Page 41 of The Devil Himself
Rys yanked on his jacket, feeling utterly stifled in it. “Of course,” he said stiffly. “Please avail yourself of breakfast. Mrs. Enders has probably already done the work.”
“Thank you. I won’t disappoint her.”
The idea that he had disappointed Luc hung in the air behind that statement. But he was committed to his course now, and pride would not let him reverse it, so Rys made for the door and his escape, slipping past Luc to go down the stairs while Luc walked toward the guest chamber. He supposed he had been too obvious in his nervousness about their situation, and Luc had taken umbrage about it. That was the only explanation that made a lick of sense.
He nodded to his butler, Jarvis, as he sprang forward to open the front door, and then he strode down the steps. He would walk, he thought, and work off some of his unease and yes, anger.
He had not made any promises to Luc. They had not engaged in long talks about feelings and needs. So why was Luc acting like a spurned lover over him going into his very necessary work? He was a man of business, not a bloody nob who could go riding in the park or write sonnets.
When his boot touched the pavement, he noticed a young woman standing across the street, which was odd. She looked a bit like an expensive ladybird, and this was a quiet, end-of-a-street area in a well-heeled neighborhood. Her red hair owed nothing to nature, the tiny hat pinned to it doing nothing to hide it, and her gown was entirely too low-cut to be a morning dress.
She watched him with an intensity that bordered on insolence, then whirled about and marched toward the busier end of the road.
He turned toward St. James, his mind on both Luc and the mystery woman, so he did not notice the man who rushed toward him until the last moment, when the scrape of a boot over the cobbles alerted him.
He turned just in time to avoid the knife that was thrust at him, dancing back so it just missed his ribs. Hellfire! This man was trying to kill him.
He moved away in a circular dance that would be acceptable in any ballroom but was really something Sauce Box Joe had taught him. “Never let your feet be still,” Joe would say. “A moving target is harder to hit.”
So he kept moving, making the man work for it, and he got a deep snarl for his trouble, the man’s dirty face set in a scowl. “’old still, will you? I need to stick you!”
“Who sent you?” Rys barked, controlling his rage. He had to be on his guard and not get distracted, or his life’s blood would wind up in a puddle on the street. The man might be large, but he wasn’t clumsy, and his blade was wicked.
The man lunged at him. “Sommat who wants you dead.”
“Right.” Another lunge brought the man far too close, and Rys slapped the knife away with his forearm, the sting of a tiny cut making him grunt. Damnation, this was his favorite coat.
“Goddammit, just take yer medicine!”
He dodged the increasingly wild strikes, wondering how long it would take for someone to raise a cry. This wasn’t exactly a neighborhood where footpads were common or tolerated.
The door to his house flew open, and he heard the scrape of a boot on the stoop, and then Luc roared, “Duck, Rys!”
He dropped to the ground immediately, and a pistol discharged with a roar.
His assailant cried out, a high-pitched, surprised sound, and then dropped the knife and ran.
“Oh, I think not.” Rys gave chase, and now that the man was unarmed, he felt safer in leaping upon him and bearing him to the ground.
They landed with a thud, and Rys sat on the man, pressing down with all his weight.
The man howled, clearly in pain, and Rys was grateful that Luc was a good shot.
“Who sent you!” He roared, trying to find whatever wound the man had and press upon it.
“Ahhhh! Geroff!”
“Tell me, damn you.”
Luc came to stand over them, pistol dangling at the end of his hand. “Shall I have Jarvis reload so I may shoot him again?’
“I don’t think we need to do that, do we?” He found the bloody wound in the man’s forearm. And pushed. “Who?”
“Some rich toff. Looked like you, ’e did, only soft and paunchy. Said he wanted ’is brother killed. Sommat about an in’eritance, it were.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“No! Awww, leave off!”
