Page 85 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“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 distinctivesnickof the other lock being disengaged. “I do not plan to drag you out on my own. We have a friend to help.”
“Get y-your—”
She heard a noise at the door. She turned to see Oz, the table leg resting on his shoulder. “Oz, our patient is awake and making sense.”
“Is he now?” Oz said, smiling.
Devona turned back to Doran. “Riding astride might seem beyond your capabilities. However—”
“Tipton!” Doran vehemently forced the word past his swollen lips.
Devona frowned, worrying he was still delusional. She reached out to touch his cheek for fever. Her hand never connected.
The table leg Oz was carrying was made from walnut. It was a fine, sturdy piece. He arced the table limb high, and then swung it at her head. He did not flinch at the sickening thud of connecting wood, flesh, and bone. Her limp body sprawled forward over a mewling Doran Claeg.
