The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(20)

But the protective papa stirred, saving him from further folly. “I think not, poppet. Leave the poor fellow be.”

His angel flushed, but her gaze did not waver, and Simon knew if he stayed here much longer, he would drown in those topaz eyes and bless the gods for his fortune even as he went down for the third time.

“NUDE? ALTOGETHER NUDE?” Patricia McCullough leaned forward on the ancient settee, nearly upsetting the plate of lemon biscuits on her lap.

Her round face with its peaches-and-cream complexion, plump ruby lips, and golden curls gave her the look of a vapid shepherdess in a painting. A look that actually was at odds with her personality, which was more like that of a housewife intent on bargaining down the local butcher.

“Quite.” Lucy popped a biscuit into her mouth and smiled serenely at her childhood friend.

They sat in the little room at the back of the Craddock-Hayes house. The walls were a cheerful rose color with apple-green trim, invoking a flower garden in summer. The room wasn’t as big or as well furnished as the sitting room, but it’d been Mama’s favorite and was cozy for entertaining a dear friend like Patricia. And the windows overlooked the back garden, giving them a nice view of the gentlemen outside.

Patricia sat back now and knit her brows as she studied the viscount and his friend out the window. The younger man was in his shirtsleeves, despite the November chill. He held a sword in his hand and was lunging about with it, no doubt practicing fencing in a serious way, although the steps looked rather silly to Lucy. Lord Iddesleigh sat nearby, either giving helpful encouragement or, more likely, searing his friend with his criticism.

What was the story that Mr. Fletcher had so nearly blurted out yesterday? And why had the viscount been so determined that she not hear it? The obvious answer was some kind of scandalous love affair. That was the sort of thing usually deemed too sordid for a maiden’s ears. And yet, Lucy had the feeling that Lord Iddesleigh wouldn’t mind overmuch shocking her—and her father—with his bedroom exploits. This was something worse. Something he was ashamed of.

“Nothing like that ever happens to me,” Patricia said, bringing her back to the present.

“What?”

“Finding naked gentlemen beside the road whilst walking home.” She pensively bit into a biscuit. “I’m more likely to find one of the Joneses drunk in the ditch. Fully clothed.”

Lucy shuddered. “I should think it would be better that way.”

“Undoubtedly. Still, it does give one something to tell the grandchildren on a cold winter’s night.”

“This was the first time it happened to me.”

“Mmm. Was he facing up or down?”

“Down.”

“Pity.”

Both ladies turned back to the window. The viscount lounged on the stone bench under one of the apple trees, long legs stretched before him, shorn hair glinting in the sun. He grinned at something Mr. Fletcher said, his wide mouth curving. He looked like a blond Pan; all he needed was the hooves and horns.

Pity.

“What do you suppose he was doing in Maiden Hill?” Patricia asked. “He’s as out of place here as a gilded lily on a dung heap.”

Lucy frowned. “I wouldn’t call Maiden Hill a dung heap.”

Patricia was unmoved. “I would.”

“He says he was attacked and left here.”

“In Maiden Hill?” Patricia’s eyes widened in exaggerated disbelief.

“Yes.”

“I can’t imagine why. Unless he was attacked by particularly backward robbers.”

“Mmm.” Privately, of course, Lucy had been wondering the same thing. “Mr. Fletcher seems a nice enough gentleman.”

“Yes. Makes you wonder how he became friends with Lord Iddesleigh. They go together like crushed velvet and burlap.”

Lucy tried to repress a snort and wasn’t entirely successful.

“And red hair is never entirely satisfactory on a man, is it?” Patricia scrunched her freckle-covered nose, making herself look even more adorable than usual.

“You’re being mean.”

“You’re being overly kind.”

Mr. Fletcher made a particularly showy slash.

Patricia eyed him. “Although I have to admit he is tall.”

“Tall? That’s the only nice thing you have to say about him?” Lucy poured her more tea.

“Thank you.” Patricia took her cup. “You shouldn’t disparage height.”

“You’re shorter than I, and I am no Amazon.”

Patricia waved a biscuit, nearly entangling it in her gold curls. “I know. It’s sad, but there it is. I’m strangely drawn to men who tower over me.”

“If that is your criteria, Mr. Fletcher is about the tallest man you’re likely to find.”

“True.”

“Perhaps I should invite you to dine with us so that you may get to know Mr. Fletcher better.”

“You should, you know. After all, you’ve already taken the only eligible bachelor in Maiden Hill who isn’t a Jones or hopelessly simple.” Patricia paused to sip her tea. “Speaking of which—”

“I should ring for more hot water,” Lucy cut in hastily.

“Speaking of which.” Patricia trundled right on over her. “I saw you out driving with Eustace yesterday. Well?”