The Serpent Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt Read Free Book Online Page A

seem to be holding his own with her father. Papa’s eyes narrowed ominously.
    She picked up a basket and waved it under her parent’s nose. “More bread? Mrs. Brodie baked it fresh this morning.”
    He ignored her ploy. “Old landed gentry, are they?” Papa sawed vigorously at his meat while he spoke. “Let others toil on their land, eh? Spend all their time in the sinful fleshpots of London instead?”
    Oh, for goodness’ sake! Lucy gave up and set the bread basket down. She would enjoy the meal even if no one else did. Their dining room was hopelessly out of date, but it was cozy for all that. She tried to focus on her surroundings rather than on the distressing conversation. She turned to her left, noting in approval the cheerfully burning fire.
    “Why, yes, I quite like a fleshpot now and then,” Lord Iddesleigh said, smiling benignly. “That is, when I can find the energy to get myself out of bed. Have since I was but a tiny lad in leading strings accompanied by my nurse.”
    “Really—” she began, only to be cut off as Papa snorted. She sighed and looked to the other end of the room where a single door led into the hall and then the kitchen. It was so nice that the room wasn’t cursed by a draft.
    “Although,” the viscount continued, “I must confess I’m a bit hazy on what exactly constitutes a fleshpot.”
    Lucy’s gaze dropped to the table—the only safe thing to look at in the room at the moment. The old walnut dining table wasn’t long, but that made meals all the more intimate. Mama had chosen the striped burgundy and cream wallpaper before Lucy’d been born, and Papa’s collection of sailing ship prints graced the walls—
    “I mean, flesh and pot, how did the two come together?” Lord Iddesleigh mused. “I trust we are not discussing chamber pots—”
    Dangerous territory! Lucy smiled determinedly and interrupted the awful man. “Mrs. Hardy told me the other day that someone let Farmer Hope’s pigs out. They scattered for half a mile, and it took Farmer Hope and his boys a whole day to get them back.”
    No one paid attention.
    “Ha. From the Bible, fleshpot is.” Papa leaned forward, apparently having scored a point. “Exodus. Have read the Bible, haven’t you?”
    Oh, dear. “Everyone thought it might be the Jones boys that let them out,” Lucy said loudly. “The pigs, I mean. You know how the Joneses are always up to mischief. But when Farmer Hope went round to the Jones place, what do you think? Both boys were in bed with fever.”
    The men never took their gaze from each other.
    “Not recently, I confess.” The viscount’s icy silver eyes sparkled innocently. “Too busy idling my life away, don’t you know. And fleshpot means . . . ?”
    “Harrumph. Fleshpot.” Papa waved his fork, nearly spearing Mrs. Brodie as she brought in more potatoes. “Everyone knows what fleshpot means. Means fleshpot.”
    Mrs. Brodie rolled her eyes and set the potatoes down hard at Papa’s elbow. Lord Iddesleigh’s lips twitched. He raised his glass to his mouth and watched Lucy over the rim as he drank.
    She could feel her face warm. Must he look at her like that? It made her uncomfortable, and she was sure it couldn’t be polite. She grew even more warm when he set the glass down and licked his lips, his eyes still holding hers. Wretch!
    Lucy looked away determinedly. “Papa, didn’t you once tell us an amusing story about a pig on your ship? How it got out and ran around the deck and none of the men could catch it?”
    Her father was staring grimly at the viscount. “Aye, I’ve got a story to tell. Might be educational for some. About a frog and a snake.”
    “But—”
    “How interesting,” Lord Iddesleigh drawled. “Do tell us.” He leaned back in his chair, his hand still fiddling with the glass stem.
    He wore David’s old clothes, none of which fit him, her brother being shorter and broader in the torso. The scarlet coat’s sleeves let his bony wrists stick out and