Page 17 of The Devil Himself (The Devil You Know #1)

Sixteen

R ys pulled on his waistcoat, buttoning the damn thing himself, though he usually had his valet to help him. Not that he couldn’t dress himself. Fashion was just so damned complicated these days.

But he didn’t want to kick Luc out of his bed, where he’d stayed overnight, so he’d decided to go it alone today.

The cravat was even more damned trying than the other bits.

Luc stirred, rising up on one elbow to stare at him, a smile on his sleepy face. “Good morning.”

Heat suffused him, and Rys tried to push it down. “Good morning, Luc. I’ll be off to the club soon. Just tell the staff what you want to break your fast.”

“Oh.” Luc sat up all the way, clearly casting about for his clothes. “Has Harris asked you to come early?”

“We slept late.” He knew his tone was too sharp, but he could not help it.

Somehow, the intimacy of this, what they had done yesterday and last night, was far more…

disconcerting than a quick hand or mouth.

It had made something in his chest open up, and Rys didn’t want to think too hard on it, because he had eschewed real entanglements since his family had turned on him.

“I see.” Luc just studied him until finally he rose, finding his breeches and then tugging them on. “I think I shall return to my townhouse today.”

Now it was Rys’s turn to stare, his hands on the trailing ends of his neckcloth. “What?”

Luc gave him a faint, wry smile that did not reach his eyes. “I think we have proven that I am well-healed, considering how active we were. I am fine. I shall go home today.”

Rys narrowed his eyes at Luc. “Don’t be a damn fool. Someone shot you.”

“Yes, they did. And it’s high time I set to finding out who rather than lying about playing the indolent nobleman with nothing better to do.” Luc’s voice became clipped by the end of that statement, his eyes snapping blue fire.

“How on earth have I upset you?” Rys asked, throwing his hands up. “I need to go to work.”

“Have I said otherwise?” Luc pulled his shirt over his head.

“I am not upset. I am being realistic. This has been a fine place to recover, and I feel as though I have been on a grand holiday, but I need to get back to my house so my servants know I’m alive.

I should go see Hannah. I need to check in with my man of affairs. ”

“He’s been coming here,” Rys snapped, tying his cravat with a few twists and jerks. He was no simpering dandy. A simple knot would do.

“Yes, but it is awkward, as my ledgers and such are in my study.” Luc picked up his boots and stockings and padded to the door. “If I learn anything new, I shall send a note around. I trust you will do the same for me.”

Rys yanked on his jacket, feeling utterly stifled in it. “Of course,” he said stiffly. “Please avail yourself of breakfast. Mrs. Enders has probably already done the work.”

“Thank you. I won’t disappoint her.”

The idea that he had disappointed Luc hung in the air behind that statement.

But he was committed to his course now, and pride would not let him reverse it, so Rys made for the door and his escape, slipping past Luc to go down the stairs while Luc walked toward the guest chamber.

He supposed he had been too obvious in his nervousness about their situation, and Luc had taken umbrage about it.

That was the only explanation that made a lick of sense.

He nodded to his butler, Jarvis, as he sprang forward to open the front door, and then he strode down the steps. He would walk, he thought, and work off some of his unease and yes, anger.

He had not made any promises to Luc. They had not engaged in long talks about feelings and needs. So why was Luc acting like a spurned lover over him going into his very necessary work? He was a man of business, not a bloody nob who could go riding in the park or write sonnets.

When his boot touched the pavement, he noticed a young woman standing across the street, which was odd.

She looked a bit like an expensive ladybird, and this was a quiet, end-of-a-street area in a well-heeled neighborhood.

Her red hair owed nothing to nature, the tiny hat pinned to it doing nothing to hide it, and her gown was entirely too low-cut to be a morning dress.

She watched him with an intensity that bordered on insolence, then whirled about and marched toward the busier end of the road.

He turned toward St. James, his mind on both Luc and the mystery woman, so he did not notice the man who rushed toward him until the last moment, when the scrape of a boot over the cobbles alerted him.

He turned just in time to avoid the knife that was thrust at him, dancing back so it just missed his ribs. Hellfire! This man was trying to kill him.

He moved away in a circular dance that would be acceptable in any ballroom but was really something Sauce Box Joe had taught him. “Never let your feet be still,” Joe would say. “A moving target is harder to hit.”

So he kept moving, making the man work for it, and he got a deep snarl for his trouble, the man’s dirty face set in a scowl. “’old still, will you? I need to stick you!”

“Who sent you?” Rys barked, controlling his rage. He had to be on his guard and not get distracted, or his life’s blood would wind up in a puddle on the street. The man might be large, but he wasn’t clumsy, and his blade was wicked.

The man lunged at him. “Sommat who wants you dead.”

“Right.” Another lunge brought the man far too close, and Rys slapped the knife away with his forearm, the sting of a tiny cut making him grunt. Damnation, this was his favorite coat.

“Goddammit, just take yer medicine!”

He dodged the increasingly wild strikes, wondering how long it would take for someone to raise a cry. This wasn’t exactly a neighborhood where footpads were common or tolerated.

The door to his house flew open, and he heard the scrape of a boot on the stoop, and then Luc roared, “Duck, Rys!”

He dropped to the ground immediately, and a pistol discharged with a roar.

His assailant cried out, a high-pitched, surprised sound, and then dropped the knife and ran.

“Oh, I think not.” Rys gave chase, and now that the man was unarmed, he felt safer in leaping upon him and bearing him to the ground.

They landed with a thud, and Rys sat on the man, pressing down with all his weight.

The man howled, clearly in pain, and Rys was grateful that Luc was a good shot.

“Who sent you!” He roared, trying to find whatever wound the man had and press upon it.

“Ahhhh! Geroff!”

“Tell me, damn you.”

Luc came to stand over them, pistol dangling at the end of his hand. “Shall I have Jarvis reload so I may shoot him again?’

“I don’t think we need to do that, do we?” He found the bloody wound in the man’s forearm. And pushed. “Who?”

“Some rich toff. Looked like you, ’e did, only soft and paunchy. Said he wanted ’is brother killed. Sommat about an in’eritance, it were.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

“No! Awww, leave off!”

One of his footmen arrived with a length of rope. “Shall I tie him up, sir?”

“Yes.” He got up and hauled the man to his feet. “I will send for the constabulary.”

The footman, James, nodded. “Very good, sir.”

He walked back to the house, hand clamped over the wound on his arm, Luc at his side. “I need you to help me send messages, Luc. We need to send Hannah and her girls to the country.”

“They can go to my estate?—”

“No.” He cut Luc off with an apologetic glance. “Daffyd will think of that since you have been so much involved.”

“What about Warrington’s, then? Julian will protect them.”

“Good idea.” They stepped inside, where his butler waited with an agitation he rarely ever evinced.

“Jarvis, send for a constable to take that man to Bow Street. They’ll see he makes his way to Newgate.

I’ll send a message to Hannah to prepare to leave, and if either of my damned brothers are there, I’ll call them away to a meeting at their clubs.

Luc, you get a hold of Warrington and send a message to Joe at Gareth’s school. ”

“Done.” Luc dashed off notes with his quill and foolscap, sanding and folding them without sealing while Rys sent footmen to Hannah and then wrote a note to Harris at the club for more guards for Hannah and for his own home.

“Let me see your arm, Rys,” Luc said.

“It is truly only a scratch, Luc.”

Luc stared at him, eyes ablaze. “Do you remember what you said about how you felt when I was shot?”

He pondered that. “Yes. I almost died of the fright.”

“Well, then, you will let me look at your arm.”

His eyes widened, and his lips opened, but then he understood, and he nodded. “Very well. But then we must make sure that Hannah and Gareth, and you, are safe.”

“And you.”

“I’m more worried about Daffyd setting fire to my club.” He wouldn’t put it past Daffyd at all.

“He hired someone to kill you!”

“Well, he did not succeed.”

“Rys!” The strangled shout finally made him relent, and he struggled out of his coat so he could roll up his shirtsleeve.

A shallow wound no longer than a few inches in length oozed blood sluggishly.

“I need brandy to clean it and something to bandage it with, Jarvis,” Luc snapped.

His butler jumped to, and soon enough he was well cared for and was upstairs dressing in clean clothing. Rage burned hot in his belly, but he pushed it down, his need to protect those he cared for, despite all of his protests and misgivings, too strong to let anger rule him.

When he returned downstairs, he strode to the breakfast room, Luc following him. Might as well sit with Luc and eat while they made a plan. A thought occurred to him, and he called to the footman. “Send for Jarvis, if you please.”

“What may I do, my lord?” Jarvis said as he came into the room moments later.

“I need to move Lady Hannah and her children somewhere else. But the country is difficult if we need to get to them. Luc, do you think Warrington would take them to his aunt?”

“Lady Moreton? Yes. Yes, I think he would.” Luc smiled at Jarvis. “Lord Warrington will be at breakfast still. His house is number seven, Hill Street, just off Berkeley Square. Please summon him here.”

Jarvis bowed and turned on his heel, all but running. The old man had earned his wages lately.

Rys snorted. “If we interrupt his breakfast, he can come eat with us.”

“He will happily do so. His cook is, at best, adequate. She’s been with his household since his grandfather’s time.”

“Good God.” Rys blinked. “Can she even see to cook?”

“The current hypothesis is no.” Luc stared at him, expression serious. “What now?”

“Now we make sure Hannah and her girls are safe. Then we send word to Sauce Box Joe that they’ve come after me, and I give him leave to hire more protection for Gareth. And then? We draw out Daffyd and Arthur. We take the fight to them. I’m sick of waiting.”

Luc nodded. “I’m with you, Rys. You know this, yes?”

“Yes. And tonight, I will do more, but I must apologize now for how I acted this morning. I’m sorry, Luc. I did not mean to be so out of sorts and take it out on you.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” Luc’s lips twitched into a small, wicked smile. “You can elaborate on that theme at will this evening.”

“Mmm.” He sipped his coffee, the adrenaline starting to fade, his arm throbbing a bit. “Let me send word to Harris at the club, as well. He’ll need to be on guard for possible sabotage. My brothers can be entirely petty. If they missed with me, they might try to damage my business.”

“So you weren’t joking.” Luc forked up some fluffy scrambled eggs. “That’s madness. They’re not well in the head, Rys.”

“No. No, they’re not. And I intend to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.”