Page 95 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“Let’s just say Jocelyn has some explaining to do.” Rayne addressed Maddy. “Do you know where our father’s pistols are kept?… Good, I want you to show Wynne.” He locked gazes with his sister-in-law. “Do you know how to load a pistol?”
“Insulting, I tell you,” Sir Thomas charged, joining the group. “Male or female, Bedgraynes know how to defend themselves.”
“I’ll stay and look to your sister and the staff,” Wynne promised.
“Speaking of the staff, you and the gel might want to check on them. One of the ladies moaned and rolled to her side.”
“I will check on them immediately, Papa.” Her hand clasped in Maddy’s, Wynne paused in front of Rayne. “Find her and bring her home.”
“Only death will keep me from her.”
A small smile teased Wynne’s full lips. “We want to keep you, too.”
“Be well, Brother,” Maddy murmured shyly, allowing Wynne to lead her away.
“I do not know what evil lurks in the blackness this eve, but it cloaks my wife. I propose we light our path with lanterns. I intend to kill what I aim at.”
They returned to the coach and shortened the journey to the graveyard. Once again they halted the coach. Dim light beamed from the rectory windows. There was enough light to discard the bold notion of approaching the grounds with lit lanterns. There was no reason to offer Devona’s kidnapper an easy target. The vulnerability of light went both ways. Rayne would be able to see anyone who stood in front of the windows.
Reaching the building, they crouched against the side wall. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he assumed the excitement he saw in his new kinsmen’s eyes mirrored his own.
“I think we should separate, each taking an entrance. One of us is bound to catch the kidnapper unawares.”
Brock wiped the mist from his face with his sleeve. “We have to get out of this rain or the pistols will be worthless.”
Sir Thomas was still attempting to catch his breath. “What if one of us is captured?”
Rayne did not see fear in his father-in-law’s eyes. There was a steely determination in them that promised he would sacrifice his life if it would bring down the kidnapper.
“No heroics. If you are taken, then wait for us. The distraction will be to our advantage.”
Sir Thomas nodded, looking slightly disappointed. “I will go right.”
“Brock, you take the left. I want to check that small building. Try not to shoot one another if you circle around.”
The men separated and faded into the darkness. Rayne paused to light the lantern. There was no warm glow of inviting light coming from the building. Choosing a side window, he held the lantern up to the glass. A huge saw hung down from one of the wood beams. The building was probably used to store tools. It might even be a workplace for a carpenter to build coffins.
An indefinable chill passed through Rayne. He had managed to avoid this graveyard for fifteen years. It had rained that night, too, he remembered, but then it had been a violent storm with thunder and lightning stabbing the starless obsidian sky. His rebirth had cost him his family. Devona and the rest of the Bedegraynes had replaced the one he lost. He refused to allow another stormy night in this graveyard to spin the wheel of fate to determine if he would win this time, or lose.
He did not hear the man. One minute he was alone; the next the man was a blurred image in midflight. His head collided with Rayne’s chest and they both fell to the ground. Fighting instincts heightened, he shoved the man off him and rolled to the left. Any hopes that the tackle had knocked out his attacker were diminished when the man dived for Rayne’s knees, bringing him down on his back.
He tugged at the strings securing the black cloak. It no longer served to hide him in the night; perhaps he could use it to deflect the blade the other man wielded. Rolling the thick fabric over his arm, he leapt backward avoiding the arcing blade. The second attempt he used his padded arm to block. The attacker seized the knife with both hands, utilizing all his strength and weight to bring the blade downward.
Both men were breathing heavily, a silent struggle of strength and sheer will. The man’s gaze dropped, and Rayne knew what had caught his attention. The pistol tucked into Rayne’s waist. The surprise attack had prevented him from drawing it. The belief that this man could lead him to Devona kept him from using it.
His attacker experienced no such dilemma. Freeing one hand, he reached for the weapon. Rayne took advantage of the man’s torn priorities. Instead of reaching for the pistol, Rayne focused on the knife. Allowing the blade to cut into his padded arm, his other fist shot upward, connecting with the man’s wrist. The attacker cursed at the distinctive crack of breaking bones. His countering swipe to steal the pistol knocked it into the mud. The man dived for the weapon. Rayne fell on top of him, praying the rain had ruined the powder.
Instead of reaching for the pistol, the man clawed at Rayne’s throat. His frantic twisting bucked Rayne off. He straddled him, prepared to deliver a vicious blow, but his arm stayed cocked when he saw the reason for the man’s struggles. The burden of Rayne’s weight and the man’s broken wrist had altered the angle of the knife and had driven the blade into his neck. It had entered three inches below the man’s left ear and was buried deep within the intricate tangle of veins, arteries, muscle, and bone. He was still breathing, so he had managed to avoid cutting his windpipe.
Rayne dragged him up by his shirt, his relentless gaze probing for the man’s attention. “Where is my wife?” He slapped him when his eyes threatened to roll white. “I’ll remove the blade and leave you to drown in a puddle of your own blood. Tell me where she is and I will use all my skill to save you.”
The man’s lips twitched. Rayne leaned closer to hear the dying man’s last words.
“T-too late.” The man fainted from the loss of blood.
Furious, Rayne stood, wondering if the man referred to himself or Devona. He stooped over to pick up the pistol. There was a slim chance it was functional.
“I fear the rain has ruined your fine weapon,” a man spoke behind him. “Even so, it pays to be prudent. Throw the pistol to the ground, Tipton.”
