Page 74 of A Deal with the Devil

“You already have.”

“Oh, just you wait, firecracker.” He laughed softly.

It took every ounce of self-control not to squirm. Not to press her thighs together.

“Lust is on the top floor,” he said as if he knew exactly how she was struggling. His half-smile was wicked, a flash of lightning. “Selene is in charge of the brothel.” Kitty remembered Selene from the Devil’s Night. She was stunning and clever and could easily run an empire. “We will just bust heads when necessary. And you’ve seen Pride, which is the entrance hall. Tom’s domain, memberships, guest lists, and the like.”

Devil had given him the power to close the door in the faces of those who would close every door in his. It was brilliant. Perceptive.

“Envy and Gluttony are nearly finished.” He led her up the stairs. “And this is Greed.”

Greed took up the entire floor, with rows of card tables and billiard tables, three roulette wheels, and a sharp-eyed man keeping an eye on the proceedings. The excitement was palpable—the entire building thrummed with it. The pause before the storm broke.

Sloth was a series of rooms with luxurious carpets, soft chairs, even beds piled high with pillows. Candles burned and a silver carafe of coffee waited on a low table, more chairs clustered together where drinks would be served. “A place to rest, a moment between floors,” Devil explained. “But it needs something.”

Kitty tilted her head. “It needs books.”

He paused, then nodded. “Of course it does.”

“Naughty ones.”

“Naturally. You are brilliant, Miss Caldecott.”

Oil lamps had been lit, and they lent a softness to the dark and dramatic décor. The red stained glass, the gilded scrollwork, the pediments in the shape of leaping goats. Mayfair called Rhys the devil, and he had obliged. Perhaps it ought to make her nervous, but it was quite the opposite. She had read too many stories where the monster was not the real monster. And where the darkness held only pleasure.

This line of thought was not exactly quelling the electricity running through her.

She skirted around a tin of paint that shimmered like silver and coveted it deeply. No detail was too small to matter. It was obvious in the care taken from the ceiling to the floor. “This place is magnificent, Rhys. Even Vauxhall does not compare.”

“Vauxhall probably has not had the threats we’ve already received.”

“No to worry. I can teach you how to duck a flying cabbage.”

“It’s always best to have an expert on hand.”

“I’ve counted six sins,” she pointed out. “Where is Wrath?”

“In the lowest level. The boxing rings are already set up. Not nearly as fine as the rest of it.”

“I want to see it.” She squeezed his arm. “You should be proud of this, you know.”

“It’s a pleasure hall.”

“It’s a safe place for your men,” she said. She could see that much, even if she did not know the story that bound them.

“With a brothel on the top floor and Wrath on the lowest level because it’s easier to clean away the blood?”

“Safe places don’t all look the same,” she said.

“Aye, Devil,” the sharp-eyed man from the gaming floor said from behind them. “Introduce her to Granny Brutus.”

“That sounds lovely. Who is Granny Brutus?”

Devil sighed. “Miss Caldecott, may I present MacLeod.”

“How do you, Mr. MacLeod?” She had always assumed someone like Devil led a solitary life, but she was clearly mistaken. There were workers everywhere, of course, but other men who looked to him for direction. With respect, not just fear.

“Just MacLeod,” he said, Scottish accent thick as butter on toast. She could not remember the last time she’d had fresh butter. “There’s only one of me left, you ken?”