Page 57 of The Devil Himself
“He could, but for Gareth’s sake, it might be the best thing to go the gentle route.”
“Mmm. I suppose that’s true.” He hadn’t thought about that side of things. He supposed Gareth wouldn’t want it on his conscience having Arthur killed just because of him. Although one never knew. Gareth might be anxious to see Arthur taken care of considering that he was probably the one who had killed Owen. Of everyone in this situation, Gareth and his mother Hannah had lost the most, and perhaps he ought to consult the boy about what he wanted to be done with Arthur. He was the marquess now, after all.
They sat for a long while after that, letting the brandy stretch out into the night, letting the fire burn down in the grate. The lady had long since finished her scribbles and retired, and the innkeeper was obviously trying to encourage them to go to bed by not coming to stoke it back up. Rys found himself nodding, his eyes heavy.
He sighed. “I suppose we should go up and join Gareth and allow Joe to get some sleep. It had to be a long day riding atop the box for him.”
“I didn’t think about that, but you’re right.” Luc stood, setting the empty glass aside and holding his hand out for Rys. He lowered his voice again. “At least we’ll get to share the bigger of the two beds.”
“We will.” He shot Luc a devilish grin. “Of course, that will be an exercise in frustration since Gareth is in the room.”
“True. Perhaps we should put a wall of pillows between us.” They walked together to the stairs.
“Like the swords of the medieval knights dividing the bed so there is no touching?”
“Is that not me?” Luc asked. “A medieval maiden, terribly concerned with my virtue?”
He gave Luc a heated look. “No, you’re my angel, and you never need to worry about me sullying you. It’s not possible.”
Luc just laughed, the sound warm and fond. “Honestly, Rys, you’re the Devil Himself, and I hope that you sully me at every opportunity we have, even if tonight is not one of those times.” And with a wink, Luc turned and gave Rys a most impressive view of his tight arse clad in buckskin breeches as he climbed the stairs.
Twenty-Four
Hallowarren House rose, enormous and stately, just as Luc remembered it from younger days spent with Owen there. He had been to many a house party at Owen’s ancestral home, and he always found it rather imposing and somewhat cold. Rys’s parents and the generations before them had never failed to maintain a keen sense of what it meant to be a marquessate, he supposed.
Gareth seemed tense as they pulled up in front of the house, his shoulders going up around his ears. Luc reached over to ruffle the boy’s hair. “I do understand, but don’t forget that you’re the marquess now. You decide how this will proceed.”
Gareth looked up at them with those smoky gray eyes so like Rys’s, and Luc thought he liked that idea. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good.”
Sauce Box Joe knocked on the door to give them warning that he was going to open it and then pulled it wide so they could emerge. He bowed slightly, pulling his forelock. “You stretch your legs, gents. I’ll make the rounds and make sure all is well.”
“Very good.” Rys smiled at Gareth. “I would imagine that the servants are going to start spilling out like alarmed ants at anymoment. They have no idea you’re coming, so they will be upset that there was no warning.”
Gareth rolled his eyes. “They’re always upset with me about something.”
Luc had to snort at that because his servants were always yelling at him about not giving them warning, about not consulting with them, not allowing them enough time to get what he wanted accomplished. They were like family, his servants, at least in his country house, and he adored them all.
“Not all of them will be put out. Is Mrs. Laverty still the housekeeper?” Rys asked.
“She is.” Gareth smiled back. “And Cook still makes the best raisin buns.”
“Ah, I remember those with incredible fondness.” Rys rubbed his belly, making humming sounds, which made Gareth laugh.
These tiny insights into Rys’s good memories of childhood warmed Luc’s heart. The man underneath the Devil Himself was complex and layered, and he truly enjoyed getting to know this Rys just as much as he did the naughtier version who ran the club in London.
Although Luc wanted to reacquaint himself with the naughty version as soon as possible. It had been torture sitting in such close contact with Rys for so many hours and not being allowed to touch him or kiss him. He understood, though, that they were on a mission, and that this was not a pleasure trip.
As if reading his mind, Rys caught his gaze and gave him a wicked grin.
Moments later, the front door did open, and several servants spilled out, gawking at them and then springing into a flurry of action. The butler Luc recognized as the same one who had been there when he was a youth and all through the house parties he’dattended—although he couldn’t remember the fellow’s name—scurried over to them.
“Master Gareth. I mean, my lord. We did not expect you. Are you opening up the house?”
“’Tis only going to be a short visit, Tyrell,” Rys said gently. “Gareth needed to get away from school for a day or two.”
Tyrell’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. “Lord Rys. What are you— I mean, how good to see you!”
