The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(78)

“Exactly. Just like me.” His lips twisted. “They called Rosalind a whore, said I’d debauched her, that Pocket was a bastard and Ethan a cuckold.”

She must’ve gasped.

He turned to her, his eyes pained, his voice finally strained. “Why do you think we haven’t attended any London balls or parties or damned musicales, for God’s sake? Rosalind’s reputation was ruined. Absolutely ruined. She hasn’t been invited anywhere in three years. An impeccably virtuous lady and she was cut dead on the street by married women who’d had too many liaisons to count.”

Lucy didn’t know what to say. What an awful thing to do to a family, to do to brothers. Poor, poor Rosalind.

Simon took a deep breath. “They left him no choice. He called out Peller, the one they’d chosen to talk the loudest. Ethan had never fought a duel, barely knew how to hold the sword. Peller killed him in less than a minute. Like leading a lamb to slaughter.”

She drew in her breath. “Where were you?”

“Italy.” He raised the razor again. “Seeing the ruins and drinking.” Stroke. “And wenching, I’ll admit as well.” Wipe. “I didn’t know until a letter was sent. Ethan, steady, boring Ethan—Ethan the good son—my brother, Ethan had been killed in a duel. I thought it was a joke; I came home anyway.” Stroke. “I’d wearied of Italy by that time. Fine wine or no, there are only so many ruins one can see. I rode to the Iddesleigh family estate and . . .”

He took some time wiping the blade this time. His gaze was averted from hers, but she could see his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed.

“It was winter and they’d preserved his body for my return. Couldn’t hold the funeral without me, it seems. Not that there were many mourners waiting, only Rosalind, nearly prostrate with shock and grief, and Pocket and the priest. No one else was there. They’d been shunned. Ruined.” He looked up at her, and she noticed that he’d cut himself under the left earlobe. “They did more than just kill him, Lucy, they destroyed his name. Destroyed Rosalind’s reputation. Destroyed Pocket’s hopes of ever marrying well, although she’s too young to know that yet.” He frowned and finished shaving without saying anything else.

Lucy watched him. What was she to do? She could understand his reasons for wanting vengeance only too well. If someone had done such a wrong to David, her brother, or to Papa, she, too, would seethe with indignation. But that still didn’t make killing right. And what of the cost to Simon, in both body and soul? He couldn’t have fought all those duels without losing a part of himself. Could she simply sit by while he annihilated himself in vengeance for a dead brother?

He washed his face and dried it off and then walked to where she sat. “May I join you?”

Did he think she’d refuse him? “Yes.” She scooted backward to make room.

He shucked his breeches and blew out the candle. She felt the bed dip as he climbed in. She waited, but he didn’t move toward her. Finally she rolled against him. He hesitated, then put his arm around her.

“You never finished the fairy tale you were telling me,” she whispered against his chest.

She felt his sigh. “Do you really want to hear it?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Very well, then.” His voice floated to her in the dark. “As you recall, Angelica wished for another dress even more beautiful than the first. So the Serpent Prince showed her a sharp silver dagger and bade her cut off his right hand.”

Lucy shivered; she’d forgotten that part.

“The goat girl did as he told her, and a silver dress trimmed with hundreds of opals appeared. It looked like moonlight.” He stroked her hair. “And she went off and had a jolly good time at the ball with pretty Prince Rutherford and returned late—”

“But what about the Serpent Prince?” she interrupted. “Wasn’t he in great pain?”

His hand paused. “Of course.” He resumed stroking. “But it was what Angelica wanted.”

“What a selfish girl.”

“No. Just poor and alone. She couldn’t help demanding beautiful clothes any more than the snake could help having scales. It’s simply the way God made them.”

“Hmm.” Lucy wasn’t convinced.

“Anyway.” He patted her shoulder. “Angelica returned and told the Serpent Prince all about the ball and pretty Rutherford and how everyone admired her gown, and he listened silently and smiled at her.”

“And I suppose the next evening she wanted a new dress for silly Rutherford.”

“Yes.”

He stopped and she listened to his breathing in the darkness for a few minutes.

“Well?” she prompted.

“But of course it must be even more beautiful than the last.”

“Of course.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “The Serpent Prince said nothing was easier. He could get her the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen, the most beautiful dress in the world.”

Lucy hesitated. This didn’t sound good for some reason. “She must cut off his other hand?”

“No.” He sighed wistfully in the dark. “His head.”

Lucy jerked back. “That’s awful!”

She felt his shrug. “The most beautiful dress, the ultimate sacrifice. The Serpent Prince knelt before the goat girl and presented his neck. Angelica was appalled, of course, and she did hesitate, but she was in love with Prince Rutherford. How else could a goat girl win a prince? In the end, she did as the Serpent Prince instructed and cut off his head.”