“There lived a poor lass who made a meager living tending the king’s goats. She was orphaned and quite alone in the world, except, of course, for the goats, who were rather smelly.”

“Goats?”

“Goats. The king was fond of goat’s cheese. Now hush, child, if you want to hear this.” Simon tilted his head back. It was aching terribly. “I believe her name was Angelica, if that’s of any interest—the goat girl, that is.”

She merely nodded this time. She’d picked up a pencil and begun sketching in her book, although he couldn’t see the page, so he didn’t know if she was illustrating his story or not.

“Angelica toiled every day, from the first light of dawn until the sun had long set, and all she had for company were the goats. The king’s castle was built on top of a cliff and the goat girl lived at the cliff’s base in a little stick hut. If she looked far, far up, past the sheer rocks, past the shining, white stone of the castle walls, to the very turrets themselves, sometimes she could just catch a glimpse of the castle folk in their jewels and fine robes. And once in a very great while she would see the prince.”

“The Serpent Prince?”

“No.”

She cocked her head, her eyes still on her drawing. “Then why is the fairy tale called ‘The Serpent Prince’ if he isn’t the Serpent Prince?”

“He comes later. Are you always this impatient?” he asked sternly.

She glanced up at him then as her lips slowly curved into a smile. Simon was struck dumb, all thought having fled from his mind. Her fine, jeweled eyes crinkled at the corners and a single dimple appeared on the smooth surface of her left cheek. She positively glowed. Miss Craddock-Hayes really was an angel. Simon felt a strong, almost violent, urge to thumb away that dimple. To lift her face and taste her smile.

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want this.

“I’m sorry,” he heard her say. “I won’t interrupt again.”

“No, that’s all right. I’m afraid my head hurts. No doubt from having it bashed in the other day.” Simon stopped babbling as something occurred to him. “When, exactly, was I found?”

“Two days ago.” She rose and gathered her book and pens. “I’ll leave you to rest. I can address the letter to your valet in the meantime and post it. Unless you would like to read it first?”

“No, I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Simon sank into the pillows, his ringless hand lax on the coverlet. He kept his voice casual. “Where are my clothes?”

She paused halfway out of the room and shot him an enigmatic look over her shoulder. “You didn’t have any when I found you.” She closed the door quietly.