Page 90 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
Panic flared inside her and Devona did not try to conceal her fears. “Have you sent Rayne a letter telling him our destination?” He had left her bound and gagged when he took the horses back to the inn. Two hours later he had returned by coach. She quickly had learned that the coachman’s loyalties sided with his employer. The servant had even carried her twisting bound form into the coach.
Her determination to glean information from him amused Oz. He was enjoying her efforts to foil him. “You keep forgetting, Devona,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I have had months to plan this moment. Don’t worry, your husband has seen my note and if he possesses a modest amount of intelligence he should be racing to your side.”
“Why is Rayne so important to you?”
His eyes narrowed in anger. He clenched his hands into fists and briefly she worried he would strike her. “I would be more concerned about your role in my plan, rather than the fate of your husband.”
“We were friends, Oz,” she pleaded softly, willing him to relent and spare Tipton. “We could strike a bargain. I swear Tipton would not seek retribution. Doran is already dead and buried by his family, so no one would have to know you killed him.” Forgive me, Doran. “You could leave England.”
The coachman called out. The jostling coach slowed to a gentle bounce, then stopped. All Devona could see was the gathering large gray storm clouds. The blue sky had been blotted from her view. Also gone was her chance to talk Oz out of the fate he had slotted for her.
“Allow me to help you.” Oz gripped her upper arm and pulled her into a sitting position.
Devona peered out the open door and frowned at the graveyard. “Where are we?”
“It all began here. I thought it appropriate that it ended here as well.” He climbed down from the coach and automatically offered her his hand.
She was trapped. Resisting his summons would only result in punishment. Devona scooted closer to the door and did not pull away when he grasped her arm to help her down.
“Is the rectory empty?” Oz asked his approaching coachman.
“Dead as the ’yard.”
“Fine. Head over to the shed; you will find the tools we need.”
Devona watched the coachman walk to the small storage shed. “Dead as the ’yard. Did you have the vicar and his family murdered?”
He took hold of her arm and pulled her deeper into the graveyard. “I told you. I am not a violent man. The vicar and his family are away on a holiday. I was fortunate to have a friend to see to the details.”
She stopped. “An accomplice? A corrupted soul who does not understand that he will be as dead as Doran. Even John Coachman here.” She raised her voice so the returning man could hear. She eyed the pick and shovel he carried on his shoulder. “Do you expect him to dig his grave before you push him in it?”
The coachman’s blank expression became speculative. Oz caught a fistful of her hair and yanked hard. He was rewarded with the appropriate response. The immense pain drove her to her knees. Her cheeks puffed with air while she struggled to overcome her latest punishment. She would fall on her face if Oz released his hold.
“Trying to cause mischief?” He tugged hard.
“No, Oz.” She squeezed her eyes shut, not thinking her abused head could endure another attack. “P-please.”
Keeping his fingers locked in her loosely bound hair, he hoisted her to her feet. She choked on a stifled sob. “Evan knows as you do that the only people who should look over their shoulders are the ones who have outlived their usefulness.”
To her relief, he released her hair, allowing his hand to rest on her upper back. “Come along. I tire of these delays.” They continued walking, threading their way around dozens of monuments. The manner in which he scanned each stone told her that he sought a specific grave.
“Paying respect to the dead, Oz?”
“More along the lines of luring.” He halted, signaling to the coachman that he was to use the shovel at this site. “We may be slightly early to pay our respects; however, you may want to get yours over with, since I cannot promise you will be around at the proper time.”
Devona looked on while Oz scratched the moss from the stone.Rayne Tolland Wyman.The letters jumped out at her despite time’s best efforts to conceal them. Rayne’s grave. “I wonder why his family never knocked over the stone?”
“Maybe they had hoped he would return to it.”
All of them turned at the sound of an approaching horse. A single horse pulling a gig came into view. A woman held the reins, but she was unidentifiable from a distance.
Devona glanced at Oz. He seemed undisturbed by the newcomer. A moment later it occurred to Devona: Oz had a female accomplice. “No one believed me when I told them Lady Claeg had been responsible for pushing that statuary over the ledge in the conservatory. She had made no secret of her hatred.”
He noticed Devona’s disappointment that the lady in the gig was not an innocent arriving to tend her husband’s grave. “You should be happy the woman is expected. Another body would weigh heavily on your tender conscience.”
She gasped, wondering how she could still be shocked by Oz’s actions. The vision of Doran choking on his own blood haunted her every time she closed her eyes. “Considering Lady Claeg’s great love for her son, I doubt she will feel inclined to assist you when she learns of Doran’s tortured execution.”
“Oh, I agree.” He laughed at her astonishment. “Lady Claeg is a horrid creature. Her peculiar possessiveness of her son and her outlandish behavior to all she considered a rival for her son’s affections has been, at best, diverting. If she were here, she would likely wrestle both you and me into the grave Evan is digging.”
