Page 20 of The Devil Himself
“How long have I been out?”
“It’s not quite five in the morning.” Rys stood, moving to bring him some water. “Drink up, and then I shall ring for hot water for your tea.”
“I’m still at your club. I apologize. I’m sure I can make it home with Will’s help.” Luc tried to rise, but pain shot through him, and he groaned, easing back down.
“You will do nothing of the sort. You will stay here where you are safe. Will took your carriage home.”
“I see.” He breathed through a round of throbbing pain. Honestly, when the lurid novels talked about a bullet graze, they made it sound so trivial. Then his eyes flew open, and he tried to sit up. “Gareth. Hannah.”
Rys put a hand on the side of his chest opposite his wound and gently eased him back down. “Hannah’s guards have been informed, and a message was sent to Joe.”
“Oh, good.” Nausea assailed him, and Luc closed his eyes. “That tea…”
“Coming right up.” Rys’s chuckle made him smile. The rustle of fabric told him Rys had gone to ring for the tea, and he dozed until Rys touched his chest again. “Your tea, Luc.”
“Thank you.” Not that he could sit up to drink it.
“Let me.” Rys shifted around, lifting his head so he could take a drink. The feel of that big, warm hand behind his head made the pounding in it ease somehow, and the tea soothed his raw throat.
“Did anyone see what happened?” Luc asked once he sank back down.
Rys set the tea aside, his mouth a hard line. “No. My men scoured the crowds, making inquiries while we waited for theauthorities to come. No one saw a thing. And the doctor assures me that the shot must have come from a hunting gun or one used to shoot targets.”
“So it happened from a distance. Damn.” Luc mulled that over.
“Apparently so.”
Luc had trouble focusing on Rys, so he narrowed his eyes to focus. “You do remember that both of your remaining brothers are avid target shooters and hunters?”
“I do. The ramifications are not lost on me. Would you like more tea?”
“Dammit, Rys?—”
“No.” Rys cut him off. “I know you want to dig into this problem, but I have men out scouring Town for information, watching Hannah and my brothers, and guarding your household. You just need to rest.”
He tried to get a deep breath, but pain snatched it away. “I?—”
“Sleep, Fitzwilliam. That is the best way to help everyone in this situation right now, including yourself. You need to mend.”
“Have you ever been shot?” His words slurred together, his body trying to shut down into slumber.
“No, but I have been stabbed. Much the same thing, my dear man. Now, sleep.” Rys stroked his hair back off his face, the touch oddly gentle and very welcome. Pleasing.
He leaned into it, smiling a little, letting Rys ease him down into his sleep.
Rys was right. He was no use to anyone if he didn’t recover. So he let himself drift away with Rys’s touch on his face.
Eight
Rys found it impossible to concentrate on his work.
He sat at his desk, but knowing that Luc was sleeping just down the hall in a private room, the door under guard by one of his best men, was itching at him.
Luc had awakened late this morning and taken some broth and some hothouse orange juice, and then he’d fallen back into a deep sleep after his dressing had been changed and his wound cleaned.
Christ.
Lucian Fitzwilliam had been shot on the very doorstep of the Devil’s Playground. Whoever had killed Owen had recklessly brought the fight to them in a very real way, and no one had seen a goddamned thing.
