Page 61 of The Devil Himself
“Would you like something else, my lord?” Tyrell asked, and Gareth had just opened his mouth to answer when a furious pounding set up at the front door, echoing through the entire lower floor of the house.
Tyrell turned a panicked gaze to Rys, who rose, nodding to Luc to join him.
Joe appeared, his big form moving with a silent sort of grace, and he stopped in front of Gareth. “Come along, my young Lord. We need to get you out of the line of fire.”
Gareth also looked to Rys, who waved a hand, and he left with Joe, two more men falling in line with them as they took the young man up the stairs.
“Answer the door, Tyrell,” Rys told the butler. They both took up positions in the foyer along with Deacon Collingsworth’s men. There were more men outside, he knew, waiting to see what Rys’s command would be.
Tyrell opened the door and stepped back out of the way, as he had been warned to do, because Arthur charged into the house like a rampaging bull, his face red, his clothing in utter disarray. His last stop on the road must have included a great deal of liquid courage.
“Where is he?” Arthur shouted. Clearly, he was in his cups, his words slightly slurred as he swayed on his feet.
“Do you really think I’m going to let you anywhere near him?” Rys’s voice snapped like a whip, and he stepped forward slightly.
Luc hated that he had put himself in the front as a target, but he understood what he was trying to do. Rys truly meant to draw Arthur out and make him do something stupid in front of witnesses.
“You!” Spittle flew when Arthur shouted. “You ruined everything. Why did you have to come back? Why couldn’t you just stay gone? You never gave a damn about this family.”
Rys’s smile was incredibly insulting, Luc thought. Deliberately provoking. “I think I’ve proven rather strongly that I do care about certain members of this family more than you ever could, and I will not let you hurt the boy.”
Arthur’s gaze flitted to the grand stairs as if he was gauging his ability to gain them before he was stopped. Luc drifted toward the stairs, making a blockade.
Arthur’s face darkened even more. “You ruined everything. You and your bugger of an earl.” Arthur pulled a pistol out of his jacket, which surprised Luc. Frankly, he thought Arthur would resort more to subterfuge or wheedling. He pointed it at Rys, but then the barrel wavered between Rys and Luc, who balanced on the balls of his feet, his heart kicking into high gear.
One of Deacon’s men was circling around behind Arthur, ready to disarm him at a moment’s notice, and Luc felt relatively confident that this would all be over soon when they heard shots ring out from above the stairs.
Arthur’s wild laughter rang out. “Too late! He’s bloody well dead now!”
“Take him!” Rys shouted before whirling on his heel and running as if the real devil was actually at his back.
Luc followed, hearing a high-pitched horrified scream and another shot booming out. He raced after Rys, taking the stairs two at a time.
He could only hope they weren’t too late for Gareth.
Twenty-Seven
Rys hit the landing on the second floor and turned, racing down the hall to where he knew Gareth’s bedchamber lay. How could he have been so blind as not to realize that Arthur would have some kind of an accomplice in all of this? He’d known he was missing something, and it had been someone urging Arthur to follow through on this scheme. If it wasn’t Daffyd, then who was it?
He reached the end of the hall where Sauce Box Joe sprawled on the floor, blood seeping from his shoulder, his eyes only half open. “She came in through the window,” Joe croaked.
Rys’s pistol dangled from his hand until he remembered finally that he held it. He burst through the door, hoping against hope that Gareth was still alive and unharmed. He skidded to a halt again when he saw the tableau.
“Stay back!” The cocking of an ancient dueling pistol sounded loud in the room, and Rys stared at the lovely, if exhausted, young woman who stood with an arm wrapped around Gareth’s neck. The mate to the pistol lay smoking on the floor. With a start, he realized she was the woman in widow’s weeds who had been at the inn where they had stopped the nightbefore. And the woman who had been outside his house when he was stabbed… Damnation.
“Who in the bloody blazes are you?” he snapped, evening the score by pointing his pistol at her. Gareth was just short enough that he could get a good shot in if he kept his hand steady. She was not a dainty woman.
Luc came to a halt behind him, just to his right where Luc could also get a shot off if need be. Two pistols against one were always better odds.
“I will shoot him, I swear. I will. Arthur says he’ll get the money if he dies.” The woman started backing away toward the window, which even if she had entered that way, seemed not the best plan to get out with Gareth, but then if this was Arthur’s mistress as he suspected, she was probably no more organized a criminal than his brother.
“Now, madam, there’s no need to be hasty.” Luc said it in a soothing tone. “You haven’t actually harmed him. If you just drop your pistol, we’ll let you go.”
She scoffed. “I shot the big fool in the hall. Do you really think that I believe toffs like you would let me go? You’ll send me off to the gaol and let Arthur go free because he’s the son of a marquess.”
Rys flashed her his most devilish smile, knowing it looked like that of a dangerous animal baring its teeth. “On the contrary. I intend to see Arthur hang for this. He’s downstairs being detained by several of my men. You don’t stand a chance, my dear. Let him go.”
Gareth simply stared at him, eyes like two holes burned in a blanket. The lad had to be terrified; his lips were almost devoid of color, but he stayed still as a statue, not crying or even shaking. Rys thought he was waiting for his opportunity, and he was incredibly proud of the young man.
