Page 93 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
TWENTY
They were walking into a trap. Rayne knew it, just as the villain who took Devona knew that he would do anything to get her back. Brock and Sir Thomas accompanied him, as did Wynne. The Bedegrayne men had been resistant to the idea of her placing herself near the danger. Rayne did not have time to argue. He stuffed the ill-tempered group into the coach and allowed them to fight it out on their journey.
In the end, he was pleased by the decision. Wynne Bedegrayne was a sensible woman. Her soft, feminine tone firmly cut through the male outrage. “We do not know what Devona has endured. Some matters are best confided to another woman,” she had explained. No one had debated the issue.
The hours passed in silence. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Wynne went about the task of lighting the coach’s inner lanterns.
“Tipton, I have given this some thought,” Wynne began, sounding hesitant to offer her opinion. “Rushing into the graveyard may be exactly what this madman wants. Besides, you cannot be certain she is even there.”
Sir Thomas stirred, awakening at the sound of Wynne’s voice. “What’s this? You think you know more about these matters than us men? Next you will be demanding we hand over a pistol so you can be the first to spit in the bastard’s eye?”
“And you are an expert, Papa? I will wager there are cobwebs in the barrel of that fine pistol you have tucked in your waist.” She ignored her father’s discreet scrutiny of his weapon and focused on Rayne. “This graveyard is close to Foxenclover, correct?”
“Our lands border the rectory. Why do you ask?”
“Maddy,” she starkly reminded him. “And your mother. If this man’s intent is to destroy you, do you think he would resist taking your kin? I realize your feelings for your mother are not the least sentimental; however, your sister—”
“Enough,” Rayne interrupted; the image of his sister’s proud, defiant face surfaced in his mind, haunting his conscience. “Your point has been made. Your concern is reasonable, and the logic of it irrefutable. We are fortunate that you are on our side.”
Brock’s grim features shifted in and out of shadow with the swaying movement of the coach. “Damn, but I have to agree. I would take all three, figuring your feelings for one, if not all, would lure you into an ambush.”
If there would be an ambush, Rayne planned on being the instigator. When they were a half mile from Foxenclover, he signaled for the coachman to halt. “An approaching coach this time of night will alert him of our arrival. We will continue to the house on foot.” He glanced up through the trapdoor at Speck’s ugly face. “Speck, you remain behind with the coachman. If there is no trouble, then we will return and continue to the graveyard.”
“Aye, milord.”
Rayne climbed down from the coach. He tilted his face up, a warm, misting rain beaded on his face.
“At least the rain will help mask our approach,” Brock muttered.
Rayne blocked Wynne’s descent. “Perhaps you should wait with Speck until we know what we will discover?”
Wynne brushed aside the suggestion. “If Devona is there, then she will need me. If not, then I will remain behind to keep vigil along with Maddy and your mother.”
He nodded. Devona would want Wynne to attend her. The pair of them shared a bond his own upbringing left him ill prepared to comprehend. Sir Thomas emerged after his daughter, patting his concealed weapon. Wet powder would be careless and, with these high stakes, quite deadly.
“Speck, I won’t waste my time telling you not to ride in if you hear shots.”
The servant spat. “Good. My hearing ain’t sharp when you start blathering idiocy.”
“Keep low. I would regret shooting you,” Rayne warned. He opened his medical case and removed a scalpel. Taking out his handkerchief, he wrapped the cloth around the razor-sharp blade and stuffed it in his boot. He wasn’t particular about which implement or whose hand saw to the task; what mattered to him was that the man who took Devona be punished.
Not wanting to risk a lantern, they made the trek to the house blind. Their movements were cautious and at times noisy. No one present was claiming to be an expert at stealth.
The house was unexpectedly dark, they noted while they crossed the front yard. Assuming one door would do as well as another, Rayne boldly walked up to the front door. The door opened easily; an even blacker darkness beckoned within.
The exertion and the cooling rain made Wynne’s teeth chatter. “Could they have gone visiting?”
“Possible. It appears Jocelyn has hired a negligent staff.” He entered the front hall. “Wait there until I can find a candle or lamp.” A few minutes later, the hall glowed from the light of an oil lamp.
“Should we call out?” Brock whispered.
A thud from overhead had Rayne putting his finger to his lips.Thud!Removing his pistol from the protective folds of his cloak, he moved toward the stairs.
“Wait!” Sir Thomas urgently invoked. “What if it is a trap?”
“What if it is Devona?” Rayne countered. He had no patience to debate this with the elder Bedegrayne. “Stay here and protect Wynne. Brock, assist me.” Not waiting for their agreement, Rayne swiftly climbed the stairs.
The men heard the noise again. It came from the room at the end of the hall. Mentally, he reviewed the layout of Foxenclover and immediately concluded his sister’s tower room was the room they approached.
