The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(60)

“What?” Sir Rupert focused on the conversation.

“Simon Iddesleigh,” Walker said patiently, as if he weren’t the slow one. “Married some chit from the country. No money, no name. Maybe the man is insane.”

“I think not. Iddesleigh is many things, but insane is not one of them.” He squashed an urge to massage his thigh.

“So you say.” Walker shrugged and took out his snuffbox. “Any case, she might do.”

Sir Rupert stared bemusedly as the other man inhaled a pinch of snuff and sneezed violently.

Walker flapped his handkerchief and then blew loudly. “To kill.” He sniffed and wiped his nose before pocketing the handkerchief.

“Are you mad?” He nearly laughed in the other’s face. “Remember, it was the death of his brother that set Simon Iddesleigh off in the first place. Killing his new wife isn’t likely to stop him, now, is it?”

“Yes, but if we threaten her, tell him if he doesn’t cease, we’ll kill her.” Walker shrugged again. “I think he’ll stop. Worth a try at any rate.”

“Really.” Sir Rupert felt his lip curl. “I think it would be like lighting a powder keg. He’ll find you even faster.”

“But not you, eh?”

“What do you mean?”

Lord Walker flicked a speck of snuff from the lace at his wrist. “Not you. Made sure to stay out of this, haven’t you, Fletcher?”

“My anonymity has served our case well.” Sir Rupert met the younger man’s gaze steadily.

“Has it?” Walker’s heavy-lidded eyes stared back.

Sir Rupert had always found Walker’s eyes stupidly beastlike, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? It was so easy to discount the intelligence of a big, slow-moving animal. Sweat chilled on his back.

Walker’s gaze dropped. “That’s what I plan to do at any rate—and I expect you to back me, should I need it.”

“Naturally,” Sir Rupert said evenly. “We’re partners.”

“Good.” Walker grinned, ruddy cheeks bunching. “Have the bastard over a barrel in no time. Must go now. Left a little dove all cozy in her nest. Wouldn’t want her to fly before I got back.” He winked lewdly and nudged his horse into a trot.

Sir Rupert watched the mist swallow the other man before turning his own gelding toward home and his family. His leg was giving him the very hell, and he’d pay for this ride by having to put it up for the rest of the day. Walker or Iddesleigh. It didn’t much matter at this point.

As long as one of them died.

Chapter Twelve

A soft snoring was the first thing Lucy heard when she woke the day after her wedding. Eyes closed, dreams still drifting in her mind, she wondered who was breathing so sonorously. Then she felt the weight of a hand on her breast and came fully awake. But she didn’t open her eyes.

Warm. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this deliciously warm in her life, certainly not in winter. Her legs were tangled with masculine, hairy ones, even her toes, which never seemed to totally thaw between October and March, were toasty. It was like having her own private hearth, with the added bonus that this hearth came with smooth skin, snuggled all along her right side. The warm air rising from the covers had a subtle smell. She recognized her own scent mingled with a foreign one she realized must be his. How very primitive. Their body odor had mated.

Lucy sighed and opened her eyes.

The sun was peeking through a crack in the curtains. Was it as late as that? Hard on the heels of that thought was another. Had Simon locked the door? In town, Lucy had become accustomed to a maid drawing the curtains in the morning and stirring the fire. Would the servants have expected Simon to return to his own room last night? She turned her head to frown at the door.

“Shh.” Simon squeezed her breast in reprimand at her movement. “Sleep,” he mumbled, and his breathing evened out again.

Lucy watched him. Fair stubble glinted on his jaw, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his short hair was smashed to one side. He looked so handsome, she nearly caught her breath. She tilted her head until she could see his hand wrapped around her breast. The nipple poked through between his first and second fingers.

Her face heated. “Simon.”

“Shh.”

“Simon.”

“Back . . . sleep.” He brushed a kiss against her bare shoulder without opening his eyes.

She firmed her mouth. This was a serious matter. “Is the door locked?”

“Umm.”

“Simon, is the door locked?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

Lucy squinted at him. He’d started to snore again.

“I don’t believe you.” She moved to slide from the bed.

Simon twisted and suddenly he was lying on her. He opened his eyes finally. “I should have expected this when I married a country miss.” His voice was gravelly with sleep.

“What?” Lucy blinked up at him. She felt very naked beneath him. His organ pressed into the softness of her lower belly.

“Early hours.” He frowned sternly and shifted so his weight was off her chest. Which only made his hips bear down harder.

Lucy tried to ignore the male anatomy impressing itself onto her stomach. It wasn’t easy. “But the maid—”