“Not at all. Glad to be of some use.” Simon turned back a page. Here, some of the drawings had been embellished by a watercolor overwash. “These are quite good.”

“Thank you.”

Simon felt his lips curve at her sure reply. Most ladies feigned modesty when complimented on an accomplishment. Miss Craddock-Hayes was certain of her talent. He turned another page.

“What’s this?” The sketches on this page were of a tree changing with the seasons: winter, spring, summer, and fall.

The rose tinted her cheeks again. “They’re practice sketches. For a small book of prayers I want to give Mrs. Hardy in the village. It’s to be a present on her birthday.”

“Do you do this often?” He turned another page, fascinated. These weren’t the pallid drawings of a bored lady. Her sketches had a kind of robust life to them. “Illustrate books, that is?” His mind was furiously working.

She shrugged. “No, not often. I only do it for friends and such.”

“Then maybe I can commission a work.” He looked up in time to see her open her mouth. He continued before she could point out that he didn’t fall in the category of friends. “A book for my niece.”

She closed her mouth and raised her eyebrows, waiting silently for him to continue.

“If you don’t mind humoring a wounded man, of course.” Shameless. For some reason it was important that he engage her.

“What kind of a book?”

“Oh, a fairy tale I think, don’t you?”

She took back her book and settled it on her lap, slowly turning to a blank page. “Yes?”

Oh, Christ, now he was on the spot, but at the same time he felt like laughing aloud. He hadn’t felt this lighthearted in ages. Simon glanced hurriedly around the little room and caught sight of a small, framed map on the opposite wall. Sea serpents frolicked around the print’s edges. He smiled into her eyes. “The tale of The Serpent Prince.”

She arched a brow. “I’ve never heard it.”

“I’m surprised,” he lied easily. “It was quite a favorite of my youth. Brings back fond memories of bouncing on my old nurse’s knee by the fire while she thrilled us with the tale.” In for a penny, in for a pound.

She gave him a patently skeptical look.

“Now let me see.” Simon stifled a yawn. The pain in his shoulder had died to a dull throb, but his headache had increased as if to make up for it. “Once upon a time—that’s the proscribed way to begin, isn’t it?”

The lady didn’t help. She merely sat back in her chair and waited for him to make a fool of himself.