Page 19 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
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“Rayne?” She rapped on the door, then opened it, peering inside. The room was empty. Where was he? This was her second visit inside his house. She always seemed to be reduced to a childish game of hide-and-seek to ferret him out. She approached another likely door. “Rayne?” She peeked inside.
Devona saw him on the bed, huddled under numerous blankets. She must have cried out. His eyes opened the moment she stepped into the room and ran to his bedside. “What is it?” She tugged off her gloves and touched his face. “You have a fever.” Now that she was closer, she could see his face held a pinkish cast and his eyes were too bright. He was hot enough to make her frightened.
“J-just f-fever,” he managed between chattering teeth. “Common reaction. Once infection s-set in. N-not too bad, I think.”
“Infection? Are you injured?” He moaned, when she pulled back the blankets and saw the bandages on his arm and wrapped around his torso. Devona wanted to peek under the binding to see how badly he was wounded, but the linen looked clean and secure. Every movement seemed to bring him more pain, and she was just too softhearted to cause him more to satisfy her curiosity. She carefully tugged the blankets up to his shoulders. He shuddered, burrowing himself deeper. Dragging the nearest chair closer to his side, she sat down.
“Who did this to you?”
“I don’t know.”
He was too sick to remember, she thought. She felt the sting of tears and looked away, then up to keep them from falling. The last thing he needed was a hysterical woman.
Reading her thoughts correctly, he slid a hand out from his warm cocoon. She eagerly clasped it, as if she could hold him to this earth by sheer will alone. “I’m not out of my head, Devona. I feel like someone has pounded nails into my bones, and my head aches. Symptoms I can understand and expect. There is no need to worry.” He nodded his head toward the cup on the table. “Since you’ve chased Speck away, you might as well help me with that.”
“It’s not my fault the man is so skittish.” Devona brought the cup to Rayne’s lips. He managed a few swallows before collapsing back onto the pillows. Her nose twitched as she sniffed the suspicious contents. “Not barley water.”
“No. Cinchona bark for fever, saffron for its sedative effects… strong black tea to disguise the taste.” He tried to smile. “What c-can I say? I like to experiment.”
She noted the bruise and scrape on the right side of his face. “Did someone beat you?”
He managed a laugh, then groaned, his hand going to his head to soothe the pain. “What an opinion you have of me! I can assure you that until I met you, my life was quite sedentary.” He frowned, mulling over the observation.
Following his thoughts easily, she said, “Do you think Brock attacked you?” It sickened her to believe her brother or anyone else in her family could have hurt Rayne on her behalf.
“I don’t know for sure. It was dark and I was trapped in the hackney. When the coachman was felled, I thought robbery. The lead balls punching into the door made me think it was a bit more personal.” Not liking her coloring, he snapped, “Sit down, Devona. I cannot catch you if you faint on me.”
She dutifully sat, not even checking to see if the chair was still behind her. Feeling chilled, she wrapped her arms around her body. “Brock is impulsive, loyal to his family. He was not pleased with you—us,” she amended. “I will talk to him.”
“No, you will not.”
She raised a brow at Rayne’s tone. The beast was feeling well enough to bare his teeth. “It was my fault that Brock thirsted for a duel. When you wouldn’t oblige, he sought out an unscrupulous manner to satisfy his revenge. He will pay; I swear it.”
“Such a fierce, protective creature you are, Devona.” Rayne’s eyes took on an interesting light that had nothing to do with the kind of fever that burned within him now. “One might think you have feelings for me.”
She fidgeted, then in typical Bedegrayne fashion reacted in the best defensive manner available. She ignored the comment. “If Brock is responsible—”
“Still taking on more guilt?” Rayne softly queried. “I would think the burden those graceful, fine-boned shoulders carry now would buckle under the additional strain.”
He thought her shoulders graceful? She almost melted at the compliment before she mentally shook herself. He was just trying to distract her. “If Brock shot at you—”
“And missed,” Rayne pointed out, although considering his present misery, a ball in a vital spot might have been the very thing he dearly wished. “Whoever is responsible, he and his companions were cloaked by the night. My injuries are the result of losing my grip and falling from the moving coach.”
“Dear Lord, you must be scraped raw! You are lucky not to have been trampled by the horses.” Her hand came up to her lips. “If you had not escaped, they would have—” She could not say the words aloud. If the mysterious men had caught him, he would have been murdered.
“They didn’t. Although they will wish they had if I learn the names of those responsible.”
Brock. Devona closed her eyes, thinking how there could not be a pleasing ending if either man had his way. This was all her fault. She accepted it, even if Rayne was too kind to admit it. Taking up the cup of physic, she made him take a few more sips.
“I was thinking of your plan.” She purposely spoke lightly, pretending that he wasn’t lying injured in his bed because he had dared to help her. “It was a sound plan, and might have worked. However, we have so little time, and now with you bedridden, I think we should make some adjustments.”
His eyes narrowed to pewter slits. “I don’t shake off that easily, Devona.”
Rayne was angry now, but later he would appreciate the gesture. The knowledge gave her the courage to end their friendship. “You are useless to me. Forgive me for saying so.” She set the cup down. Noticing a few drops of liquid on his lips, she pulled out the handkerchief tucked in her sleeve. He grabbed her wrist when she moved to blot the moisture.
“You came to me, first. Intruded on my privacy.”
