Free The Dragon's Bride by Jo Beverley Page A

dryly, and crossed the courtyard to the breakfast room. He paused to look at the fountain statue. The dragon, as over endowed as Saint George, was about to have its way with the clearly unwilling, naked sacrifice. Around the rim of the basin was carved
The Dragon and His Bride.
    “I’ve never seen a dragon doing that with the traditional maiden before,” Race remarked. “Throws a whole new light on the story, doesn’t it?”
    “I always thought Saint George’s lance was pretty suggestive, myself.”
    “Especially the way pictures show him fondling it.”
    Con laughed as he led the way through the open glass-paneled doors into the breakfast room. The furniture was the usual dark oak, but white walls lightened it, and the open doors to the garden were pleasant.
    And he was laughing. He was suddenly grateful to Race for attaching himself to him and bringing laughter here.
    “Remind me to show you the bath in my new rooms,” Con said as he sat down.
    “The Chinese dragons too much for you?”
    “The Saint George rooms have a very large, very interesting bath.”
    “Ah. You and your baths. So what’s so special about this one?”
    Con described it, and Race shook his head. “I’ve often wondered how those poor maidens felt about the price of rescue. I can think of a lot of heroes I’d not want to have to be grateful to. And what if the lady liked the dragon, and didn’t want to be rescued by a boring saint?”
    The thin maid bustled in with a coffeepot in one hand and a chocolate pot in the other. “The rest won’t be long now, milord,” she gasped, and rushed out.
    “Why would the lady choose the dragon?” Con poured himself coffee. “A hoard of jewels wouldn’t make up for being married to a monster.”
    “Some women lust after monsters.”
    “Then they deserve the monsters they get.”
    Race’s eyes glinted with humor. “And those who choose saints deserve that fate, too?”
    “Cynic.”
    “I ask you, would you like to be married to a saint?”
    For some reason, the image of Lady Anne Peckworth rose in Con’s mind.
Saint
was too strong a word, but she was gentle, kind, good, and devoted to practical charities to do with the education of children and the care of the old.
    She was the woman he was probably going to marry. He’d certainly paid her enough attention in the past two months to give her reason to hope….
    Two maids came in this time, blessedly interrupting his thoughts.
    They unloaded laden trays onto the table. Neither maid was the one who’d come upon him naked. One was the skeleton, poor thing; the other was the older one from last night.
    “Anything else, my lord?” the older one asked.
    Con looked at the enormous amount of food on the table. “No, thank you. I think we can make do with this.”
    The maids left and Con and Race shared a grin. “We could feed the regiment on this lot,” Race remarked, helping himself to a number of eggs and half the plate of ham.
    Con speared a slice of beef on his fork and put it on his plate. “Trying to make a good impression, I suppose.”
    “They’re succeeding.” Race spread butter lavishly on a roll. “So, who should a wise woman marry?”
    “A good and boring man. Why are we stuck on the subject of women?”
    “Something to do with the angelic Susan, I assume.”
    Con looked at him sharply. “Why?”
    “My dear fellow, tell me to button it if you want, but don’t pretend there’s nothing.”
    Con evaded the question. “She’s the least angelic woman imaginable. She was out with the smugglers last night.”
    “How splendid,” Race said, mopping up egg yolk with his bread. “As for angel, have you not realized she has the look of one of those Renaissance angels? Too beautiful to be a man. Too strongly featured to be a beautiful woman. Perfect, however, for angels, which are neither male nor female, but pure spirit.”
    “I assure you, Susan Kerslake is entirely female and flesh.”
    Con regretted it immediately, and wondered if he was going to have to kill Race to stop him from talking.
    But after a