“I agreed to send Madeleina to London. I did not say that I would not visit her from time to time.” The dowager pierced Wynne with a curious stare. “Is this one your mistress, Tipton?” she inquired politely, causing a stir of exclamations at the table. “She has a look about her that is appealing to a man’s weakness. However did you convince your wife to set a place for her at your table?”
Rayne doubted his mother believed the nonsense she was spouting, although she had rallied the Bedegraynes to defend Wynne’s honor.
Sir Thomas glared at Jocelyn as if she had sprouted three heads. “Are you mad, woman? My daughter would tolerate no mistress hidden or not, even if Tipton was foolish enough to dishonor her in such a manner.”
“Thank you, I think,” Tipton murmured.
Brock’s scowl mirrored his father’s. “Madam, you owe my sister an apology.”
“I suggest you make your apologies, Mother. Brock likes to issue challenges when he is angry.”
Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of people are you forcing my daughter to associate with?”
Rayne parted his lips to tell her, but Maddy spoke before he could speak.
“Mama, you are insulting Devona’s family.” She made the quick introductions to Sir Thomas, Brock, and Wynne. Despite the men’s anger, politeness overruled and the dowager received stiff acknowledgments from them.
Jocelyn nodded in Wynne’s direction. “It appears I misunderstood the situation, Miss Bedegrayne.”
If Wynne had expected a sincere apology, she hid her disappointment well. A night of restless sleep did not prevent her from seeing the amusing side of the situation. “I have never been accused of being a man’s mistress before,” she mused, her delicate brow lifting at the notion. “I am too tired to decide if I should be truly offended or not.” She shrugged off her father’s astonished expression.
Maddy clearly looked relieved that the Bedegraynes were prepared to ignore her mother’s insulting comments. “Here, Mama, I prepared the plate myself.”
Something softened in the older woman’s features. “Thank you, Madeleina.” Maddy laid the plate in front of her, then moved back and settled in her own chair.
“Were you worried, Mother, that I had sold off your daughter to slavers?” Rayne taunted. Her very presence seemed to provoke him.
Jocelyn remained calm, refusing to take the bait. “Not precisely.” She dabbed an invisible speck of food with her napkin. “I am surprised your wife is not in attendance.” A perceptive woman, she noted Rayne was not the only one who tensed up. “Good heavens, pray do not tell me that you have already managed to run off that fiery creature. I am astounded. Truly, if there was a woman who deserved Le Cadavre Raffiné, I would have wagered Devona Bedegrayne was that woman.”
Rayne was used to Jocelyn’s appalling lack of decency. The Bedegraynes, however, were not. They stared at the dowager in varying degrees of shock. To his amazement, it was Maddy who rose to his defense.
“Mama, I expected better of you. Devona and my brother have been very generous by inviting me to their home.” The fact that she had been bullied and used as a pawn to spite their mother was carefully overlooked. “‘Being judged as a gracious lady cannot be taught in lessons, it is bred into her and divined by her actions,’” she quoted from some reference known only to her and to their mother. Jocelyn’s cheeks heightened in color.
Wynne sipped her coffee. “A lovely saying, my dear.”
Brock muttered something unrepeatable under his breath.
Rayne stared at his mother. “Why do you assume she has run off?”
Jocelyn’s attention switched from Maddy to him. “I do not know. Has she?”
He began buttering the slice of bread on his plate. “My wife could just as easily be upstairs resting. Or maybe she just walked out of the room at the mention of your arrival.”
The direction of the conversation was not in her control and it was obvious that his mother did not like it. Her gaze shifted and assessed the Bedegraynes’ interest. “If your wife was present, a place for her would have been prepared at the table.”
“So she is asleep.”
“Why would she remain in bed with her family visiting?”
“She could be ill.”
“Oh.” She absorbed that for a few minutes. For the first time in his life she actually appeared to be ashamed of her behavior. “Will she improve? You have not called her family to her deathbed?”
He had lowered himself to playing one of her endless games. Disgusted, Rayne shredded his bread and tossed the remains on his plate. “No, madam, you were correct. My wife is not here.”
Becoming more confused, especially when Maddy reached over and held her hand, Jocelyn asked the question that was consuming all of them. “Where is she?”
The Bedegraynes still feared she was in the hands of some villain. Rayne was beginning to have his doubts. If she had been kidnapped, would there not have been a ransom note by now? Maybe they had gotten it wrong. The note Devona had received must have contained information about him. Something so vile that it made her flee his protection.
“Tipton, where is your wife?” his mother persisted.
He shook his head and stood up. Whether the information in the note had revealed the truth or lies, his wife had not trusted him. She ran away instead of confronting him and demanding his side of it.
The thought that she might even fear him staggered him. Had he not shown her from the beginning that she could trust him with her worries and problems? Exhaustion rolled beneath the surface of his enforced calm like the waves of a tropical storm. The battering was relentless, and at times he thought he might die from it.
This was grief. He felt as if someone had buried him alive again. His heart was racing; the air felt too hot and thin, and no one could hear his screams. If he could not find Devona, he feared he would feel like this for the rest of his life.
“Tipton, are you still with us?” Sir Thomas asked, his voice more subdued than usual as if he, too, sensed that Rayne had reached the brink of his emotional fortitude.
“We have to find her, Thomas,” Rayne replied. Before the moist earth and airless darkness claimed him again.
EIGHTEEN
Devona sat up, an unnamed urgency startling her awake. Blinking, she looked around the room, horrified she had slipped into a restless slumber. Her candle had burned down to a puddle of wax hours ago, if the filtered light from the hall was any indication. It was morning and she was no closer to freeing Doran.
Some rescue, she thought depressingly. The man was still chained to the bed. She had searched for the key, but his jailer must have kept it. Doran could not help her. He burned and shivered with fever. She had not heard him speak rationally since he had called out to her.
Her first thought had been to ride back to the inn and awaken Oz, but she had quickly discarded the idea. She had been too shaken by her discovery. The idea of riding out into the night frightened her. Every tree and shrub that cast a shadow on the landscape could possibly hide a villain. It had been humiliating to admit her cowardice. She had to consider Doran as well. In his condition he could barely lift his head, let alone fight off his captor. So Devona had remained. She had uncovered in her search for the key a broken table leg. Hugging it to her chest, she had positioned herself near the entry. If anyone walked through the door, she had intended to club him. It had sounded like an admirable plan until the candle had burned out and Doran’s rhythmic raspy breathing had lulled her to sleep.
Doran moaned, then mumbled something. She weaved around the pieces of splintered furniture and boxes. Kneeling at his side, she touched his head with her palm.
“Cold,” he muttered, plainly disagreeable.
“You have a fever, Doran. Do you know where you are?”
His eyes were still closed and the words that passed his chapped, swollen lips reminded her of his delirious state.
“Do not fret, Doran. I will think of a way to get you out of here. You kno
w me. I have a talent for dreaming up plans.” Her friend did not answer, nor had she expected him to.
“Finding that key or something to turn the lock will be easier now that it is morning, do you not think?” Her stomach rumbled. Devona patted it, thinking of the supper she had barely sampled. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that there is a lovely breakfast laid out on the sideboard.” She sighed, rechecking the area beyond his reach for the key. “We might have to do without food, Doran, but you could use something to drink. Cook would have insisted on making you some beef marrow broth.”
A low moan vibrated his chest.
Interpreting it as a response, she made a sympathetic sound. “How thoughtless of me. I am certain even tasteless broth would be welcome. Let’s start with water, and we will work up from there as you improve.” Devona threaded her way back to the door. “I have to leave you for a while. I will search the grounds for something to free you. If I fail, then I will be forced to ride back to the inn for assistance.”
The pump in the kitchen was not cooperating, so she drew the water directly from the well. The bucket she found nearby was most likely used for that same purpose. While lugging the water back to Doran, Devona scanned the grounds, looking for anything that could be used to break open the locks. She held a hand to her eyes and gazed at the horizon through her fingers. Time was running out for them. Whoever had placed Doran here might come back to check on him.
She resumed her walk to the house. Even now she carefully chose neutral words so she did not have to admit the truth aloud. If this part of the letter turned out to be correct, then she had to accept that the other damning statement was also true. Rayne was responsible for Doran’s starving exile. Her heart lurched as she hurried through the house. She could not contemplate the personal betrayal. For now, she had to figure out how to get Doran out of this house.
It took Devona time to figure out that if she dipped a cloth and wiped Doran’s lips and tongue, even in his unconscious state he would swallow some water. She patiently kept dribbling water onto his tongue until he choked. Using the cool cloth to wipe his face, she said, “I am so sorry, Doran.” If I hadn’t sought him out, you would still be in Newgate and I … I would not be in love with him.
The admission had her jumping up from her kneeling position. “I have to go find help, Doran.” For all she knew, Tipton could have guessed her destination and was riding to her this moment. “Oz is at the inn. We will return with the tools to free you.” Feeling that her chest was too tight, she stopped, forcing her lungs to fill with air. “Soon. I will be back for you soon.”
Her poor neglected horse was still waiting for her by the tree. She climbed up onto the saddle. “It appears I must apologize to you as well, horse. Water, oats, and a good brushing for you, I swear, as soon as we reach the inn.”
Two miles down the road she encountered Oz Lockwood on horseback.
“Devona, you have taken more years off my life than I can afford,” Oz chastised. “Running off in the middle of the night. I did not know what to think, especially when your husband—”
Her complexion faded to chalk. “Rayne? Rayne was at the inn?”
“Yes, of course. Did you think he would not find you, you reckless girl? Your brother Brock accompanied him. We have been searching the countryside for a sign of your whereabouts.” He waved his hand at the dust their horses had stirred. “He went north, Brock west, and I south. You may be fortunate that I was the one to find you. Tipton was mumbling something about your lovely backside and his hand.”
“Dear God!” She gasped, wishing she could indulge in a fit of vapors. “When, when did you see him, Oz?”
Oz’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Tipton? An hour if I had to guess. Devona, dear, you look terrified. I fear it is a male tendency to voice our concerns in terms of violence. However, once Tipton sees that you are unharmed and properly repentant, he will forget all about his threats.”
An hour. Was Rayne really pretending to search the countryside north, or was he heading this way? “Hurry, Oz, there isn’t much time!” Devona spurred her horse back in the direction of the abandoned house. Oz shouted his objection behind her, but she did not slow her horse for an explanation. Seeing Doran chained to the soiled bed would be enough.
Fifteen minutes later, they reined up in front of the house. Oz was off his horse first. “Devona, if you think hiding from Tipton will not put him in a fine rage, then you must be suffering a mental upset. Is this where you went last night?”
She allowed him to help her from her horse. “I have something to show you.” Ignoring the lingering pain in her ankle, she all but ran around to the back of the house.
“Devona! I did not plan on a leg race this morning.”
She could hear him following her, so she continued moving through the house. Her heart pounded out its beat with each rapid step. They were going to get Doran out of this house before Rayne discovered them. Oz’s surprised intake of breath took some of the tension from her shoulders.
“My word, is that Claeg? Th-the man died in prison. I attended his funeral.” The room was windowless, so Oz pushed the door open wide, allowing as much filtered light as possible to fill the room. “What has he told you?”
Wretchedness rose in her. “Nothing. He is half-starved and delusional from fever. I do not believe he even knew I was here to help him.”
“I do not understand any of this.” Oz’s eyes bulged when Doran groaned. “How many dead men do we have walking among us?”
Devona could see Oz was frightened to see Doran alive. He appeared as if the wrong word or sound would send him scurrying to his horse. She needed his help, and that meant telling him the truth. Never taking her gaze off his face, she explained how Doran was able to escape Newgate.
Oz nodded slowly, taking time to sort through her confession. “Tipton’s plan was clever. I cannot fathom what went awry. No offense, Devona, I know Claeg is a treasured friend, but the man is a harmless simpleton. Who would do this to him?”
Her tears burned her cheeks like molten glass. She found voicing the rest of her confession more difficult than she imagined.
“What is it?”
Her lips parted, but the anguish that escaped was soundless. She swallowed and tried again. “It was Rayne. He’s the one.” Speaking it was a thousand times worse than thinking it. She doubled over, keening her grief.
In a nervous gesture, Oz removed his hat, blotted the sweat from his forehead and temples, and settled the hat back in place. “Uh, Devona.” He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “This is a grievous charge. Perhaps you are mistaken? Claeg had engaged an unsavory lot. One of them could have—”
Bilious rage reared, causing her to lash out her frustration. “Do you think I want to believe such a thing? I stood before God and took him as my husband and my lover.” Her gaze shifted to Doran. There were bruising and oozing sores where the metal cruelly cut his flesh. “Rayne told me Doran was on a ship. He should be hundreds of miles from England, and yet here he is. What conclusion do you reach?” Excess energy had her standing, then searching the contents of the room again.
“What you are suggesting is outrageous, Devona, even for Tipton. What would the man have to gain by doing this?”
She overturned a box and began sorting through the contents. “At the time, he was trying to convince me to marry him. It is only a guess, but maybe Doran had tried to warn me about something.” She pushed over a larger wooden crate.
“What the devil are you doing?”
“The key. There must be a key hidden somewhere, though I have yet to find it. If not that, then maybe something to break the lock.” Devona met his gaze. “There isn’t much time for us. If Rayne is guilty, then he could be riding onto the front lawn as we speak.”
The warning goaded Oz to peer under one of the white sheets that covered all of the furniture in the room. “I say, my dear, do all your schemes make ducks and drakes with your life? If you value our friendship,
next time skip me as a player.”
It was Oz who found the key. While pushing a small table out of the way, he had disturbed the wainscoting. Further examination revealed that part of the design concealed a hidden compartment. Inside there were several bags of gold and the elusive key.
He handed her the key. “Why don’t you unfetter Claeg while I check the grounds. It is a pity I did not come by coach, for I fear our unconscious companion will be difficult to carry.”
Taking the discarded table leg for protection, Oz left the room.
Devona knelt beside Doran. “We have the key. Soon we will have you out of here and into a warm bed with a motherly type to fret over you.” She pushed the key into the cuff lock on his leg and twisted. The metal popped open, revealing the damaged flesh beneath. She must have cried out, because Doran’s eyelids lifted. Bewildered, he focused on her.
“Doran. Do you know who I am?” she begged. Noticing that his tongue moved in his mouth, seeking moisture to relieve the dryness, she cupped her hands into the bucket of water. Ignoring that most of it was dripping through her fingers like a sieve, she brought her hands to his lips. He murmured for more, so she repeated the process twice.
“Who am I?”
Doran licked the drops of water from his lips. “Dev,” he whispered, his voice husky from abuse. “How?”
“A very long tale.” She motioned to the manacles. “Can you lean forward a bit so they catch the light? I am having trouble with the lock.” Devona bowed her head and concentrated on her task.
“T-Tipton?” It took so much strength to get the word out that he collapsed back into the shadows.
How Doran must hate him, and her, too, but she did not permit the sad thought to stop her from twisting the key. One wrist was free. She focused on the other. “I figured it all out. I know what Rayne did to you and am more than sorry for it. We will get you out of here,” she assured him, smiling at the distinctive snick of the other lock being disengaged. “I do not plan to drag you out on my own. We have a friend to help.”
The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton Page 25