Page 28 of The Devil Himself
Rys left the club as quickly as he’d entered. It could hardly be good for business to be seen in a competing club, but more than that, he wanted to get home to check on Luc.
The idea that Luc was there, in his home, waiting for him, filled him with satisfaction.
He might as well enjoy it while it lasted, no matter the circumstances that caused it.
Eleven
Luc woke to the fire having burned down in the grate, the blankets that had been placed over him a welcome ward against the chill in the room. The chesterfield was hardly a good substitute for a bed, but by the time they had moved him from the club to Rys’s home, and he had sent a message to his staff to accept the decoy and to act as though he was convalescing at home and not accepting visitors, Luc had been too tired to climb the stairs.
So he had told Rys he would wait for him here in the study.
He groaned, trying to rise to a sitting position. He rather desperately needed to use a chamber pot that Rys had pointed out to him when they had arrived.
“Let me help you, Luc,” Rys said quietly from the desk, making his heart leap, startling him badly.
“I’m afraid I’m in need of the chamber pot.” He grimaced, his weakness aggravating him. He should be past this by now, but the doctor had told him the bullet had done some damage and to be patient.
“Come on, then.” Rys crossed the room to help him, and he leaned hard on that solid body, letting Rys’s heat seep into him. “How do you feel?”
“Sore. Thirsty.”
“I’ll ring for a tray once you’re done here. Do you need help?” Rys took him to a tiny room, hidden away in a hall under the stairs. Ingenious.
“I can manage.” And he did, but he knew Rys was right outside, ready to lend aid. It was both humiliating and reassuring.
“Done,” he said as he exited the door. Washing up had been the hardest part, and now he felt as if gravity was yanking him down toward the floor.
“Come along. We’ll feed you while I relate what I found out, and then we can put you to bed.”
“I am not a child,” he snapped, grunting as Rys eased him back to sitting on the sofa.
“I know.” Rys gave him a once-over that made his cheeks heat, something about it scorching. It made him tongue-tied and clumsy.
“Oh.” He swallowed hard as Rys strode to ring for a footman. “What news?”
“Let me get you something to eat and drink.”
“Did you dine?” He thought he recalled that Rys had promised dinner with him.
“No. I’ll get us a variety, shall I?”
“Please. Though I’m not certain I’m up to oysters.” The sweat from his exertions was drying, and he simply wanted something to drink now. His throat felt parched.
Laughing, Rys ordered supper from the footman, but Luc was only half listening. His arm throbbed, his breath slowing as his heart stopped pounding.
Rys joined him again, sitting opposite him on the sofa, which seemed intimate, somehow. Improper, but it wasn’t as if he was a society debutante who could be compromised, so he needed to simply stop letting Rys affect him so.
He blinked hard, trying to stay awake, but he still dozed until the tray came, bearing soup, bread, cold meat and cheese, and a variety of juices and water from Rys’s private cistern.
One of the maids had brought him some earlier, explaining how they still boiled it, just in case.
“Luc. Did you want to eat, my dear?”
His dear? He blinked his eyes open, the low light casting a glow on Rys’s raven’s wing hair. “Please. I’m sorry.”
“No need. You had a long day, and you are far from recovered. The doctor assured me that close up to the shoulder as it was, the shot injured more muscle than lower on your arm might have. Now, there’s some nice pea soup, some bread and butter, some cold chicken, and some juice, tea, and water.”
“You’ll have a plate with me?”
