Page 60 of A Deal with the Devil

Chapter Fifteen

There was a dagger in his hand even as he pushed her against the brick wall, covering her entirely with his body. She squeaked in surprise. There was a second dagger—he knew because he felt it slice into his upper arm before clattering against the wall. A searing bite of pain, inconsequential until he was satisfied Kitty was safe.

He turned, his back still shielding her. Only a couple of pedestrians had noticed, one of them pale as boiled parsnips. The others walked on, unconcerned. London—love it or hate it, it would not change, not for anyone.

Macleod glared between the passersby, between the carriage, the froth of London obscuring his view. “I sent Michael after him.”

Kitty tried to peer around Devil, but he would not let her. He was not convinced it was safe yet.

She poked him in the kidney. He ignored that too, glancing at MacLeod. The other man nodded. “Safe enough now, I reckon.”

“Excuse me.” Kitty pinched him. Hard. “You’re crushing me, Lord Birmingham.” He eased away reluctantly. She popped away from the wall. “What on earth just—You are bleeding!” Outrage darkened her eyes from gray to nearly black. Outrage for him.

He looked down at his sleeve. “I liked this coat.”

“Rhys!” She looked around frantically, finally plucking a handkerchief from a passing gentleman who protested until he saw the look on Devil’s face. And the blood spattered on the pavement at his feet. He hurried away as Kitty folded the thick material and pressed it to Devil’s wound. “You need a doctor.”

He smiled at her.

She glowered. “Do not smile at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a silly woman. You’ve been stabbed.”

“Barely.”

“Choke on your pride, Lord Birmingham. You’re having it looked at.”

Devil grinned. He couldn’t help it. Despite the simmering fury he planned to take out on the attacker when Michael dragged him back.

MacLeod blinked at Devil, who could not remember the last time his friend had looked so shocked. “You’re smiling.”

“Shut it.”

Macleod nodded solemnly to Kitty. “You’re right. He does need a doctor.”

Devil, being as stubborn as a boatful of cats, would not let Kitty summon a doctor. He even insisted on stopping at a bakery to procure bread and marmalade for her breakfast.

He really was a madman.

She tried not to like it so much. Especially as he was still bleeding. For her? Possibly. Had the knife been aimed at him or at herself? Either way, he had shielded her.

He let her bully him into her shop, which sported gleamingly clean windows, thanks to Wulf’s standing guard overnight. Devil nodded his approval. “Continuous guard.”

Wulf noticed the tear in his sleeve, the bloody handkerchief, and nodded back. “Aye.”

Kitty brought Devil to her chair in the back room and was gratified to find there was still clean water in the kettle over the cold ashes of the grate. She made quick work of gathering a cleaning bowl, more rags, soap. She had thread somewhere, but she had never stitched up a person. She did not think he would appreciate a griffin embroidered in gold thread on his arm.

He shrugged out of his coat. She could hear the sounds of his cravat being pulled loose. She turned just in time to see him pull his lawn shirt over his head, baring his torso. He was solidly muscular, more sun-kissed than she would have imagined for an earl, and dusted with hair. She tried not to stare. To salivate.

And then he shifted so that his wound was visible, and all of her prurient interest slid away. It was not a deep wound, but it was ragged. It looked painful. She sucked in a breath. “Sit down.”

He lowered himself into a ladder-backed wooden chair with a careless groan, as if he had gone for a long, exerting walk instead of being attacked in broad daylight on Ludgate Hill.

“Oh, Rhys,” she murmured, dabbing at the blood with a clean, wet cloth. It had once belonged to an old nightshift she had pulled apart for rags.

“This is not the first time someone has tried to stab me,” Devil said, unconcerned. “It’s not even the fifth time.”