The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(99)

God’s balls! The pain was near unbearable. “Didn’t you get a doctor?” Simon asked through gritted teeth.

De Raaf shrugged. “Couldn’t find one I trusted.” He pressed harder.

“Ouch.” Simon inhaled a hissing breath. “Goddamnit. So I have you to physic me?”

“Yes. Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Thank you,” Simon grunted. He looked at Sir Rupert, refusing to flinch as de Raaf tended his shoulder. “What do you concede?”

“Father,” Christian began.

Sir Rupert made a slashing motion with his hand, cutting him off. “I concede I am responsible for your brother’s death.”

“Murder,” Simon growled. He gripped his sword tighter, although de Raaf stood between him and the others, blocking the movement of his blade. The big man chose that moment to put his other hand at his back and press his palms together, squeezing the shoulder. Simon bit back an oath.

De Raaf looked pleased. “You’re welcome.”

Sir Rupert nodded. “Your brother’s murder. I am to blame. Punish me, not my son.”

“No!” Christian shouted. He lurched forward, limping like his father.

Simon saw the other man’s right leg was blood-soaked below the thigh. His sword had found its mark. “Killing your son would punish you most satisfactorily,” Simon drawled.

Edward, facing him, lifted his eyebrow so only he could see.

“Killing Christian also takes an innocent life,” Sir Rupert said. He leaned forward, both hands on the head of his cane, his eyes fixed on Simon’s face. “You’ve never killed an innocent before.”

“Unlike you.”

“Unlike me.”

For a moment no one spoke. The snow fell silently. Simon stared at his brother’s murderer. The man admitted it—all but crowed the fact that he’d arranged Ethan’s death. He felt hatred rise in him like bile at the back of his throat, nearly overwhelming reason. But however much he might loathe Sir Rupert, he was right. Simon had never killed an innocent man.

“What do you have in mind?” Simon asked finally.

Sir Rupert took a breath. He thought he’d won a concession, damn him. And he had. “I will pay you the price of your brother’s life. I can sell my London home.”

“What?” Christian burst out. Snowflakes had melted on his eyelashes like tears.

But Simon was already shaking his head. “Not enough.”

His father ignored Christian, intent on persuading Simon. “Our country estates—”

“What about Mother and my sisters?” Christian’s thin-wristed friend approached and tried to tend his wound, but Christian waved him away impatiently.

Sir Rupert shrugged. “What about them?”

“They haven’t done any wrong,” his son said. “Mother adores London. And what of Julia, Sarah, and Becca? Will you beggar them? Make it impossible that they ever marry well?”

“Yes!” Sir Rupert shouted. “They are women. What other avenue would you have me consider?”

“You would sacrifice their futures—their very happiness—to prevent me dueling Simon?” Christian stared incredulously.

“You are my heir.” Sir Rupert held out a shaking hand to his son. “You are the most important. I cannot chance your death.”

“I don’t understand you.” Christian pivoted away from his father, then gasped and wavered. His second hurried to him and offered his support.

“It doesn’t matter,” Simon interrupted. “You cannot pay for my brother’s death. His life has no price.”

“Damn you!” Sir Rupert drew a sword from his cane. “Will you duel a crippled man, then?”

“No!” Christian pulled away from his second.

Simon raised his hand, stopping the younger man’s surge forward. “No, I will not duel you. I find that I have lost my taste for blood.”

Long lost it, if the truth were known. He had never liked what he’d had to do, but now he knew: He could not kill Christian. He thought of Lucy’s fine, topaz eyes, so serious, so right, and almost smiled. He could not kill Christian because it would disappoint Lucy. So small a reason, but a crucial one nevertheless.

Sir Rupert lowered his sword, a smirk forming on his lips. He thought he’d won.

“Instead,” Simon continued, “you will leave England.”

“What?” The smile died from the older man’s face.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “You prefer a duel?”

Sir Rupert opened his mouth, but it was his son who replied. “No, he doesn’t.”

Simon looked at his former friend. Christian’s face was as white as the snow falling around them, but he stood straight and tall. Simon nodded. “You will accept banishment from England for your family?”

“Yes.”

“What?” Sir Rupert blustered.

Christian turned savagely on his father. “He has offered you—us—an honorable way out, without bloodshed or loss of fortune.”

“But where would we go?”

“America.” The young man turned to Simon. “That meets with your approval?”

“Yes.”

“Christian!”