Page 4 of The Devil Himself (The Devil You Know #1)

Four

“ M y lord, you have a visitor.” His butler accosted him in his study, interrupting his glass of brandy and his novel, which he’d been trying to enjoy despite his racing thoughts focusing on his twice-damned family.

Rys rolled his eyes. “Jarvis, how many times have I told you not to call me that?” he asked his butler.

“Ever since you hired me, my lord. However, you are the son of a marquess, and thus, a lord. And I must address you as such.”

“God save me from old servants.”

Jarvis had been a footman in his father’s household when he’d been a boy, and when he had sent ‘round to the service to procure a butler, Jarvis had turned up, stating that he had been waiting for just this job for an age.

“Regardless, I am not receiving.” He was spending a rare night at home, his second-in-command Harris taking the club for the night.

He had been out of sorts for two days thanks to that damned Lucian Fitzwilliam and his wild theories about Owen’s death, and he needed a night of quiet away from the noise of the Playground.

“The man is most insistent, my lord.”

“It’s not one of my brothers.” Surely not.

“No, sir. It is Lord Angelsey.”

“The devil you say.” What the hell was Fitzwilliam doing accosting him at his house?

Portman Square was far enough from Grosvenor and Park Lane, respectively, where Angelsey’s own and his family townhomes sat.

He’d always felt safe from their prying eyes in his corner townhome that lurked along the outer edge of society here.

“Send him away.”

“My lord…”

“Jarvis, who is the employer here?” Really, the fellow was insufferable. “Send him off.”

“Too late.”

He whipped his gaze up to meet Luc’s where the man stood in the doorway. “How dare you push your way in here?”

“I dare because I need to speak with you.” Luc strode into the room, looking for all the world like an avenging angel.

“Shall I have Mrs. Jarvis bring tea, my lord?”

“Good God no.” He waved Jarvis away. “Leave us be. And no listening at the door.”

“Aye, my lord.” Jarvis’s tiny grin made him bite back an oath. Disrespectful bugger.

“What do you want?” he ground out once the door had shut behind Jarvis.

“I need your help.” Luc took off his coat and his evening jacket, tossing them over a chair, leaving him in shirtsleeves and waistcoat.

“I already told you I will not assist you.” Was the fool really going to ask him again? And why was the “fool” so damn attractive? That way lay madness.

He knew where to find his companions, and it was not in the Ton.

“You did.” Luc glanced about, then spied his brandy decanter and strolled across the room to help himself. “Would you care for one?”

“Damn, you are a brave one, aren’t you?” Rys glanced at his glass, though, and grabbed it up to hold it out. “If you please.”

Chuckling, Luc came to take his glass, fingertips grazing his hand, and a spark seemed to zip up his arm. He hid any reaction, he hoped, but he did watch that tight arse clad in slim, well-cut evening trousers as Luc walked away.

Might as well get something out of this.

Luc filled both glasses, then brought his back, going to Rys’s desk to lean on the edge rather than sitting. “So, I was speaking to Hannah today.”

He entered the conversation as if Rys actually knew him, actually had contact with his damnable family.

“And?” was all he managed.

“And she’s afraid to send Gareth back to Eton.”

He pursed his lips. “What has that to do with me?”

“And then, as I was leaving the house, your brother Daffyd confronted me.”

That had Rys raising a single brow. “About what?”

“He accused me of wanting to marry Hannah. And he told me he was going to do just so when her mourning period was up, and then he would be more than simply the guardian to the new marquess.”

The other eyebrow flew up despite himself. “He said that to you.” Then he frowned. “You’re already married.”

Luc’s face went dark, his cheeks a dull red, his eyes flashing. “I thought you kept up with the peerage. Word at White’s is you know everything about everyone who bears a title in case you need to use it against them.”

“Yes, and?” He had deliberately avoided anyone connected to his family.

“And yet, you did not know my father had passed. And you did not know that my lady wife died only a few years into our marriage during childbirth. That did make the scandal sheets.” Luc tossed back the whisky.

He stared, his own cheeks heating now. “I deliberately avoid news of my family and their closest friends. I don’t wish to know.” The temptation to do bad things with any information he gleaned would have been too much.

Rys knew himself to be a scoundrel. And Luc was not, so what would he have been able to use against the man? At any rate, Luc had married almost a year after Rys had left home, if the timeline of the betrothal had held, and he’d been very busy staying alive on the streets.

“I am heartily sorry for it, Luc. Truly. I had not heard about Viola. I always liked her.”

“So did I.” Luc sighed, shoulders slumping, but the moment passed, and Luc carried on.

“That is neither here nor there. I have no more interest in marrying now than I did then, and I have an heir. So I can sit back and enjoy my dotage. What concerns me is that if he married Hannah, his brother’s widow, and killed off Gareth, Daffyd would have both the entailment and the dower property that Hannah’s father negotiated to return to her in the event of Owen’s death. ”

Rys mulled that over, surprised to find that he felt a flash of anger in his chest on young Gareth’s behalf. But he tamped it down. “Surely you don’t think Daffyd would kill Gareth.”

“I think he would. I think he killed Owen for what he knew he would never get otherwise, and now he has a taste for it.”

He sat back, glaring into his brandy glass. Damn. Put that way, it made a horrible kind of sense. But he still had no desire to become embroiled in his family’s mess. They’d had no help for him when he was in need. And he would have none for them now.

“So, in short, I need some assistance.”

“No.”

Luc had the temerity to roll his eyes. “I am not asking you to aid me in my investigation of the matter.”

“Good. That is best left to Bow Street.” It was foolish in the extreme to bait a murderer, if there was one in the family. Foolish and dangerous. Desperate men did desperate things.

“They determined that it was a footpad, which you and I both know it was not.”

He did know it. Despite his protestations to Luc, since their first meeting, Rys had gotten Harris to amass all the information he could about Owen’s death. It was no failed robbery.

But he only shrugged, watching Luc lounge against his desk as if he owned it.

And they called him the devil.

Luc blew out a breath, then dragged a hand through his golden hair. “What I need from you is someone trustworthy to watch over Gareth at school.”

“A guard?” This man was constantly surprising him, and after his years on the streets and five owning a hell, Rys had thought that impossible.

“Yes. To watch over him as he goes about when he’s not in class, and when he’s in his dormitory at night. It’s been done before, with children who have kidnapping threats against them. So while it will not go unremarked, it will be a good solution.”

Rys tilted his head. “And why would you come to me?”

“You have men who could take the job. Ones you trust. I’ve made inquiries. Your people are fiercely loyal. A hired runner or some other sort of guard might be bribable.” Luc finished off his brandy and set the glass aside, crossing his arms over his chest.

Waiting.

Rys contemplated his options. He should send this bastard on his way, but the request was reasonable enough, and while he had met young Gareth only a handful of times as an infant and toddler, Rys knew all too well how little choice children had in the ways of their parents.

“Very well.”

Now it was Luc’s turn to raise his eyebrows, his surprise showing in his slack lips and the way his arms dropped so he could lean on the desktop. “You agree?”

“I do. Come see me two days hence, and I will introduce you to a man who will do the job nicely.” He paused, letting his gaze narrow. “But not here. At my club.” He could not abide someone invading his home again. He deserved his sanctuary.

“Very well.” Luc rose, walking to the chair where he had left his jacket and coat. “What time?”

“Nine in the evening. I have a short break for supper then, and I will have time to accommodate you.” Rys made certain Luc knew exactly what a chore he felt this was.

Luc sketched a short bow after resuming his evening jacket and coat. “Thank you, Rys. I knew I could depend on you.”

That startled a bark of laughter out of him, though there was no mirth in it. “Don’t do that, Fitzwilliam. I am not a good man.”

Luc gave him a knowing sort of smile. “I don’t believe you truly are the devil, Rys. I bid you good night.”

He took his leave, and Rys sat there for a long while, book still in his lap. Then he rose, moving to ring for his butler.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Have a bath drawn. I feel the need to wash my family’s stink off me.”

“Yes, my lord, right away.” Jarvis scurried away, and he headed for the stairs, his mind worrying at the idea that one of his brothers, or both of them, had killed Owen.

His mind hated an unsolved problem. And thanks to the Earl of Angelsey, he had a goodly many tonight.