Page 21 of The Devil Himself
He unclenched his teeth with a great force of effort. He looked down. Ink stained his fingers from where he’d been gripping his quill in both hands as if he might break it in half.
Whatever his complicated feelings about his family and this whole mess with Owen’s murder, Rys knew one thing. He would hunt down whoever had hurt Luc and make them pay.
A soft knock sounded at his door, and he tossed down his pen with an oath. “Come!”
“Mr. Grey?” One of his burly attendants stuck his head in the door. “A Viscount Warrington to see you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Send him in.”
Julian, Viscount Warrington, swept into his office, his overcoat flapping around his legs. “What the devil is going on, Rys? Tell me Luc hasn’t actually been shot.”
“Hello to you too, Warrington. Do have a seat.”
Julian took off his coat, tossing it over a hook on the stand near the door. “I will, thank you. What in the name of hell is happening?”
He studied Julian for a moment. Heaven knew, he was a handsome one, with his rich chestnut hair and his whisky-brown eyes, his face a study in planes and angles and sensual lips. They had been more than friends for a brief while, but Julian had been on a campaign to become more respectable of late, thanks to his dear old aunt and mum, and had not been to the club in some time.
Rys steepled his inky fingers in front of him. “I was led to understand that you knew the situation and were making inquiries.”
“I have been. But who shot him?”
“One assumes the same person who shot Owen.”
Jules’s expression changed to one of distress. “I had no idea he was your brother at the time, Grey. My sympathies.”
“We were estranged.” He tapped his fingers together. “Luc says you and Owen were friends, so I imagine my sympathies are with you. I am more concerned with Fitzwilliam.”
Jules gave him an appraising look. “Like that, is it?”
“It does not appear to be mutual, but yes, it is.” He was nothing if not honest, and Jules was discreet.
“How is he?”
He scowled. “Shot. In the upper arm near the shoulder. He was damn lucky. He said he turned about on some instinct, or he would have taken it square in the back.”
“Christ.”
“My sentiments precisely.” He stared at Julian. “What have you discovered?”
Jules frowned. “Not good things. I would just as soon relay them to both you and Luc at the same time.”
“I have no idea when he will awaken.”
“Hmm. How about a drink then?”
He cracked a smile finally. “Jules, it’s barely gone noon.”
“Luncheon?”
Snorting, Rys shook his head. Julian did love his food to distraction. “Setting up camp, are you?”
“Until I can see Luc for myself, yes.”
“Is it that way for you too?” Jealousy rose in his chest, bright red and hot, and Rys felt absolutely certain he did not care for it.
“No. We are good friends, Rys. Frankly, I’ve never seen Luc take on so much as flirtation, man or woman. Perhaps he loved his wife.” Julian shook his head, his nose wrinkling.
“They were an arranged match.” He remembered that much. “But mayhap. I have yet to eat today, so why not?” Rys rose and moved to ring for service.
