The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(32)

“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.”

“You admit you know these murderers?”

Simon nodded, eyes closed.

“Same ones as left you for dead?”

“Or their hired thugs.”

“What’s all this about, eh?” the captain growled. “Tell me.”

“Revenge.” Simon opened his eyes.

The old man didn’t blink. “Yours or theirs?”

“Mine.”

“Why?”

Simon looked into his glass, swirling the liquid, watching it paint the interior. “They killed my brother.”

“Ha.” The older man drank to that. “Then I wish you luck. Elsewhere.”

“I thank you.” Simon drained his glass and stood.

“’Course, you know what they say about revenge.”

Simon turned and asked the question, because it was expected and because the old man had been more lenient than he had any right to hope for. “What?”

“Be careful with revenge.” The captain grinned like an evil old troll. “Sometimes it twists around and bites you on the arse.”

LUCY STOOD AT HER NARROW BEDROOM window overlooking the drive and watched Mr. Hedge and Simon’s valet load the imposing black carriage. They appeared to be arguing over how to stack the luggage. Mr. Hedge was gesticulating wildly, the valet had a sneer on his uncommonly handsome lips, and the footman actually holding the box in question was staggering. They didn’t look like they would have the project done anytime soon, but the fact remained—Simon was leaving. Although she’d known this day would come, she somehow still hadn’t been expecting it, and now that it was here, she felt . . . what?

Someone knocked at her door, interrupting her confused thoughts.

“Come.” She let the gauzy curtain drop and turned.

Simon opened the door but remained in the hall. “May I have a word with you? Please.”

She nodded mutely.