Page 84 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
EIGHTEEN
Devona sat up, an unnamed urgency startling her awake. Blinking, she looked around the room, horrified she had slipped into a restless slumber. Her candle had burned down to a puddle of wax hours ago, if the filtered light from the hall was any indication. It was morning and she was no closer to freeing Doran.
Some rescue, she thought depressingly. The man was still chained to the bed. She had searched for the key, but his jailer must have kept it. Doran could not help her. He burned and shivered with fever. She had not heard him speak rationally since he had called out to her.
Her first thought had been to ride back to the inn and awaken Oz, but she had quickly discarded the idea. She had been too shaken by her discovery. The idea of riding out into the night frightened her. Every tree and shrub that cast a shadow on the landscape could possibly hide a villain. It had been humiliating to admit her cowardice. She had to consider Doran as well. In his condition he could barely lift his head, let alone fight off his captor. So Devona had remained. She had uncovered in her search for the key a broken table leg. Hugging it to her chest, she had positioned herself near the entry. If anyone walked through the door, she had intended to club him. It had sounded like an admirable plan until the candle had burned out and Doran’s rhythmic raspy breathing had lulled her to sleep.
Doran moaned, then mumbled something. She weaved around the pieces of splintered furniture and boxes. Kneeling at his side, she touched his head with her palm.
“Cold,” he muttered, plainly disagreeable.
“You have a fever, Doran. Do you know where you are?”
His eyes were still closed and the words that passed his chapped, swollen lips reminded her of his delirious state.
“Do not fret, Doran. I will think of a way to get you out of here. You know me. I have a talent for dreaming up plans.” Her friend did not answer, nor had she expected him to.
“Finding that key or something to turn the lock will be easier now that it is morning, do you not think?” Her stomach rumbled. Devona patted it, thinking of the supper she had barely sampled. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that there is a lovely breakfast laid out on the sideboard.” She sighed, rechecking the area beyond his reach for the key. “We might have to do without food, Doran, but you could use something to drink. Cook would have insisted on making you some beef marrow broth.”
A low moan vibrated his chest.
Interpreting it as a response, she made a sympathetic sound. “How thoughtless of me. I am certain even tasteless broth would be welcome. Let’s start with water, and we will work up from there as you improve.” Devona threaded her way back to the door. “I have to leave you for a while. I will search the grounds for something to free you. If I fail, then I will be forced to ride back to the inn for assistance.”
The pump in the kitchen was not cooperating, so she drew the water directly from the well. The bucket she found nearby was most likely used for that same purpose. While lugging the water back to Doran, Devona scanned the grounds, looking for anything that could be used to break open the locks. She held a hand to her eyes and gazed at the horizon through her fingers. Time was running out for them. Whoever had placed Doran here might come back to check on him.
She resumed her walk to the house. Even now she carefully chose neutral words so she did not have to admit the truth aloud. If this part of the letter turned out to be correct, then she had to accept that the other damning statement was also true. Rayne was responsible for Doran’s starving exile. Her heart lurched as she hurried through the house. She could not contemplate the personal betrayal. For now, she had to figure out how to get Doran out of this house.
It took Devona time to figure out that if she dipped a cloth and wiped Doran’s lips and tongue, even in his unconscious state he would swallow some water. She patiently kept dribbling water onto his tongue until he choked. Using the cool cloth to wipe his face, she said, “I am so sorry, Doran.” If I hadn’t sought him out, you would still be in Newgate and I… I would not be in love with him.
The admission had her jumping up from her kneeling position. “I have to go find help, Doran.” For all she knew, Tipton could have guessed her destination and was riding to her this moment. “Oz is at the inn. We will return with the tools to free you.” Feeling that her chest was too tight, she stopped, forcing her lungs to fill with air. “Soon. I will be back for you soon.”
Her poor neglected horse was still waiting for her by the tree. She climbed up onto the saddle. “It appears I must apologize to you as well, horse. Water, oats, and a good brushing for you, I swear, as soon as we reach the inn.”
Two miles down the road she encountered Oz Lockwood on horseback.
“Devona, you have taken more years off my life than I can afford,” Oz chastised. “Running off in the middle of the night. I did not know what to think, especially when your husband—”
Her complexion faded to chalk. “Rayne? Rayne was at the inn?”
“Yes, of course. Did you think he would not find you, you reckless girl? Your brother Brock accompanied him. We have been searching the countryside for a sign of your whereabouts.” He waved his hand at the dust their horses had stirred. “He went north, Brock west, and I south. You may be fortunate that I was the one to find you. Tipton was mumbling something about your lovely backside and his hand.”
“Dear God!” She gasped, wishing she could indulge in a fit of vapors. “When, when did you see him, Oz?”
Oz’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Tipton? An hour if I had to guess. Devona, dear, you look terrified. I fear it is a male tendency to voice our concerns in terms of violence. However, once Tipton sees that you are unharmed and properly repentant, he will forget all about his threats.”
An hour. Was Rayne really pretending to search the countryside north, or was he heading this way? “Hurry, Oz, there isn’t much time!” Devona spurred her horse back in the direction of the abandoned house. Oz shouted his objection behind her, but she did not slow her horse for an explanation. Seeing Doran chained to the soiled bed would be enough.
Fifteen minutes later, they reined up in front of the house. Oz was off his horse first. “Devona, if you think hiding from Tipton will not put him in a fine rage, then you must be suffering a mental upset. Is this where you went last night?”
She allowed him to help her from her horse. “I have something to show you.” Ignoring the lingering pain in her ankle, she all but ran around to the back of the house.
“Devona! I did not plan on a leg race this morning.”
She could hear him following her, so she continued moving through the house. Her heart pounded out its beat with each rapid step. They were going to get Doran out of this house before Rayne discovered them. Oz’s surprised intake of breath took some of the tension from her shoulders.
“My word, is that Claeg? Th-the man died in prison. I attended his funeral.” The room was windowless, so Oz pushed the door open wide, allowing as much filtered light as possible to fill the room. “What has he told you?”
Wretchedness rose in her. “Nothing. He is half-starved and delusional from fever. I do not believe he even knew I was here to help him.”
