Page 42 of The Devil Himself
One of his footmen arrived with a length of rope. “Shall I tie him up, sir?”
“Yes.” He got up and hauled the man to his feet. “I will send for the constabulary.”
The footman, James, nodded. “Very good, sir.”
He walked back to the house, hand clamped over the wound on his arm, Luc at his side. “I need you to help me send messages, Luc. We need to send Hannah and her girls to the country.”
“They can go to my estate?—”
“No.” He cut Luc off with an apologetic glance. “Daffyd will think of that since you have been so much involved.”
“What about Warrington’s, then? Julian will protect them.”
“Good idea.” They stepped inside, where his butler waited with an agitation he rarely ever evinced. “Jarvis, send for a constable to take that man to Bow Street. They’ll see he makes his way to Newgate. I’ll send a message to Hannah to prepare to leave, and if either of my damned brothers are there, I’ll call them away to a meeting at their clubs. Luc, you get a hold of Warrington and send a message to Joe at Gareth’s school.”
“Done.” Luc dashed off notes with his quill and foolscap, sanding and folding them without sealing while Rys sent footmen to Hannah and then wrote a note to Harris at the club for more guards for Hannah and for his own home.
“Let me see your arm, Rys,” Luc said.
“It is truly only a scratch, Luc.”
Luc stared at him, eyes ablaze. “Do you remember what you said about how you felt when I was shot?”
He pondered that. “Yes. I almost died of the fright.”
“Well, then, you will let me look at your arm.”
His eyes widened, and his lips opened, but then he understood, and he nodded. “Very well. But then we must make sure that Hannah and Gareth, and you, are safe.”
“And you.”
“I’m more worried about Daffyd setting fire to my club.” He wouldn’t put it past Daffyd at all.
“He hired someone to kill you!”
“Well, he did not succeed.”
“Rys!” The strangled shout finally made him relent, and he struggled out of his coat so he could roll up his shirtsleeve.
A shallow wound no longer than a few inches in length oozed blood sluggishly.
“I need brandy to clean it and something to bandage it with, Jarvis,” Luc snapped.
His butler jumped to, and soon enough he was well cared for and was upstairs dressing in clean clothing. Rage burned hot in his belly, but he pushed it down, his need to protect those he cared for, despite all of his protests and misgivings, too strong to let anger rule him.
When he returned downstairs, he strode to the breakfast room, Luc following him. Might as well sit with Luc and eat while they made a plan. A thought occurred to him, and he called to the footman. “Send for Jarvis, if you please.”
“What may I do, my lord?” Jarvis said as he came into the room moments later.
“I need to move Lady Hannah and her children somewhere else. But the country is difficult if we need to get to them. Luc, do you think Warrington would take them to his aunt?”
“Lady Moreton? Yes. Yes, I think he would.” Luc smiled at Jarvis. “Lord Warrington will be at breakfast still. His house is number seven, Hill Street, just off Berkeley Square. Please summon him here.”
Jarvis bowed and turned on his heel, all but running. The old man had earned his wages lately.
Rys snorted. “If we interrupt his breakfast, he can come eat with us.”
“He will happily do so. His cook is, at best, adequate. She’s been with his household since his grandfather’s time.”
