* * *
Devona was enjoying herself this evening despite her unwanted chaperones. Brock had been dismissed as useless, much to his relief. He still wanted to put a ball into Lord Tipton for kissing her in such a carnal manner, but even Papa had to agree the man had rescued her, and in front of witnesses. Some allowances had to be made.
The duty of keeping control of the family’s wild hair had fallen to Irene. Catching her eye from across the room, Devona made a face. Someone older might have been preferred; however, Devona thought her sister was stuffy enough to fill the skin of three maiden aunts. According to their father, Irene was an excellent example of feminine grace in action. Married at seventeen to a viscount, she promptly gave him three sons in five years. Now thirty, she was expecting again, although she was not far enough along to show yet. Irene felt it was her duty to lend a hand since Devona lacked a mother’s guidance. She was prepared to help their overwhelmed papa until it was time to leave for her confinement in the country. Her departure could not come soon enough for Devona. Still, she would have missed the Kissicks’ ball if her sister had not been such a paragon.
“Miss Bedegrayne, we missed you the other evening at the Goodmans’.”
Devona smiled at the man approaching her. “Mr. Lockwood, how are you this evening?” She glanced over at Irene and caught her approving nod. Devona tried not to groan. Obviously, her companion was on her sister’s approved list.
“Fine and well. Just trying to avoid dancing this evening. I fear I twisted my leg dismounting from my favorite mount. Why are you doing your best to blend into the wallpaper? Not your usual behavior, I must say.” The lines on his face deepened, his brown eyes teasing her into matching his grin.
He was a sweet man, she mused, close to forty if she were to guess. Someone once told her he had been engaged, but it had ended badly. She sensed he was attracted to her and would pursue her if she had shown any interest. She hadn’t. Whatever his feelings, he kept them in check, always prepared to be a cheerful supper companion or partner in cards.
As he still awaited her reply, she opened her fan with a Chinese motif. Lowering her voice, she spoke behind her fan. “I suppose I have made the gossip rounds again?”
Oz raised his hand to a companion in the distance. “My dear, you have been very naughty if my sources tell the truth.”
“What have you heard?”
“Which drama shall I repeat?” he whispered back in mock horror.
She closed her eyes. “Do your worst.”
“I heard you were brawling with Lady Claeg,” he said, his brows lifting, daring her to deny it.
“Old news, Oz. The woman hates me.” Devona held her chin up, but the tremor in her lower lip ruined her haughty effect. She had never been hated by anyone.
Seeing her distress, Oz gave her a sympathetic pat on the hand. “Never mind Glenda Claeg. She would despise anyone who could take her son away from her. Speaking of Doran, how is he holding up?”
“Weary. Desperate. Fearful. Like everyone else behind that gate.” Thinking of Doran made Devona feel guilty for being here, enjoying the music and the people around her.
“Have you had a chance to think on my suggestion? Any luck finding a surgeon?”
“I made some inquiries,” she said carefully, noting her sister was moving in their direction. “I approached Lord Tipton. Do you know him?”
“Only by reputation.” Oz’s face took on a mien of concern. “Tipton,” he said, under his breath. “Devona, when I suggested that you find a surgeon to help Doran, I meant someone not so notorious. Dangerous. Your name is already linked with him.”
“Doran needed the best. Lord Tipton is that man. He saved my life, Oz. Everyone will forget that part, and turn his heroic gesture into something sordid.”
“I hear your brother is prepared to call him out.”
“Just wishful thinking on Brock’s side. None of it matters anyway. Lord Tipton refused to help.”
Oz’s next words were interrupted by Irene’s appearance at their sides.
“Mr. Lockwood, you must cease from monopolizing my sister’s attention, else there will be rumors that you are ready for the parson’s mousetrap.”
“Irene, please.” It had been wishful thinking that she could endure an evening under her sister’s direction without being mortified. “Mr. Lockwood has injured his leg and is content to remain at my side and listen to the music. There is no need to harass the poor man.”
Oz, always prepared to charm a lady out of the sulks, gallantly kissed Irene’s hand. “Viscountess, ignore this ungrateful child. How can a man be poor when surrounded by such beauty?”
Devona practically rolled her eyes at how easily her sister fell for the bait meant to distract her. “Did you have need of me, Irene?” she asked, thinking to spare Oz further torment.
Irene blinked, momentarily confused by the question. “Oh, Lord Nevin was searching for you. He thought he might escort you to supper.”
“Hmm.” She had neatly turned the conversation back to Irene’s quest for finding her a proper husband.
“Why is it,” she whispered to Oz, loud enough for her sister to hear, “that every married person is not content until the rest of us are as tightly leg shackled as they are?”
Irene took her comment seriously. “Is this why you have been acting so recklessly? Do you use it as a means to escape marriage?”
Devona could not resist teasing her. “Marriage is like being trapped in prison.”
“Where do you get these notions?”
“Well, it is a life sentence, is it not?” Her sister was staring at her as if she had just crossed her eyes at the king. Oz coughed, trying to conceal his merriment behind his hand.
Devona’s eyes gave her away. Irene’s narrowed, looking so much like their mother. “I do not understand how Wynne tolerates your jests.” Prepared to make a dramatic exit, she spoiled it by touching her stomach. “Oh.”
Instantly contrite, Devona put her arm around Irene. “What is it? The babe?”
Her face went white. “Yes. No. The babe is making me ill.”
“Come then, I will help you to a room so you may rest. Oz—er, Mr. Lockwood?” Devona looked to him to make their apologies, but he was staring at something beyond them. She followed his gaze and could not credit the sight. Lord Tipton had just entered the room.
* * *
Devona returned downstairs once the worst of Irene’s sickness had passed. She was still weak from vomiting, so she had wanted to lie down until she felt better. A child not much bigger than a thought had done in the paragon. Devona promised herself that she would purchase the new family member a very special gift since it had accomplished the impossible. She was free of yet another chaperone.
Devona slowly eased her way through the crowd, smiling and nodding to each familiar face, her eyes scanning for Lord Tipton. What was he doing here? She had been told he had little use for his title, and less still for society. It was too much to hope the man broke one of his rules just to see her. The thought gave her a very feminine thrill. After all, he had kissed her. Her practical side also reminded her that he had not made any attempt to contact her after his confrontation with Brock. What if the last thing Tipton wanted was to see her? Her heart skipped a few beats at the unpleasant thought. He might have already left the town house!
A hand shot out and stalled her before she could have broken into a run. “Whoa. You are going to break an ankle going at that pace.” Devona’s gaze shot up, shocked that she was so blind in purpose that she had almost dashed into Lord Nevin. Utterly mortifying! At twenty-eight, the handsome earl was reputed to cause the local ladies’ hearts to race, and she included herself in that group.
Extraordinarily tall, the blond giant smiled down at her; his aquamarine-colored eyes twinkled with amusement. The rogue knew his effect on women. She inhaled, a weak attempt to settle her nerves. The dimple in his left cheek deepened.
“Lord Nevin, you startled me.” She
mentally kicked herself for sounding so dazed and breathless.
“Where were you off to?”
“I was, um, looking for someone.”
Gold-tipped brown lashes lowered seductively. “Dare I hope such energy was meant for me?”
Devona forgot to breathe. Before she had met Lord Tipton, she would have declared Lord Nevin the most handsome man this Season. Second place did not lessen his devastating effects on her constitution. The man spent most of his life chasing women, not that any of them were running particularly fast. For some reason she could not fathom, he had decided to include her in his little pursuit games this Season. She highly doubted that he was considering her for his future countess. Her papa would have pounced on such gossip. No, she had an awful feeling that it was her reckless nature that had caught his roving eye.
“No—yes—I’m—” It was getting worse by the minute. She should just shut her mouth and move in the opposite direction. “I thought I saw someone I knew.” Good, one coherent sentence out. Now leave!
“I spoke to your sister earlier. She gave me the impression you were lacking an escort for supper.” Lord Nevin had yet to let go of her hand. “I would be honored to take you.” He raised her gloved hand up to his lips. Twisting it palm up, he kissed, flicking the tip of his tongue across the open slit at her wrist.
Devona shivered. “Lord Nevin.”
“Miss Bedegrayne regrets she must refuse you,” Rayne drawled, behind them.
Taking advantage of Lord Nevin’s surprise, she snatched her hand from his loose grasp. “Lord Tipton, do you know Lord Nevin?”
“Not intimately.” Though Rayne’s voice seemed controlled, the look in his eyes was predatory.
Lord Nevin sized up his rival. Without taking his gaze off Rayne, he asked, “Miss Bedegrayne, perhaps you would like to cool yourself in the conservatory?”
She looked to each of the men, feeling the instant hostility radiate from both. She had enough problems trying to figure out how to help Doran without having two men fighting over her. She glanced around to see if her friend Oz Lockwood was about. He might be the one to defuse the situation. “I—”
Rayne clutched her elbow and guided her to his side. No one missed the proprietary gesture. “Miss Bedegrayne has kindly accepted my escort to supper. Is this not correct?” What his tone lacked in steel he made up for in his grasp.
Devona tried not to wince. “Yes, yes. My apologies, Lord Nevin. My sister was mistaken.”
A silent message passed between the two men. Finally, Lord Nevin nodded. “Another time, then, Miss Bedegrayne. Tipton.”
Rayne did not bother to wait for the man to depart. He steered Devona away, leading her to stairs that would take them to the refreshments.
Their partnering was drawing attention. She could feel everyone’s speculative stares, hear their indistinct murmurs. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Lord Nevin has become somewhat persistent this Season.” When they reached the stairs, she was glad he still held her arm, since her legs felt as wobbly as rubber.
“I would have thought your brother would recognize one of his kind and warned him off.”
“Brock does not like these functions. He says they are for scheming mamas and fortune hunters.”
Without a word he pushed her into an empty chair and wandered off to get her something to eat. As was the custom, he would stand by while she ate her supper. Later, he would partake in his own alone.
Rayne returned with a plate heaped with enough food for several large men. Handing her the plate, he leaned against the wall, keeping a glass of wine for himself.
“Perhaps we should call Lord Nevin back,” she suggested, eyeing the heavily laden plate dubiously.
Rayne did not bother to disguise his irritation. “Why would we want to do that?”
“Well, among the three of us we might do justice to this portion.”
A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Outside of enough, eh?”
“A trifle.” She was pleased when he laughed outright. “Why did you say Brock should recognize one of his own kind?” Devona cut into a slice of ham. She wasn’t hungry, but it was a respectable excuse for them to be seen together.
“Lord Nevin is not the man for you, Devona.”
She warmed at the intimate use of her name, which was good, since Rayne’s glare was utterly chilling. “Why? He is handsome, titled, rich. Most women would be honored to have his attention.”
Instead of anger flaring, he gave her a considering look. “This is important to you?”
“Not in the manner you think,” she said, stung that he thought her such a superficial creature. “Besides, Lord Nevin just finds me amusing. Why else would he seek out Sir Thomas Bedegrayne’s reckless daughter for a wife when there are so many other suitable candidates? If he was to choose a Bedegrayne, Wynne would be a better choice if you could convince her to have him.”
Something lightened in Rayne’s expression. In another she might have called it relief. “Your sister would not marry a handsome, flush earl?”
Devona wrinkled her nose. “Lord Nevin? No. Those smoldering looks may turn a lady’s insides to jelly; however, she would refuse him for the same reasons that you believe he is not acceptable for me.”
“Reasons?” he echoed.
“You said so yourself that he is very much like Brock. He probably spends most of his time drinking, fighting, gambling away his fortune, and womanizing. I would hate to be the one to ruin all his fun.” She glanced around. “You forgot to get me something to drink.”
“Here, take this.” He offered her his wine, daring her to drink. It was a challenge she found difficult to resist. She took his glass and sipped, wondering if she was putting her lips in the same place he had. Her hand trembled as she recalled how his lips had felt against hers.
A mischievous glimmer lightened his demeanor. “What’s wrong, Devona?”
“N-nothing.”
“Are you certain? The tips of your ears are a delightful shade of red.”
In self-defense, Devona smirked. “I suppose it is too much to hope that if you can dress like a gentleman, that you can act like one as well!”
“Yes, it is.”
Well, well, the man was teasing her. All those rumors about him being a ruthless, dangerous creature of the night must have been all nonsense. Rayne could be intimidating, and heroic, she mentally added, remembering how he had saved them at the gardens. Above all, he had been nothing but kind to her, even if he had refused to help her.
“I did not realize you moved in society.”
He took his wine back, purposely turning the glass so that his mouth touched where hers had. “It is difficult to avoid people when living in a city.”
“That is not what I mean.”
“I know.” Rayne stared past her, watching the elegantly dressed couples chatting around them. “And you are correct. I generally avoid such gatherings, unless it befits me.”
Not understanding, she gazed up at him. “Like it does now, Lord Tipton?”
“Yes.”
Devona had expected him to deny his heritage, as he had invariably done before. She had tried, and failed, to understand why a man would deny his birthright. It provided him a position in society, respect, and opportunities. Rayne had walked away from all of it. Remarkable still, he had thrived. True, many here would not consider becoming a surgeon something to boast about, but he had made his choice, then had become the best in his profession. It made one think of all the possibilities if he had chosen to embrace his advantages.
Rayne tenderly reached out, entwining his finger within the coil of one of the curls framing her face. He seemed enthralled by her hair. Devona held her breath, uncertain where his thoughts were taking him. If he tried to kiss her … No, he would not dare! Already the people around them had noted his bold gesture. Someone in her family was bound to hear of it.
“W-what?” she asked, worried a little by the fi
erce satisfaction she saw in his expression. Her breathing improved when he reluctantly released her hair.
He pitched his voice so that only she could hear. “I have reconsidered your request for my assistance.”
She fought back the urge to jump up and embrace him. “You did? Why did you not say something earlier? Is that the reason you came tonight?”
“Yes, and more,” was his ambiguous reply.
Everything was going to be fine now. Relief was almost as heady as the wine she had sipped. “I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am. Doran will be thrilled to learn that you are willing to—”
“No.”
His adamant refusal threw her off balance. Did he not just promise to help? Mentally regrouping, she considered her options, deciding to attack with guilt. “Without your help, Doran Claeg is going to die.”
“I never said I would not help.” Taking advantage of her stunned silence, he continued. “There have been a few changes in your plan.”
“What changes?”
He leaned close enough for her to smell the wine on his hot breath. “I’ve thrown out your plan and come up with one of my own.”
Devona was too flustered by his announcement to react to the light kiss he placed on her temple before he pulled back. “It was a good plan!”
“No, it wasn’t. I warned you before that the odds were not in Claeg’s favor. What I have in mind isn’t as dramatic, but your friend has a better chance of surviving.”
The ball might have been in another country as far as Devona was concerned. All of her attention was focused on Rayne. “When do we start?”
“Why, Devona, we already have.”
She thought for a moment. “Your emergence back into society.”
“You are a clever woman. Sometimes too clever, eh?”
She ignored his taunt, considering the gesture magnanimous, since he did all but tweak her nose. “So you attend a few balls, renew your membership at the clubs. How does that help Doran?”
“You are picking at threads, thus missing the grander scheme. You want me to help Claeg. Well, position is power, Miss Bedegrayne. My mother reminded me the other day that I rarely flex it.”
The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton Page 5