Page 23 of The Devil Himself
“I’ll send a message around. What about Arthur?”
Jules’s lips firmed, his jaw clenching. “He’s been spending recklessly. A house for his mistress. A new carriage and matched bays. A riding horse worth a small fortune.”
“We knew that much,” Luc murmured.
“But what you might not know is that he’s been borrowing heavily and promising to pay it off on a certain date.”
That caught his attention. “What date?”
“Three weeks hence.”
Stunned, he sat back, his mind racing. Three weeks, which meant whatever they had planned, it would happen in the next fortnight.
And he had to believe it was them, plural. Arthur was a ne’er-do-well with very little ambition. Daffyd, though, was a former soldier, and by all accounts, he’d been a good one, even if he’d had issues with authority.
“We don’t have much time to unravel this, then,” Luc said, then broke their concentration with a mammoth yawn.
“We should let you rest,” Rys said, rising.
“I can help…”
“Of course you can. But you need to mend first. I will send a message to Collingsworth, find out what I can about Daffyd.”
“And I will look into Arthur’s movements more closely,” Jules asserted.
“I can?—”
“You will rest,” Rys told Luc, their gazes clashing. He needed Luc to be whole. Not to get an infection. Luc healing was the most important thing to him. And he wasn’t going to examine that closely right now.
Luc searched his face, blue eyes cloudy with exhaustion. Then his shoulders relaxed. “Very well. But please keep me informed.”
“We will.” Julian went to put a hand on Luc’s good shoulder. “I’m glad to see you looking so well, my friend.”
The urge to snarl and knock Jules away from Luc surprised him, and he held it back, waiting for Jules to move to the door.
“If you need anything, just ring for it. I’ll return to check on you at suppertime.”
Luc chuckled. “Yes, nursemaid.”
He winked broadly. “I can’t have you expiring in my club.” Then he sobered. “We’ll figure this out, Luc. I promise.”
Luc smiled, nodding, his gaze as steady and sure as it had been since he was shot. “I believe you.”
“Thank you.” He touched Luc in the same place Jules had, as if to erase the contact, and then he turned on his heel to go before he did or said something utterly ridiculous.
Nine
Luc flexed his hand, a shaft of bright pain running down his arm. But it was not infected, and the wound had healed enough for the physician to remove his stitches and pronounce him out of danger and on the mend.
He’d been staying at Rys’s club for a week, and while he enjoyed the war room meetings he had with Rys and, on occasion, Jules, he needed to go home.
He was becoming far too accustomed to Rys’s company, and that did him no good. Mooning after what he couldn’t have was really not Luc’s style. He preferred to simply make a clean break with whatever it was that disturbed his peace.
He rang the bell for an attendant, because he needed his clothes and perhaps some breakfast, as well as to send a message to his house to have his carriage brought around.
“Yes, my lord?” the attendant said after knocking softly and opening the door.
Luc glimpsed a large man standing just outside, presumably the guard Rys had told him he had been assigned.
