Page 89 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
NINETEEN
Proof that his wife had not run from him willingly arrived at the door in the afternoon. Four large, tired, unrelenting men interrogated the boy who had been paid to deliver the note. Disgusted that the sobbing boy could not bring him closer to solving Devona’s disappearance, Rayne had returned him to the streets. It had not been loyalty that had kept the child quiet. He simply did not know who had requested his services.
When he thought on it, Rayne felt as though Devona had been lost to him for weeks. In truth, it was barely a day. If he had not known someone had been stalking her all along, it would have been simple to believe that she was away on a country visit.
Brock, Sir Thomas, Wynne, and now Brogden sat brooding in Rayne’s study. Jocelyn, frightened by the situation, begged him to allow Maddy to return immediately with her to Foxenclover. He did not protest. They were a distraction. It was also safer. There was no point providing the kidnapper with another viable target.
“Read it aloud again,” Brogden requested. They had spent the last hour contemplating the contents of the note. The brief riddle was meant to frustrate and mock yet offer a clue to Devona’s whereabouts.
Wynne cleared her throat and read:
“Hail the reborn prince of maggots!
Choking on hallowed earth and stale air
His baptism a gravedigger’s golden piss.
Vile outsider!
Cast out to distant shores,
No coin, knowledge or time absolves
Thy shroud-bound resurrected heart.”
“Cheerful,” Wynne observed. “’Tis unfortunate the scrawling script could not conceal the disgusting contents.” She glanced at Rayne. “Tipton, did we accidentally receive a political commentary about our Regent or did the anonymous poet have you in mind?”
“No mistake,” Rayne replied. “How many people do you know who have been buried alive?”
Brock shook his head. “It makes no sense. There is nothing in those lines about Devona.”
“Perhaps the riddle was just the teaser,” Brogden suggested. “Our villain enjoys pulling the legs off a spider before he smashes it under his shoe.”
The corner of Rayne’s mouth lifted slightly. “I do not approve of the analogy to the spider, but I can appreciate the opinion.”
“Nay, you all have it wrong!” Sir Thomas bellowed. He paced the room, looking as though he wanted to tear the room apart. “There is nothing missing. The clue is in what is stated, though I cannot fathom why the chap didn’t speak the words in plain English.”
Wynne’s brow lifted as a thought came to her. “This person hates you. You have been his goal from the beginning.”
Rayne ground the palm of his hand into his left temple. “I haven’t exactly been the favorite son in polite society. Name one enemy and I could match it against twenty. Give me that paper.”
Wynne handed him the note, and they all watched as he reread it again. Devona’s life depended on him interpreting the foul riddle. He mouthed the first few lines of the text. “I agree with you, Wynne. The words chosen convey a mocking hatred.”
Brock interjected, “Someone not pleased that you survived.”
“So you bump my family up onto the list of suspects,” Rayne said, not particularly upset. “We are no closer to singling out a villain or a location.”
“Location,” Brogden repeated. “If you ignore the emotion and insults, what location does the riddle offer?”
“My grave.” Rayne straightened his slouch. Renewed energy coursed through him. “The riddle points me back to the parish churchyard close to Foxenclover.”
***
Devona rested on her side across the coach’s bench. Her bound wrists and ankles and the cramped position prevented her from kicking at Oz. It also discouraged escape. She caught glimpses of trees and sky; however, there was nothing in her line of vision that gave her a hint about their destination.
The bumpy ride did little for her stomach. Having spewed up what water she had consumed that morning, she had nothing to offer the retching spasms that wrenched her insides. At least the sickness forced Oz to remove the gag. The last thing he wanted was for her to drown in her own vomit.
Oz replied to the unspoken question in her eyes. “Soon, my dear. Your part is almost finished.”
