The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(82)

He was older than the other conspirators, had to be in order to have fathered Christian. But still, Simon hadn’t braced himself for the lines on the man’s face, the slight stoop to his shoulders, and the bit of flesh that wobbled under his chin. All proclaimed him a man over fifty years. Otherwise he would make a formidable opponent. Although shorter than he, Sir Rupert’s arms and shoulders were heavy with muscle. Were it not for his age and the cane . . .

Simon considered the offer. “Why not?”

The older man preceded him from the room. Simon watched Sir Rupert’s painful progress down the marble hall, his crutch echoing each time it hit the floor. Alas, the limp was not faked. They turned down a smaller hall, one that ended in an ordinary oak door.

“I think you’ll like this,” Sir Rupert said. He produced a key and inserted it into the lock. “Please.” His arm swept in front of him, indicating Simon should go first.

Simon raised his eyebrows and stepped over the threshold. Humid air bearing the familiar smells of loam and rot enveloped him. Above those scents floated a lighter aroma. It was an octagonal room made of glass from the floor upward. Around the edges and in clusters in the middle were every kind of fruiting citrus tree, each in its own enormous pot.

“Oranges, of course,” Sir Rupert said. He limped to his side. “But also limes and lemons and various subgroups of orangelets. Each has its own particular taste and smell. Do you know, I believe if you blindfolded me and gave me a fruit, I could tell which it was merely by scoring the skin?”

“Remarkable.” Simon touched a shiny leaf.

“I’m afraid I spend too much time and money on my little hobby.” The older man caressed a fruit, still green. “It can be consuming. But so, for that matter, can revenge.” Sir Rupert smiled, a kind, fatherly man surrounded by his artificial garden.

Simon felt a welling of hatred and carefully suppressed the emotion. “You seize the bull by its horns, sir.”

Sir Rupert sighed. “There seems little point in pretending I don’t know why you’ve come. We’re both too intelligent for that.”

“Then you admit you conspired to kill my brother.” Simon deliberately broke off the leaf he’d been caressing.

“Tcha.” The older man made an irritated sound. “You reduce it to the simplicity of a babe knocking over play blocks, when it was nothing of the sort.”

“No?”

“No, of course not. We stood to lose a fortune—all the investors, not just I.”

“Money.” Simon’s lips twisted.

“Yes, money!” The older man thumped his stick. “You sound like my son, sneering over money like it dirties your hands. Why do you think we all, your brother included, went into the venture in the first place? We needed the money.”

“You killed my brother because of your own greed,” Simon hissed, unable to contain all of his rage.

“We killed your brother for our families.” Sir Rupert blinked, breathing heavily, perhaps surprised by his own candor. “For my family. I’m not a monster, Lord Iddesleigh. Don’t make that mistake. I care for my family. I would do anything for my family, including, yes, removing an aristocrat who would’ve let my family go to the poorhouse so he could stand on his noble principles.”

“You make it seem like the investment was sure to make money all along, yet it was a gamble from the start. It was hardly Ethan’s fault the price of tea fell.”

“No,” Sir Rupert agreed. “Not his fault. But it would’ve been his fault had he kept us from reaping the insurance money.”

“You killed him to commit a fraud.”

“I killed him to preserve my family.”

“I don’t care.” Simon lifted his lip in a sneer. “I don’t care what excuses you’ve made, what reasons you have in your own mind, what sorrows you seek to win my pity with. You killed Ethan. You’ve admitted the murder yourself.”

“You don’t care?” The older man’s voice was soft in the still, oppressive air. “You, who have spent a year avenging your own family?”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. A bead of sweat ran down his back.

“I think you do understand,” Sir Rupert said. “Do care, in fact, for my reasons.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Simon fingered another leaf. “You tried to have my wife killed. For that alone I will see you dead.”

Sir Rupert smiled. “There you are wrong. The attempt on your wife’s life was not my fault. That was the work of Lord Walker, and you’ve already killed him, haven’t you?”

Simon stared at the other man, tempting him with this hope of redemption. How easy it would be to just let it go. He’d killed four men already. This one said he wasn’t a threat to Lucy. He could walk away, go home to Lucy, and never have to duel again. So easy. “I cannot let my brother’s death go unavenged.”

“Unavenged? You’ve avenged your brother to the tune of four souls. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not while you still live.” Simon tore the leaf.

Sir Rupert flinched. “And what will you do? Make war on a crippled man?” He held up his crutch like a shield.

“If need be. I’ll have a life for a life, Fletcher, cripple or no.” Simon turned and walked to the door.