Page 17 of The Devil Himself
Luc rapped on the roof of the carriage. “I’ve changed my mind,” he called. “To the Devil’s Playground on St. James, if you please.”
“Yes, my lord!”
He was playing with fire. But Luc found he didn’t care. Excitement curled in his gut, and his cock firmed. What could a harmless fantasy cost him? He would indulge it for now.
The ride took longer than that to his club, and he had to work to keep from pressing a hand to his button fall, to keep from touching himself. He had always been a man who admired other men, but he had never so much as flirted with the idea of acting on it. First because he would never be disrespectful to his wife, Viola, and then because he felt he had a duty to Damien to be without scandal.
Rys made him want to explore such things. And he had a good idea that Rys wanted the same.
The carriage finally slowed, his coachman calling to him. “There’s a line-up, my lord. It may take a bit to get to the door. Shall I wait?”
“I’ll walk to the club. That way you can find a place to wait.”
“Very good, my lord.”
When he vaulted out of the carriage, there was quite the crush, indeed. It was early for supper or for evening entertainment, he thought, but mayhap there was something special going on at the Playground today. He walked toward the hell, set among tall Georgian buildings, the imposing facade on the corner property barely hinting at what lay within.
He was within ten feet of the door when something in the air around him changed, a feeling of unease touching the back of his neck. He turned to look behind him, his instincts screaming at him, and that was when the sound of a shot rang out, and icy cold pain seared his upper arm and shoulder, the impact spinning him almost in a full circle.
People shouted, the crush of carriages leaving most of them nowhere to go, and there was a great pounding of feet on the pavement as men ran, trying to escape the area.
Luc staggered, attempting to stay on his feet, and suddenly his coachman was there, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him upright. “Good God, my lord. You’ve been shot!”
“Have I?” He glanced at his arm, where a red stain was beginning to bloom.
“What should I do, my lord?”
“Get me into the club, Will.”
“The club?” Will’s voice rose in surprise.
“Yes.” His eyesight started to blur. “Rys. Mr. Grey. He will know what to do.”
“Yes, my lord.” Will towed him toward the club, fighting the flow of people, and just about the time they reached the doorman, Luc stumbled, his ears ringing, his knees giving out.
And then the world went dark.
Seven
“Grey! Rys! Come quickly!” Harris pounded on his office door, and the man wouldn’t interrupt his work on the accounts this way if it were not urgent, so he sprang to his feet and ran.
If someone was causing a problem in his club?—
Harris was pale as a sheet, and he led the way at a hard pace toward the front door, where a commotion was sweeping back toward him through the room.
“My God, he’s been shot!” was finally what he heard, and he increased his pace. Shot? Who would dare bring a firearm into his club?
The crowd parted, and he saw a man in evening kit leaning on a coachman, going by the fellow’s coat, and as he got close enough, he saw that it was Lucian Fitzwilliam.
Harris panted as they came up short in front of them. “He was shot on his way into the club, Grey.”
Fuck. He took in the scene with a glance, his heart beginning to race. Luc was slumped down on the coachman, barely conscious, his arm dangling, bleeding from high up near his shoulder. Blood dripped on the carpets, and the working ladies were beginning to scream.
“Let me have him.” Rys grabbed Luc’s arm off the coachman’s shoulders and bent, driving his shoulder into Luc’s midsection to hoist him into a lift. Luc was heavy as lead weight, but Rys hardly felt it. He needed to get Luc to a private chamber. “Harris! The red room.”
“Yes, sir.” Harris sprinted toward the back hall.
“Send for a physician,” he snapped as he carried Luc out of the gaming room. “And you, come with me and tell me what happened.”
