Page 11 of The Devil Himself (The Devil You Know #1)
Ten
A s it happened, Rys had to take Luc to his home and get him settled, then promise to return for a late supper.
He’d been summoned to the Carnival of Dionysus in response to the note he’d sent Deacon Collingsworth, and he wouldn’t leave the man waiting. They had a truce of sorts, considering they were direct competitors, and he didn’t want to test it.
Collingsworth could be far more ruthless than he when the occasion called for it.
“Be careful,” Luc had told him from his place ensconced on the long chesterfield sofa in Rys’s study.
“I will.” Even though careful could only go so far in a hell, could it?
He walked into Dionysus just as the evening crowd was beginning to assemble. He handed his hat, coat, and gloves to the attendant, then bared his teeth. “Please tell your employer that the devil is here.”
“You’re expected, Mr. Grey. Please follow Boggs here.” The man indicated a lad of perhaps eighteen, who bowed and led the way through the gaming floor to Deacon’s office.
“Enter!” Deacon called to his knock, and the man himself stood as Rys entered, unfolding a tall, broad-shouldered form that spoke of hard work. “Ah, Grey. Good to see you.”
“Collingsworth.” He crossed the sumptuous, masculine office to shake hands. “Thank you for letting me come discuss this with you in person. It’s a rather delicate matter.”
“Indeed. Whisky?”
“A short one, if you please. I have more to accomplish this evening.”
“I imagine so.” Deacon chuckled, moving to pour them both a shallow glass of whisky. “Sit, Rys. It’s been too long.”
“Has it?” He felt comfortable with the jest, and he took a seat on the overstuffed leather chair, crossing one booted foot over the opposite knee. “Has it really?”
Deacon’s chuckle turned to a shout of laughter. “All right, all right. No more hyperbole on my part. Now, what is this all about?”
“You are aware of my family connections.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“I am.”
“Then you know that my brother Owen, the marquess, was recently killed.” It still sounded so strange to say it.
“I am. My condolences.” Deacon watched him, his green eyes gleaming like a cat’s, his caution obvious.
“Since Owen’s death, my second brother, Daffyd, has apparently run up a rather extravagant debt at your club. I understand you hold the vowels.”
“I do.” Deacon swirled the liquor in his glass. “What of it, Rys? Are you wanting to buy them?”
“God no. If that’s how he wants to live his life, so be it. But?—”
“But?” Deacon sipped his whisky, ever patient but also remaining watchful.
“But he is acting in a way that threatens my brother’s widow and son.”
“Ah. You want whatever information I might have about his actual movements.”
“Yes, I do. Who does he play cards with? Who does he sleep with? What does he brag about when he’s in his cups?” Rys needed information to form a plan.
A muscle ticked in Deacon’s jaw. “That might not be in your purview, Rys. He is a client.”
He met that green gaze directly. Deacon was truly a force of nature, much as he was. “Owen was murdered, Deacon. I have reason to believe Daffyd and Arthur are at fault.”
Deacon’s sharp intake of breath told him how serious the accusation was. “Good God, Rys. Do you really think they would do him in?”
“Yes.” Rys had no doubt in his mind now. He simply needed to prove it.
“Very well. Let me call someone in, Rys, who may have more information than I.” Deacon rose to ring for a runner, who he instructed, “Bring me Cora, if you please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cora?”
“Daffyd’s preferred evening companion. She sits with him while he gambles and drinks and entertains him afterward.”
“Ah.” Now they were getting somewhere. “Excellent. Thank you, Deacon. I owe you.”
That got him a wolfish grin. “Why do you think I’m helping you?”
He snorted, but it was true enough. Men such as they dealt in secrets and promises. The more they could gather, the better their position to do business.
The door opened forthwith, and a lovely lady with coppery hair wearing a parody of a proper morning gown, her bosom heavily on display, entered. They both stood, allowing her to seat herself. “Mr. Collingsworth. Is aught amiss?”
“No, not at all, Cora. My friend here would just like to ask you a few questions.”
A slight frown marked the area between her pretty brows. “About what, sir?”
“Grey?”
She started, her eyes widening. “The devil himself?”
“Hello, Cora.” He gave her his most charming smile, the one he used on nervous, first-time customers. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“Mr. Grey,” she breathed. “My sister worked for you, she did. Married a pugilist she met there.”
“Really?” He didn’t have to feign his surprise. “Hazel is your sister, then?”
She clapped her hands with delight. “You remember her!”
“Her wedding was quite an event.” He ignored Deacon’s quiet snort. “I am led to understand you are very good friends with a certain customer. A Lord Daffyd.”
Her expression turned wary. “I serve him while he’s here, yes.”
“I understand.” He sat forward, forearms on his legs, his hands clasped loosely. “Does he brag a bit?”
She pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Aye, sir. Always bragging about how he’s got control of the Hallowarren fortune, and how he’s to be the next marquess if he plays his cards right.”
“Ah, now, that’s what I need. Right there.” He matched the cadence of his voice to hers a bit, knowing it would relax her further. “And what of his debts?”
“Oh, sir, he gambles so. And he loses badly.” She glanced at Deacon, who nodded slightly. “But he says soon he’ll be able to pay them off.”
“Does he say how?”
“No, sir. Just that a few weeks hence, he’ll have all the money he needs.”
“Does he ever mention the current marquess?”
She swallowed. “Oh, sir…”
“Cora, this could be very important,” Deacon told her. “The young marquess is only fifteen.”
“Mostly he talks of marrying his mother. Says then he’d have control of it all.” She twisted her hands in her skirt. “That’s all, honest.”
“Thank you, Cora.” She might have more information, and he would set Deacon to pulling it out of her in the coming day or so, but she was clearly through telling tales to him. Rys could see it on her face. He didn’t think it was from loyalty to Daffyd. More fear of him.
“Naturally, not a word to the patron, Cora,” Deacon added.
“No, sir. Not at all.”
Deacon withdrew some coin from his desk. “Why don’t you take the night off, my dear.”
She took the coin in a thrice, then smiled at Rys. “I could always entertain your guest, sir.” She leaned slightly forward to put her more than ample bosom on display.
“Thank you, Cora, but I fear I have my own business to attend to tonight. I do appreciate the offer, however.”
“Anytime, Mr. Grey, sir.” She rose, giving Deacon a questioning glance.
“You may go, Cora.”
“Give my regards to your sister,” Rys added.
“She’ll be so pleased, sir.” Cora had recovered enough to give him a saucy wink, and then she was gone in a rustle of skirts and a waft of lavender and citrus.
“A few weeks hence…” Deacon mused, finishing off his whisky. “That does sound like they have a plan.”
“It does indeed. Arthur has said the same to his mistress, among others.”
“And you’re having them followed?”
“Yes. Damnation, what a tangle. I have to wait for them to do something I can prove.”
Deacon set down his glass, then clasped his hands loosely between his knees as he leaned forward. “Tell me. Is it true that Angelsey was shot just outside your club?”
His cheeks heated, not from embarrassment, but from rage at how Luc had been injured. “Yes. With a hunting gun, most likely at long range.”
“And he was one of Hallowarren’s best friends.”
“Yes. He’s the one who asked me to look into this whole situation for my brother’s widow and heir.”
“And you agreed.” Deacon watched him steadily, expression carefully blank.
“I did.” He shrugged. “It started as a whim, but then they shot someone in front of my club.”
“Mmm. Well, if you like, I’ll keep after Cora. Subtly. See if she knows aught else.”
“I appreciate it. I was going to ask if you would.” Deacon understood the implications for his club with someone being injured just outside. They were men of business, and they needed to be able to provide a safe environment for patrons.
“I’ll send a message if I discover anything.”
“Thank you.”
Deacon’s lips curved in another wicked smile. “And I’ll let you know when I’m ready to call in that favor.”
That had him chuckling as he rose, moving to shake hands with Deacon again before grabbing his coat. “You do that, Collingsworth.”
Rys left the club as quickly as he’d entered. It could hardly be good for business to be seen in a competing club, but more than that, he wanted to get home to check on Luc.
The idea that Luc was there, in his home, waiting for him, filled him with satisfaction.
He might as well enjoy it while it lasted, no matter the circumstances that caused it.