Page 51 of The Devil Himself
His evening finery be damned. Luc was indeed set on getting to Gareth before Arthur did. “I’m ready.”
It looked as though Julian had been right. This little scheme of theirs had forced Arthur’s hand, and now they were the only things standing between Arthur and what he wanted. They would make damned sure he didn’t get it.
Twenty-One
Pushing horses as hard as they were this late at night and on a road that was wet with rain and pocked with the tracks of thousands of carriages and wagons was dangerous at best, madness at worst. It didn’t matter. Rys had to make sure they caught up to Arthur.
On the good side, while Arthur had once been a good horseman, he was no longer in the condition to keep riding at a hard pace all night long. Rys also felt certain that Arthur was under the impression Daffyd would never betray him and tell them where he was actually headed. Arthur no doubt assumed Daffyd would make arrangements for the duel a full day hence, thus giving him all the time in the world to pluck Gareth off at Eton after turning away from the coast and losing Rys’s men.
He glanced at Luc, who rode beside him, greatcoat collar pulled up to shield him from the drizzle, hat tugged low. Steadfast, he never once complained about the miserable conditions, pushing just as hard as Rys to get them to Gareth fast.
Julian was dealing with everything in Town, heading to his aunt’s to keep watch over Hannah, just in case.
Harris had also sent a message to Deacon Collingswood, asking him to make sure that Daffyd got on a damn boat to somewhere from whence he would find it difficult to return. Rys didn’t really want to have the responsibility of killing Daffyd. If indeed Daffyd was telling the truth that he had not participated in the worst of Arthur’s crimes, he was well enough off leaving the country as long as he never returned. Then all bets were off.
On horseback, assuming it only took the normal four or five hours to reach Eton, they would arrive around dawn, and he would be able to contact Sauce Box Joe in order to help them deal with Arthur. If they were lucky, Arthur would stop to rest at one of the coaching inns along the way, perhaps to trade horses. Arthur would be riding one of his pricey thoroughbreds rather than a road horse who was more suited to carrying such weight and traveling at a steady pace.
Either way the urgency of the situation pulled at him. Gareth was well protected; Rys knew he was, and yet he never would have thought that Arthur would have been able to shoot Luc right in front of his club or hire someone to stab him as he walked out his front door. So Arthur was truly capable of murdering the boy in cold blood.
It had been a very long time since Rys had felt the need to protect anyone other than himself, and he was certain he didn’t care for the intensity of the feeling. But that did not matter right now.
What mattered was getting to Eton.
The rain picked up, beating down on them, forcing Rys to pull up on the reins. They had to slow in order to keep the horses from slipping. Even the tiny delay chafed at him, making his hands tighten on the reins and his horse dance beneath him.
As if reading his mind, Luc glanced over at him, his blue eyes looking silver in the night. “You know he will stop somewhere inthis mess. He thinks he has until dawn tomorrow, and he’s too damn lazy and fond of his creature comforts.”
“Is he? Indeed, he always has been, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Everything in me is screaming to keep moving. I feel as though we’re missing something.”
Luc’s rich chuckle made him grin in return. The man made him happy, damn it all. “Luckily for you, I may be a fragile flower when it comes to getting shot, but I’m not when it comes to being out on the road in the rain.”
He snorted. “Have I ever said you were a fragile flower?”
“Oh, no, but Jules was happy to point out that you were stabbed, and you barely even noticed it, whereas I was grazed with a ball and I was under the weather for several days.”
“Now, love, I’ve been on the street since I was eighteen. This is not my first stabbing.”
Luc’s laughter stopped as if it had been cut off by a sword. “Yes, I’ve seen your scars, and I’m sorry for it. I hate that these things happened to you.”
“Why? You did not disown me.”
“I did nothing for you, either, and I knew you then. I could have helped.”
Rys scoffed at the very idea. “We were young. You weren’t that much older than me. Not as old as Owen, even, but somewhere in between. You were very busy being married and having a baby, and I wasn’t one to ask for help.” He waved the hand not holding the reins in the air. “That’s water under the bridge, Luc.”
“I know. I do. Sometimes, I just think about it and wonder if I would have been able to do anything.”
“No. Had you helped me back then, we wouldn’t be equals now.” Being Luc’s equal was important to Rys. Neither of them was above the other when it came to their role in life. “I would bebeholden to you, and we would never have found what we have together.”
Luc tilted his head, water sloshing off the brim of his hat. “I suppose that’s true.” His teeth flashed in a bright grin that was far more pleasant than the dreary night around them. “And I like what we found together.”
“Good. So do I.” They turned off on another road, and it seemed to be in better condition despite the rain, so Rys nodded to Luc. “Shall we pick up the pace?”
Luc just touched his heels to his horse’s side and broke into a canter once more. Rys followed, and while he was still feeling the urgency riding him, knowing that they needed to get to Gareth, there was something about Luc’s admission that made him incredibly pleased. Warming him despite the cold rain.
He was sure the feeling was ridiculous, but that didn’t matter at all. What did matter was that Luc seemed to feel the same way.
By the timethey reached Eton, Luc was sore, utterly bedraggled, and so wet that he thought perhaps his skin would never straighten out from all the wrinkles it bore.
