Page 6 of The Devil Himself (The Devil You Know #1)

“With my life.” Joe had been with him since before the club had opened. He’d been a boxer, and Rys had bet on him not to throw a fight when everyone else had thought he would. He’d made a packet, and he’d shared it with Joe.

Joe was as loyal as the night was long.

“Good. I’ll prepare Gareth to go back to school, then.”

“How has this become your responsibility? I know you trust neither Daffyd nor Arthur, but Hannah surely has a solicitor.”

“We cannot trust him,” Luc said. He stretched his feet out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle, settling in.

Rys couldn’t help but notice the length and musculature of his legs, the flatness of his belly above the waist of his breeches. He was a well-made man, and Rys couldn’t help but stare.

“I see. Well, that is settled then. What else is it you want?” He let cool impatience creep into his voice to cover his reaction to Luc’s presence.

“I just wanted to update you. I’ve enlisted Warrington to help make some inquiries. He has contacts in banking.”

“Julian Leavy? That Warrington? You did mention him earlier, but—” Rys shook his head. This man was constantly surprising him. “You are good friends?”

“We are.”

Julian was— well, a rogue after Rys’s own heart. And while it had been some time since Jules had been in the Playground, Rys had some very fond memories of the man…

“So you do know him?” Luc was watching him just as closely.

“Jules? Yes.” Rys steepled his fingers, leaning back in his own chair. “A good choice. He can be discreet.”

“Yes. He and Owen became friends over the last year or so before Owen’s death, and I’ve known him for some time. I trust him.”

“What else?” Rys asked, not wanting to be involved, but feeling so no matter what.

Luc made a wry face. “Sadly, nothing. I am grasping at straws.”

Rys frowned. “I can make a few subtle inquiries at various… institutions.” What on earth had he made that offer for? He didn’t need to saddle himself with this mess, but somehow, he wanted to see Luc again. Soon.

In fact, he needed it, which was a thought he chose not to examine right now.

Those golden brows rose. “You would? That would be deuced decent of you, Grey.”

“Don’t be too certain I am doing it to be magnanimous. You already owe me a favor.”

“I suppose I do.” Luc crossed his hands over his belly, drawing Rys’s attention to what lay beneath. Good God.

“Have you dined?”

Luc blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I asked if you have eaten supper.” Rys smiled, glad to have disconcerted Luc. He felt the need to keep the upper hand.

“I—I had a few nibbles at my club. Nothing substantial. I was playing cards to while away the time.” Luc was staring at him as if he were a snake about to strike.

“Dine with me, then. I shall ring for a repast.” He was playing with fire, at best, and he knew it. Angelsey had been married; he undoubtedly preferred women. But Rys wanted to indulge himself for a while. Enjoy the fantasy and give himself fuel for when he took himself in hand later.

“Dining at the Devil’s Playground with the devil himself, hmm? Well, why not?” Luc chuckled. “I hear you have an amazing chef.”

“I do. He pretends to be French if he needs to encounter the paying customers, but he’s a Scot. Do you prefer fish or meat?”

“Whatever is on the menu.” A small smile played about Luc’s mouth, his eyes dancing.

“What do you find so amusing, Angelsey?”

“Just the idea of me being here, having supper with you, I suppose.” Luc waved a hand. “I’ve never been invited to be a member, after all.”

“You have never had the reputation of a scoundrel, have you?” He rang for an attendant and ordered a sumptuous supper before closing the door and going to pour them both a drink. Whisky, since the brandy would come after.

“I have done my duty by my title.” Luc’s expression changed, grimness creeping in. “But I find myself more willing to try new things of late.”

“Are you now?” He glanced at Luc, his body responding to the idea in a favorable way. He sat, crossing one booted foot across the opposite knee to hide his enthusiasm to show Luc new things.

“Mmm.” Luc sipped his whisky.

He needed to change the subject. “So tell me about Owen.” Where had that come from? He’d never given his oldest brother the courtesy of his thoughts since their confrontation at his father’s funeral. But he did need conversation, and asking Luc to touch him was out of the question at the moment.

Luc’s brows winged up. “What do you want to know?”

“You say he was a good man.”

“He was. He doted on Hannah and Gareth and the girls, and he used to tell me he would never take after his father and neglect his wife and children. He lowered the rents, and now the estate produces and supports itself.”

“So he made it profitable?” He tapped his glass with his fingers. Harris had told him the bald financial details, of course, but he needed the full picture.

“He did. And he invested well. Don’t you see, Rys? There’s a great deal of money, and only part of it is available to Daffyd now.”

He tilted his head. “Now just Daffyd?”

Luc shrugged. “He’s the one who announced his intention to wed Hannah.” Those blue eyes burned at him. “I know it hardly signifies, but I have not seen Arthur at Owen’s house.”

“And young Gareth? What manner of young man is he?” Now that he’d let his curiosity out, it seemed to be running rampant.

“He’s a good lad. He gets along with his siblings, does well in school. He’ll do right by the title.” Luc’s expression went fond.

“As if I care about that.” He never had given a whit that his father held a high rank. It had meant less than nothing to his prospects.

Luc sobered. “I’m sorry for what he did to you, Rys. Your father. And I understand that no one stepped up to help. So I appreciate your aid to Gareth.”

“Bah.” The noise escaped him unwillingly. “It’s for Hannah that I do this. She was always kind to me.” And that was true enough.

“My turn,” Luc said, turning his whisky glass in circles. “How did you come about the idea to open a club?”

He chuckled, though the sound held no mirth. “I inherited the place, actually. The building was sound, and some of the workers were good, but it was a seedy establishment at best. They were talking about tearing it down to make way for another club, but I rebuilt it from the ground up.”

“Inherited it?” That had Luc’s expression turning to surprise. “From whom?”

From an old man who liked his cock sucked , was what he wanted to say, but he didn’t. And that was a hearty oversimplification, at any rate.

“From a mentor. He had no progeny of his own, and he decided I would do well for myself.” He paused, letting a smile touch his lips. “He was right.”

“I see.”

“I highly doubt it, Fitzwilliam.”

A knock sounded, and he rose to answer it. Thankfully, talking about his family, and about his mentor Gregory Hanford, had put his cock right back down.

“Supper, sir.”

“Thank you, Gage. Put it there if you please.”

Heavenly scents rose from the cart the attendant Gage wheeled in. Luc sat up in his chair, sniffing the air, and he grinned. Someone was hungry.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

He checked to be sure there was wine. “No, thank you, Gage. That will be all.”

The young man bowed and left, and he began lifting lids. Oysters. Salmon au natural. Venison and roasted vegetables.

And a lemon cake with elaborate icing. Thank God he hadn’t been served blancmange, which was one of Fergus’s favorite desserts to put on his menu, and one he served Rys if he was feeling particularly grumpy. It made Rys gag.

“Good God, that smells lovely.”

He chuckled. “It’s considered rude to comment on the food, you know.”

“Good thing I’m not in polite company at some debutante’s ball.”

The chuckle turned to a full-on laugh. “True enough. Come fill a plate, Luc. You look as hungry as Warrington at a buffet.”

If Luc noticed the change from Angelsey or Fitzwilliam to his given name, he did not let on. He rose, coming to load a plate with delicacies. “No one eats as much as Julian. I have no idea where he puts it.”

Rys noted Luc took fully half the oysters, and his body tightened again.

They had a certain effect on man, did oysters, which he would love to observe with Luc. Best not to think about it. This was just a novelty for Luc. Supper with the devil.

He loaded his plate with the rest of the oysters and small amounts of everything else. Might as well put on a show.

They sat across from one another, and he took up an oyster. “Down the hatch, hmm?”

“Indeed.” Luc raised one as well, and their gazes locked as they both slurped down.

He had to be imagining the spark that seemed to pass between them. Wishful thinking, no doubt. And it was a good thing it was false.

Luc Fitzwilliam would be a dangerous man for him to dally with. The man was not the type to simply find pleasure and move on.

But there was something there…

“Again?” Luc challenged.

His cock rose rock hard in his trousers. “Absolutely.”

They finished their starter that way, gazes locked, a strange tension filling the air. Then Luc broke the eye contact and grabbed a glass of wine, tossing it back quickly.

Interesting.

And damned arousing.

He cleared his throat. “So what of you, Luc? How do you fill your time, aside from meddling in my erstwhile family’s affairs?”

Luc took a deep breath, then grabbed his knife and fork to start on the fish. “I run three estates. I have investments I tend to. I play a lot of damned cards,” he finished, chuckling. “It’s deadly dull.”

“But dutiful.”

Luc’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “Yes. I have a duty to make sure things are well situated for my son.”

“Of course.” Yes. Luc was an earl. With an heir. He would do well to recall that at all times. “I’m sure you’re a fine father.”

“I try.” Luc mutilated the salmon on his plate with his knife. “And you? Have you any children?”

“God no.”

“That was definite,” Luc said, humor creeping back in.

“I am in no way obligated, thank God.” Not being the fourth son, an extra spare to be sure. And his proclivities did not run that way.

“No, I suppose not.” Luc pushed the fish aside, but the venison received more respect. It was the cake, however, that got Luc’s attention and admiration. He took his first bite and… moaned.

It was as sexual a sound as Rys had ever heard.

“Sweet tooth, hmm?” he murmured, wanting to lick Luc like the man was sucking on the fork.

“It’s amazing. You must try it.”

“Fergus has engaged a masterful pastry chef.” He did take a bite, and the tart lemon and smooth cream was indeed delightful. But Luc was enraptured.

He polished off one slice, then looked at the cart with a predatory eye.

“Go on, then. Have another.”

“I will, thank you.” Luc savored the second piece of cake, licking the fork and humming with pleasure.

And he immediately imagined that tongue on his cock. God help him, he needed to end this interlude.

As soon as they had finished a glass of brandy, Rys rose, angling his hips so Luc would not see his straining, erect member. “As pleasant as this has been, Fitzwilliam, I must get back to my club. My supper hour is over.”

The sensual, sated look on Luc’s face disappeared, his expression going blank. “Of course. Of course. Thank you for your help in this matter, Rys.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You are amassing favors owed to me.”

Luc moved to take up his coat, hat, and gloves, brushing past Rys in a rustle of fabric scented with leather and bergamot. “I am aware, and I always honor my debts. Good night to you, Rys.” Luc’s words came out tight and curt.

“Good night, Luc.”

He watched Luc go with real reluctance, then thumped his unruly cock with his middle finger to tame it down.

He was acting the fool. And it was time to get back to business.