The Serpent Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt Read Free Book Online

He stood in the light of a small, blue-flamed fire that was burning in a brazier.”
    Her brows arched.
    “But what was strangest of all, was that as Angelica watched, he seemed to vanish. When she went to look where he had stood, there lay a giant silver snake, coiled around the base of the brazier.” He absently rubbed his index finger, running his thumb against the place his ring should be. Suddenly he was very tired.
    “Ah, at last we come to the infamous Serpent Prince.” She looked up and must have caught the weariness in his expression. Her own face sobered. “How does your back feel?”
    Like hell. “Plucky, just plucky. I think the knife wound may’ve actually improved it.”
    She watched him for a moment. And for the life of him, even with all his years of studying women, he’d not a clue as to what she thought.
    “Are you ever serious?” she asked.
    “No,” he said. “Not ever.”
    “I thought not.” Her eyes were intent on him. “Why?”
    He looked away. He could not sustain that intense, too-perceptive regard. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
    “I think you do know,” she said softly. “As to whether or not it matters . . . Well, that isn’t for me to say.”
    “Isn’t it?” It was his turn to stare at her, pressuring her to admit . . . what? He wasn’t sure.
    “No,” she whispered.
    He opened his mouth to argue further, but some belated sense of self-preservation stopped him.
    She inhaled. “You should rest, and I’ve been keeping you up.” His angel shut her book and rose. “I sent the letter to your valet yesterday. He should receive it soon.”
    He let his head fall back against the pillows and watched her as she gathered the empty dishes. “Thank you, beautiful lady.”
    She paused by the door and looked back at him. The candlelight flickered over her face, turning it into a Renaissance painting, most fitting for an angel. “Are you safe here?”
    Her voice was soft, and he had begun to drift into dreams, so he wasn’t sure of the words—hers or his.
    “I don’t know.”

Chapter Three
    “Iddesleigh. Iddesleigh.” Papa frowned as he chewed his gammon steak, his chin jerking up and down. “Knew an Iddesleigh in the navy when I sailed The Islander five and twenty years ago. Midshipman. Used to get terribly seasick right out of port. Always hanging over the middeck rail looking green and heaving up his accounts. Any relation?”
    Lucy suppressed a sigh. Papa had been twitting the viscount all through supper. Normally, her father enjoyed entertaining new guests. They were a fresh audience for his hoary sea stories, retold countless times to his children, neighbors, servants, and anyone else who would hold still long enough to listen. But something about Lord Iddesleigh had gotten her father’s back up. This was the first meal the poor man had been able to come down for after spending the last four days bedridden. The viscount sat at the table appearing urbane and at ease. One had to look closely to notice he still favored his right arm.
    She wouldn’t blame him if he hid in his room after tonight. And that would disappoint her terribly. Even though she knew, deep in her soul, that she should stay away from the viscount, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about him. All the time. It was really rather irritating. Perhaps it was merely the novelty of a new person in her narrow circle of acquaintances. After all, she’d known the people she saw every day since infancy. On the other hand, maybe it was the man himself, and wasn’t that an uncomfortable thought?
    “No, I don’t believe so.” Lord Iddesleigh answered her father’s question as he helped himself to more boiled potatoes. “As a rule, the members of my family avoid anything resembling work. Much too taxing, and it has an unfortunate tendency to lead to sweat. We much prefer to idle our days away eating cream cakes and discussing the latest gossip.”
    Then again, Lucy reflected, the younger man did