Page 87 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“There was more to it,” she argued.
“I almost permitted Claeg his exile,” Oz admitted, “but he was a thread that had to be snipped.”
Doran sneered. “Gullible.”
Oz cocked his head in the other man’s direction. “I intercepted him on his way to the ship. He believed me when I revealed that I was a participant in his great demise. I told him that you wanted to see him once more before he lost himself in the world. I played up the part of how you planned to sacrifice yourself to the marriage bed just to spare your beloved friend’s life.” He raised his hands and bowed his head. “If I did not have more lucrative plans, I would have considered the stage.”
Devona shivered. “This elaborate ruse must have taken months to plan.”
“Years. It was one of the reasons I ingratiated myself into your close circle of friends. At first glance I realized your looks and temperament would work to my advantage.”
Because her hands were bound, Devona manipulated her shoulder upward to rub the tickling sensation behind her right ear. She glanced down to see bloody smudges on the shoulder of her dress. “Were you responsible for the runaway chaise at Vauxhall?”
“The driver was more concerned about his next cup of gin than securing his animals. An unfortunately timed discharge of powder created a realistic accident.”
“The poisoning? The woman who jabbed me with her pin?”
Oz clasped his hands together and touched his lips. “A stroke of luck. I handed you tainted punch.”
“Bastard,” Doran growled. He was ignored.
“My intention was to drug you. Tipton in his arrogance thought you were beyond my reach. He needed to be taught a lesson and your abduction would have fitted nicely into my plans. There was a man waiting to carry your unconscious form from the garden.” He sighed. “Regrettably, I misjudged the dosage, since you refused to drink the entire cup. You were hallucinating and conscious far too long. Tipton and the others reached you before my man.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “Rayne feared I was the villain’s target,” she mused. “He was wrong. I am just another pawn.”
Oz beamed approvingly. “Excellent. I would have been distressed if I had damaged that quick little mind of yours. Toying with Claeg has been amusing, but our boy could never match your wit. I never understood why you supported our gloomy poet.”
“To do that you would have to understand the meanings of friendship, loyalty, and honor.” Devona stiffened, prepared for his retaliation. He threw her off balance by laughing.
“My dear, appealing to my civilized nature by issuing a backhanded insult will not work. I chose my goals early in life and the instruments just as carefully.” He stroked her cheek. “You have blood coming from your ear. Is the pain in your head intolerable?”
“Why?” she asked, turning her head so that she did not have to feel his fingers on her face. “You enjoy knowing that you’ve hurt me?”
“On the contrary, I abhor violence, particularly when it involves a woman. I just want to make certain you can keep up with me.”
Devona focused on appearing to be what Oz expected her to be—a frightened, injured woman. “The rope is cutting into my wrist and my fingers are numb. Untying me would make little difference. I doubt I could walk three feet without falling. Running would be impossible. Please, Oz. A little mercy would not shift the power in my favor.”
He stood and hope surged through her. As she expected him to produce a knife when he reached behind to remove something from the waist of his breeches, her eyes widened at the sight of her pistol. She had forgotten she had lost it when she tripped in the dark.
“This was never meant for a lady’s delicate hand.” He checked to see if it was primed. He made an approving noise. “I assume Brock taught you how to handle a weapon. I wonder if you could have fired it.”
“Want to put me to the test?” she dared, giving him a glare that assured him she would like to aim the sight directly at his heart.
“I regretfully decline your offer, my lady, just as I must deny your request for untying your bindings.” His apologetic demeanor was more appropriate for a ballroom than a dirty storage room where he played his life-and-death games. “This is my show. My rules. Rule number one.”
Oz aimed the pistol at Doran. “Snip.” He pulled the trigger. The discharge was deafening in the small room, blocking out Devona’s scream.
A thread that had to be snipped.
The ball struck Doran’s throat. There seemed to be an explosion of gore and spraying blood as the lead ball separated the fragile column of bones in his neck. Her face and dress were washed in a sea of red. Through tears and blood she watched Doran convulse, the gurgle of liquid bubbling from the gaping wound in his throat quieted to an eerie hiss. His eyes had locked on hers in those final horrifying moments, becoming fixed. She did not recognize the wild, high-pitched sound that filled the silence as her own tortured screams.
She had never seen anyone die. Even when her mother took that fatal blow to the temple while chasing a three-year-old Devona, her family had sheltered her the best that they could. She certainly had never imagined witnessing the murder of one of her best friends.
“Madman! Fiend!” she shrieked.
Oz’s eyes seemed to glow, piercing the lingering smoke that floated around them. “That instrument served its purpose. I have given him dignity in death that he never could attain in life. He was dead even before I pulled the trigger.”
Devona struggled against her bindings. He was going to kill her.Snip.As soon as her value expired, he would aim the pistol at her heart and the organ would explode into chunks of useless matter only a cook could appreciate. The bones in her wrists and shoulders twisted and popped under the strain, but the rope held.
