. Then he washed under his arm and along that side as he spoke. “They were a group of investors: Peller, Hartwell, James, Walker, and Ethan, my brother.” He dipped the cloth he used in the basin, wrung it out, and rubbed his neck. “And apparently Christian’s father as well. Sir Rupert Fletcher.” His eyes met hers as if he expected an objection.

She made none.

He continued. “They bought a shipment of Indian tea together. Not just one, but several shiploads. Hell, a bloody fleet, as if they were merchant princes. The price of tea was rising, and they stood to make a fortune each. Easily. Quickly.” He moved the cloth across his chest in circles, wiping away blood and sweat and dirt.

She watched him and listened and made no sound, fearful of interrupting this story. But inside she was quaking. She felt pulled to the man washing himself so mundanely, despite the blood, and at the same time, was repelled by the stranger who had killed a man just this morning.

Simon splashed water on his face. “The only risk was the ships sinking at sea or wrecking in a storm, but that’s a risk any investor takes. They probably thought about it a minute and discounted it. After all, there was so much money to be made.” He looked at the basin of scummy water, emptied it into a slops jar, and refilled it.