The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(42)

“Did you notice that gel?” Christian asked. “The one with the green feather?”

“She’s too young.”

“Maybe for you.”

Simon glared. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“’Course, ’course, old man.” Christian smiled weakly, probably rethinking the advisability of tracking down Simon in the first place.

“Don’t call me that.” Simon started for the black velvet doors.

“Sorry,” Christian muttered behind him. “Where’re we going?”

“Hunting.”

They’d reached the doors now, and Simon slowed to adjust his eyes to the dim room. There were only three tables here. Each table had four players seated at it. No one looked around at the newcomers. Golden Hair sat at the farthest table with his back to the door.

Simon halted and took a breath. It felt like his lungs couldn’t expand enough in his chest to let in the air. Clammy sweat broke out on his back and under his arms. He suddenly thought of Lucy, her white breasts and her serious amber eyes. What a fool he’d been to leave her.

“I should’ve at least kissed her,” he muttered.

Christian’s ears were good. “The green feather girl? Thought she was too young.”

“Not her. Never mind.” Simon watched Golden Hair. He couldn’t tell from this angle—

“Who’re you looking for?” Christian at least had the sense to whisper the question.

“Quincy James,” Simon murmured, and strolled forward.

“Why?”

“To call him out.”

He could feel Christian’s stare. “What for? What’d he do to you?”

“Don’t you know?” Simon turned his head to meet his companion’s clear gaze.

The hazel eyes looked honestly puzzled. Simon sometimes wondered nonetheless. Christian had met him at a crucial point in Simon’s life. The younger man had made himself quite friendly in a short period of time, and he didn’t seem to have anything better to do than to tail Simon about. But perhaps Simon was being overly fearful, seeing enemies in every shadowy corner.

They reached the far table, and Simon stood behind the golden-haired man. Fear was embracing him now, sucking at his mouth with her frosty lips, rubbing her cold breasts against his chest. If he survived tomorrow’s dawn, he was going back for Lucy. What use to play the gallant knight if one died at sunrise without ever tasting the maiden’s lips? He now knew he couldn’t do this alone anymore. He needed her on some basic level to reaffirm and maintain his humanity even as he summoned up the most bestial part of himself. He needed Lucy to keep him sane.

Simon pasted a smile on his face and tapped the man on the shoulder. Beside him, Christian drew in his breath sharply.

The man looked around. Simon stared for a second, stupidly, before his brain registered what his eyes had already told him. Then he turned away.

The man was a stranger.

LUCY TILTED HER HEAD TO THE SIDE and considered the cartoon she’d begun to draw in her sketchbook. His nose was just a bit off. “Don’t move.” She didn’t need to look up to sense that Hedge, her subject, was trying to sneak away again.

Hedge hated sitting for her. “Awww. I gots things to do, Miss Lucy.”

“Such as?” There, that was better. Hedge really had the most extraordinary nose.

They were in the little back sitting room. The light was best here during the afternoon, shining in unobstructed through the tall mullioned windows. Hedge perched on a stool in front of the fireplace. He was attired in his usual rumpled coat and breeches with the addition of an oddly spotted purple neckcloth. Lucy couldn’t imagine where he’d gotten it. Papa would have died before wearing such a thing.

“I gotta feed and groom old Kate,” the manservant groaned.

“Papa did that this morning.”

“Well, then, I should muck out her stall.”

Lucy shook her head. “Mrs. Brodie paid one of the Jones boys to clean Katie’s stall only yesterday. She got tired of waiting for you to do it.”

“Ain’t that cheek!” Hedge looked as indignant as if he hadn’t neglected the horse for days. “She knew I was plannin’ to do it today.”

“Hmm.” Lucy shaded in his hair carefully. “That’s what you’ve said the last week. Mrs. Brodie says she could smell the stable from the back door.”

“That’s only ’cause she’s got such a great hooter.”

“People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” She switched pencils.

Hedge wrinkled his brow. “What d’you mean, glass houses? I’m talking about her nose.”

Lucy sighed. “Never mind.”

“Humph.”

There was blessed silence for a moment while Hedge regrouped. She started sketching in his right arm. The house was quiet today with Papa gone and Mrs. Brodie busy in the kitchen baking bread. Of course, it always seemed quiet now that Simon had left. The house was almost lifeless. He’d brought excitement and a type of companionship she hadn’t known she was missing until he went away. Now the rooms echoed when she walked into them. She caught herself restlessly wandering from room to room as if she unconsciously searched for something.

Or someone.

“How about that letter to Master David, then?” Hedge interrupted her thoughts. “The captain asked me to post it.” He rose.