Page 63 of A Deal with the Devil

“But everyone else?”

“I don’t care about them. They can go to hell. I’m not a kind man, Kitty.”

Ha. She was beginning to see right through him.

“You saved my life,” she said. “And I’ve been called a violent termagant too many times to get swoony over a tiny threat of murder.”

Although she was quite sure it had been a promise and not a threat. Never mind. She was also quite sure she should not find it so comforting. She’d told him he ought to work on his character, but obviously she should do the same.

“Who has called you that?” he demanded.

She snorted. “Who hasn’t?”

He did not look amused. Being stabbed and bleeding all over himself amused him, apparently. Her being insulted did not.

She was in so very much trouble.

When Devil returned to the Sins, Michael had already found his attacker, as suspected. Macleod had tied him to a chair in a small back room mostly used for storing supplies for the housemaids. The man was shaking and Devil hadn’t even opened his mouth yet. He shut the door behind him, disgusted.

The man whimpered. His jaw was bruised, blood on his teeth.

Macleod snorted. “This one’s not exactly brave.”

“Stupid, though,” Devil said. “For putting a lady in danger. My lady.”

The man visibly gulped. Devil recognized him—an earl’s third son with an addiction to horse racing. Cock fighting. Bear baiting. Devil couldn’t abide that kind of gambling. He’d seen too much death. Too much violence to be impressed by violence for violence’s sake. He made a point to wager on the bear.

“Emmett,” he said.

Emmett jerked at this name.

Macleod handed Devil a debt vowel, even though he did not need it. “You owe me three thousand pounds,” he continued coldly. “Killing me won’t wipe out your debt.” And yet someone always insisted on testing the theory. “More importantly, you came at me in the vicinity of Miss Caldecott. I could happily toss you in the Thames with a stone around your neck for that.”

He had never done any such thing. But Emmett didn’t know that, judging by the state of him.

“Christ, man. If you piss yourself in here, you’re only going to make me angrier.” Devil leaned over, barely restrained violence in a superfine wool coat. “Tell me about Portsmouth.”

“Wh-what?”

“The Earl of Portsmouth. Have you been talking to him?”

“N-no,” Emmett stammered. “Why would the earl talk to me?”

As Devil presumed, but he would not leave it to chance. “You attacked me of your own volition?”

When Emmett did not immediately answer, Devil arched a brow.

“Yes!” the man finally replied. “I… Three thousand pounds. I can’t…”

“I didn’t make the wagers,” Devil reminded him. “You made them. You’re obviously banned from any future Devil’s Nights and from this club. In fact, you are banned from London altogether.”

“From London?”

“It’s time you disappeared.”

London assumed Devil went around murdering people for fun. It was hardly necessary. He only needed the illusion of it with the certainty of retribution and consequences for crossing him.

“Let’s make it from England entirely.”

“But where would I go?”

“Not my problem.” He could call a magistrate or a constable, but Emmett’s father was an earl and it would not make the kind of statement that needed to be made. Miss Caldecott was off-limits.

Emmett was choking on fear and a bit slow to realize his good fortune. “But…”

And Devil’s patience had run out. “If I see you again, it will be the last thing you see.”

Macleod shook his head. “Mate, the other way to disappear is facedown in the river. Say thank you and run, idiot.”

Emmett visibly gulped. “Thank you.”

“Go on,” Devil said, slicing through his ropes. He was not careful about it. “You have until sundown. Run.”