The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(30)

That unusual dumbness made her feel a little better. Could he possibly be as embarrassed as she? He’d stopped several paces away. He was bareheaded, without either a hat or a wig, and he stared at her mutely, his gray eyes yearning. Almost as if he needed something from her.

Tentatively, Lucy said, “I’m going for a walk over to the chalk downs. Would you like to accompany me?”

“Yes, please, most forgiving of angels.”

And suddenly it was all right. She set off once again, and he measured his stride to hers.

“In the spring, these woods are full of bluebells.” She gestured to the surrounding trees. “It’s really too bad you’ve come this time of year when everything is so bleak.”

“I shall try to be set upon in summer on the next occasion,” he murmured.

“Spring, actually.”

He glanced at her.

She smiled wryly. “That’s when the bluebells bloom.”

“Ah.”

“When I was young, Mama used to bring David and me here for picnics in the spring after we’d been cooped up inside all winter. Papa was away at sea most of the time, naturally. David and I would pick as many bluebells as our arms could hold and dump them into her lap.”

“She sounds a patient mother.”

“She was.”

“When did she die?” His words were soft, intimate.

Lucy remembered again that this man had seen her at her most vulnerable. She gazed straight ahead. “Eleven years ago now. I was thirteen.”

“A hard age to lose a parent.”

She looked at him. The only family he’d mentioned was his brother. He seemed more intent on finding out her meager history than revealing his own. “Is your mother alive?” Obviously, his father must already be dead for him to have inherited the title.

“No. She died a few years ago, before . . .” He stopped.

“Before?”

“Before Ethan, my brother, died. Thank God.” He tilted his head back and seemed to stare at the leafless branches overhead, although perhaps he looked at something entirely different. “Ethan was the shining apple of her eye. Her one greatest accomplishment, the person she loved most in the world. He knew how to charm—both the young and the old—and he could lead men. The local farmers came to him with their squabbles. He never met a soul who didn’t like him.”

Lucy watched him. His voice was expressionless as he described his brother, but his hands twisted slowly at his waist. She wondered if he was even aware of their movement. “You make him sound like a paragon.”

“He was. But he was also more. Much more. Ethan knew right from wrong without having to think about it, without any doubts. Very few people can do that.” He looked down and seemed to notice that he was pulling at his right index finger. He clasped his hands behind his back.

She must’ve made a sound.

Simon glanced at her. “My elder brother was the most moral person I’ve ever known.”

Lucy frowned, thinking about this perfect, dead brother. “Did he look like you?”

He seemed startled.

She raised her brows and waited.

“Actually, he did a little.” He half smiled. “Ethan was a bit shorter than I—no more than an inch or so—but he was broader and heavier.”

“What about his hair?” She looked at his nearly colorless locks. “Was he fair as well?”

“Mmm.” He ran his palm over his head. “But more a golden color with curls. He left it long and didn’t wear wigs or powder. I think he was a bit vain about it.” He smiled at her mischievously.

She smiled back. She liked him like this, teasing and carefree, and suddenly realized that despite Simon’s careless manner, he was very rarely at ease.

“His eyes were a clear blue,” he continued. “Mother used to say they were her favorite color.”

“I think I prefer gray.”

He bowed with a flourish. “My lady honors me.”

She curtsied in reply, but then sobered before asking, “How did Ethan die?”

He stopped, forcing her to a halt as well. She looked up into his face.

He seemed to be struggling; his brows were pulled together over those beautiful ice-gray eyes. “I—”

An insect buzzed past her head, followed by a loud shot. Simon grabbed her roughly and pushed her into the ditch. Lucy landed on her hip, pain and astonishment streaking through her, and then Simon landed on her, squashing her into the mud and dead leaves. Lucy turned her head, trying to draw a full breath. It felt like a horse was sitting on her back.

“Don’t move, goddamnit.” He placed his hand over her head and pushed it back down. “Somebody’s shooting at us.”

She spat out a leaf. “I know that.”

Oddly, he chuckled in her ear. “Wonderful angel.” His breath smelled of tea and mint.

Another shot. The leaves exploded a few feet from her shoulder.

He swore rather colorfully. “He’s reloading.”

“Can you tell where he is?” she whispered.

“Across the road somewhere. I can’t pinpoint the exact location. Hush.”

Lucy became aware that aside from the problem with breathing and the fact that she might die violently at any second, it was rather nice having Simon lying on her. He was wonderfully warm. And he smelled quite nice, not of tobacco like most men, but of some exotic scent. Maybe sandalwood? His arms, bracketing her body, felt comforting.