Page 98 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“I see her!” Brock added his strength to the labor, creating a large enough hole to pull her out. “I can’t tell if she’s breathing.”
Neither could Rayne. “Stand aside.” He took the shovel and rammed it into a stubborn section of wood. Three hits and Brock was able to pry it off. Enough. She was so still.At peace.The phrase taunted him.
“Your sister wouldn’t dare die on me. She hates to disappoint me.” He braced his legs on either side of the hole and gently dragged her out of the grave. Brock brought the lantern closer as Rayne laid her out on the ground.
“Is she alive?”
He put his ear to her chest and listened. His eyes closed in relief. “Yes. Devona.” He tapped her on the cheek. She did not awaken.
“What’s wrong with her?” Brock asked, picking up the lantern when Rayne scooped her into his arms.
“The air might have been too stale,” Rayne said, more frightened by her unresponsiveness than he was admitting. “I have some smelling salts in my case. Let’s return to the rectory and get her warm.”
Brock matched Rayne’s hurried stride. “My father is standing guard over Lockwood. It turns out his head is as hard as mine.”
Rayne did not reply to the banter. All his concentration was focused on willing Devona to stop terrifying him and awaken. They met a stern-faced Sir Thomas in the sanctuary.
“Lockwood, blast his soul, is dead.” Sir Thomas appeared to visibly age in front of them when he saw his unconscious daughter. “Will my gel live?”
“Yes,” Rayne vowed. The two of them had a bargain.
“I’ll get your case,” Brock offered, disappearing through the door.
Rayne placed her on the floor. He touched her everywhere, searching for a reason why she was not awake. He felt the large bump at the base of her skull. Lifting her up and folding her over his arm, he pushed her matted hair back, trying to view the damage. “Let’s hope Devona inherited your hard head, Sir Thomas. She took a blow to the head as well.”
“She’s a Bedegrayne. My gel has a harder head than most.”
Rayne agreed. “There is a great deal of blood on her,” he observed, placing her carefully on her back again. “I cannot find a source. It must belong to someone else.”
Doran Claeg.
“The salts!” Brock burst through the door. Speck followed behind him, carrying several blankets.
Rayne opened the bottle containing a combination of ammonia and various oils. He waved it under her nose. No reaction. “Wake up, love. This is no place to spend the night.” He held the bottle under her nose.
Devona’s nose wrinkled. Her breath hitched, and then she started coughing. Rayne pulled her to a sitting position, bracing her back with his arm.
“Horrid,” her voice rasped, as she tried to catch her breath.
Rayne kissed her forehead. He thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever said.
***
A day later, Rayne caught Devona sneaking out of bed. “I know you said a week, Tipton. However, I cannot bear it. My back hurts and I have slept enough for a lifetime.” She did not remember Oz sealing her in a coffin, nor the ride back to Foxenclover after they had revived her. The thought made her shudder. Lady Jocelyn’s mysterious herb concoction had sedated her. Whether through faulty chemistry or application, the bitter liquid had not erased Devona’s memory as her ruthless mother-in-law had promised it would. The blow she took to her head had done more damage. While her husband and brother had frantically unearthed her grave, she had blissfully slept through the horror.
“Have you been remembering?” Rayne politely queried.
He was dressed in buff-colored breeches and a cream-colored shirt. His beautiful silky hair she so loved was neatly tied back. To look upon them now, one would never guess what they had endured the last few days.
“A few more details,” she admitted, shrugging. “Brock tried to answer some of my questions earlier, but I stopped him. Some answers are best forgotten.” Like Oz taking her place in the grave. “I am sorry about your mother.”
Devona had concluded that years of unrelenting grief over the death of her son Devlin and then her husband had placed Lady Tipton’s mind in a fragile state. Her own greed and lust to defeat the son she feared and loathed had shattered what remained of those tangible threads of sanity. Perhaps she had truly believed she could have discreetly disposed of Rayne without killing him. Or maybe that was what she had wanted to believe. No one would ever know with complete certainty.
“She deserved her fate.”
To others his comment might have sounded callous. Devona knew that buried beneath his indifference, guilt and pain simmered. Devona wanted to offer him comfort. She doubted he would thank her for it. Regardless of his protestations, learning that his mother had encouraged Oz’s obsession for the title must have cut Rayne deeply.
Speck had discovered her battered body in a small workroom. Lady Jocelyn had been punished for her crimes. It would be a long time before her children would be able to forgive her treachery and perhaps allow themselves to grieve.
