Page 62 of The Devil Himself
She tightened her arm around Gareth’s neck, causing him to gurgle. “I have nothing to lose now, devil! I will take him with me.”
“And what Arthur has given you, is it worth this?” That was Luc, his voice impassioned, his hand still never wavering, though, where Rys could see it out of the corner of his eye.
“He promised me I would be a lady!” Her voice rose to a screech, but then she calmed. “It doesn’t matter now what he promised me. I’m not gonna get any of it, but I’m not gonna live through this either, so why shouldn’t I kill the boy?”
Rys advanced on her one slow step at a time, backing her toward the wall. “Because he’s just a boy, and because he hasn’t done anything to deserve it. Arthur killed his father, and he’s tried to kill both me and Lord Angelsey here. If you didn’t help him with any of that, then the worst you’ll get is time and gaol.”
“I think I would rather hang.” Her back hit the wall, one shoulder blade against it, the other at the open window, and Rys rushed at her because if nothing else he would grab Gareth before she tried to shoot him in order to distract him while she went out the window.
Her pistol wavered wildly, unlike his and Luc’s, and he knew that she would probably not be able to hit him with that ancient firearm. They were unpredictable at best even at short range. With any luck, it would jam on her or perhaps she wouldn’t be able to decide which of them to shoot. One way or the other, he had to stop her. Gareth was too important. He was family, real family. In fact, after this debacle, he would be the only blood family Rys still acknowledged.
“Let him go.” He stared into this unfortunate young woman’s eyes as she teetered and saw calculation and fear. She had gotten herself mixed up in Arthur’s mess, and now there was no way out. And desperate people did desperate things.
So he made a final lunge at her, smacking her pistol out of the way with the hand that held his own weapon. It went off, the shot going wide, and he could only hope to hell that it hadn’t hit Luc, but he couldn’t look now. Instead, he grabbed Gareth’s arm as she backpedaled even more, tearing the boy out of her grasp.
The woman screamed as she fell backward out of the house through the window, and Luc rushed to the opening to peer through as there was a sickening crunch outside. The fall was only one story, but that was enough. With a house like this, one story was enough for her to have broken her neck or crushed her head.
“Is she—" Gareth buried his face in Rys’s chest and shook. “Is she gone?”
“I don’t think we’ll need to worry about her any longer, regardless. Joe’s men have her surrounded even if she’s still alive.” Luc joined them. “Gareth, are you injured?”
“No, she hurt my neck, but I don’t think it’s anything permanent. Where is Uncle Arthur?” Gareth pulled back, eyes wide. “Sauce Box!”
“Your uncle is downstairs surrounded by our men.” He glanced out the bedroom door. “Joe is being tended.” By two people no less. “Where are the maid and footman?”
Gareth pulled away, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve. His expression hardened into something that was very marquess-like. “They ran. I’ll have to sack them.”
“I think that’s probably a very good idea.” He understood fearing for one’s life, but really, how could one not protect a lad of Gareth’s age?
Luc laid his pistol on the side table by the bed and then went to the hall to kneel next to Joe, who was being tended by a hired guard and the housekeeper. “How are you, Joe?”
“I’ll live, m’Lord, but I think we’re going to need to dig the ball out.” Joe grimaced as he and Gareth walked out into the hall.
“Thank you, Joe.” Gareth sounded shaky, his face ashen.
“Had to keep you safe, Master Gareth.”
“We will call for a physician,” Luc murmured, removing his jacket and folding it into a pad that he could put over the wound. “Thank you for not abandoning him.”
No, sir. I’ll never leave me post.”
“Good man.” Rys wrapped an arm around Gareth, who still wobbled. “Shall we go confront your uncle?”
Gareth nodded, that jaw still firmed up, his lips pressed tightly. “Together, yes. I want to look him in the eye when the magistrate comes for him and takes him to hang.”
Rys chuckled, because he supposed he and young Gareth had a great deal in common. “So do I, nephew. So do I.”
Twenty-Eight
By the time the magistrate came to take Arthur away and to hear the statements of everyone present, the doctor came and went to treat Gareth’s throat and Joe, who’d been shot in the shoulder, and they had dealt with the body of Arthur’s mistress, it was late in the evening. Gareth had gone to bed in a guest chamber, stating he did not want to stay in his own room, and he had taken a tray of food in his room rather than joining them for their simple supper of cold meats, cheeses, and bread.
To be perfectly honest, Luc was more interested in the wine. His nerves were, if not completely overset, then at least frayed around the edges like a torn piece of cloth.
He and Rys sat in relatively companionable silence in the study, eschewing the more formal dining room, both of them having taken off their coats and waistcoats along with their boots.
He had to admit Rys looked something like a pirate, or perhaps the devil he was named for. His shirt open at the neck, and his feet bare, he was so unutterably beautiful that Luc had trouble looking at him sometimes, because he didn’t think his heart could hold any more of what he felt.
They switched from wine to brandy after the meal was done, Rys striding over to the decanter to pour them both a snifter. Luc looked at Rys curiously when he sat back down across from him, raising his eyebrows.
