Page 26 of The Devil Himself
“Ah. You want whatever information I might have about his actual movements.”
“Yes, I do. Who does he play cards with? Who does he sleep with? What does he brag about when he’s in his cups?” Rys needed information to form a plan.
A muscle ticked in Deacon’s jaw. “That might not be in your purview, Rys. He is a client.”
He met that green gaze directly. Deacon was truly a force of nature, much as he was. “Owen was murdered, Deacon. I have reason to believe Daffyd and Arthur are at fault.”
Deacon’s sharp intake of breath told him how serious the accusation was. “Good God, Rys. Do you really think they would do him in?”
“Yes.” Rys had no doubt in his mind now. He simply needed to prove it.
“Very well. Let me call someone in, Rys, who may have more information than I.” Deacon rose to ring for a runner, who he instructed, “Bring me Cora, if you please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cora?”
“Daffyd’s preferred evening companion. She sits with him while he gambles and drinks and entertains him afterward.”
“Ah.” Now they were getting somewhere. “Excellent. Thank you, Deacon. I owe you.”
That got him a wolfish grin. “Why do you think I’m helping you?”
He snorted, but it was true enough. Men such as they dealt in secrets and promises. The more they could gather, the better their position to do business.
The door opened forthwith, and a lovely lady with coppery hair wearing a parody of a proper morning gown, her bosomheavily on display, entered. They both stood, allowing her to seat herself. “Mr. Collingsworth. Is aught amiss?”
“No, not at all, Cora. My friend here would just like to ask you a few questions.”
A slight frown marked the area between her pretty brows. “About what, sir?”
“Grey?”
She started, her eyes widening. “The devil himself?”
“Hello, Cora.” He gave her his most charming smile, the one he used on nervous, first-time customers. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“Mr. Grey,” she breathed. “My sister worked for you, she did. Married a pugilist she met there.”
“Really?” He didn’t have to feign his surprise. “Hazel is your sister, then?”
She clapped her hands with delight. “You remember her!”
“Her wedding was quite an event.” He ignored Deacon’s quiet snort. “I am led to understand you are very good friends with a certain customer. A Lord Daffyd.”
Her expression turned wary. “I serve him while he’s here, yes.”
“I understand.” He sat forward, forearms on his legs, his hands clasped loosely. “Does he brag a bit?”
She pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Aye, sir. Always bragging about how he’s got control of the Hallowarren fortune, and how he’s to be the next marquess if he plays his cards right.”
“Ah, now, that’s what I need. Right there.” He matched the cadence of his voice to hers a bit, knowing it would relax her further. “And what of his debts?”
“Oh, sir, he gambles so. And he loses badly.” She glanced at Deacon, who nodded slightly. “But he says soon he’ll be able to pay them off.”
“Does he say how?”
“No, sir. Just that a few weeks hence, he’ll have all the money he needs.”
