Page 13 of The Devil Himself
“Dine with me, then. I shall ring for a repast.” He was playing with fire, at best, and he knew it. Angelsey had been married; he undoubtedly preferred women. But Rys wanted to indulge himself for a while. Enjoy the fantasy and give himself fuel for when he took himself in hand later.
“Dining at the Devil’s Playground with the devil himself, hmm? Well, why not?” Luc chuckled. “I hear you have an amazing chef.”
“I do. He pretends to be French if he needs to encounter the paying customers, but he’s a Scot. Do you prefer fish or meat?”
“Whatever is on the menu.” A small smile played about Luc’s mouth, his eyes dancing.
“What do you find so amusing, Angelsey?”
“Just the idea of me being here, having supper with you, I suppose.” Luc waved a hand. “I’ve never been invited to be a member, after all.”
“You have never had the reputation of a scoundrel, have you?” He rang for an attendant and ordered a sumptuous supper before closing the door and going to pour them both a drink. Whisky, since the brandy would come after.
“I have done my duty by my title.” Luc’s expression changed, grimness creeping in. “But I find myself more willing to try new things of late.”
“Are you now?” He glanced at Luc, his body responding to the idea in a favorable way. He sat, crossing one booted foot across the opposite knee to hide his enthusiasm to show Luc new things.
“Mmm.” Luc sipped his whisky.
He needed to change the subject. “So tell me about Owen.” Where had that come from? He’d never given his oldest brother the courtesy of his thoughts since their confrontation at his father’s funeral. But he did need conversation, and asking Luc to touch him was out of the question at the moment.
Luc’s brows winged up. “What do you want to know?”
“You say he was a good man.”
“He was. He doted on Hannah and Gareth and the girls, and he used to tell me he would never take after his father and neglect his wife and children. He lowered the rents, and now the estate produces and supports itself.”
“So he made it profitable?” He tapped his glass with his fingers. Harris had told him the bald financial details, of course, but he needed the full picture.
“He did. And he invested well. Don’t you see, Rys? There’s a great deal of money, and only part of it is available to Daffyd now.”
He tilted his head. “Now just Daffyd?”
Luc shrugged. “He’s the one who announced his intention to wed Hannah.” Those blue eyes burned at him. “I know it hardly signifies, but I have not seen Arthur at Owen’s house.”
“And young Gareth? What manner of young man is he?” Now that he’d let his curiosity out, it seemed to be running rampant.
“He’s a good lad. He gets along with his siblings, does well in school. He’ll do right by the title.” Luc’s expression went fond.
“As if I care about that.” He never had given a whit that his father held a high rank. It had meant less than nothing to his prospects.
Luc sobered. “I’m sorry for what he did to you, Rys. Your father. And I understand that no one stepped up to help. So I appreciate your aid to Gareth.”
“Bah.” The noise escaped him unwillingly. “It’s for Hannah that I do this. She was always kind to me.” And that was true enough.
“My turn,” Luc said, turning his whisky glass in circles. “How did you come about the idea to open a club?”
He chuckled, though the sound held no mirth. “I inherited the place, actually. The building was sound, and some of the workers were good, but it was a seedy establishment at best. They were talking about tearing it down to make way for another club, but I rebuilt it from the ground up.”
“Inherited it?” That had Luc’s expression turning to surprise. “From whom?”
From an old man who liked his cock sucked, was what he wanted to say, but he didn’t. And that was a hearty oversimplification, at any rate.
“From a mentor. He had no progeny of his own, and he decided I would do well for myself.” He paused, letting a smile touch his lips. “He was right.”
“I see.”
“I highly doubt it, Fitzwilliam.”
