The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton

by Barbara Pierce

  “Let go, peasant!” she hissed.

  A judicious man would have backed away. Tipton was not such a man. Laughing still, he wrapped his arms around her until she was soundly ensnared. “I outrank you.”

  She sniffed. “Sadly, some breeding never shows. Release me.”

  “Never,” he vowed. “I do not know why I doubted you. Never have I seen such a ferocious guardian of what is right. And that’s what we are, Wife. Right.” Tipton pressed his face into her hair and breathed deeply. “You are such a bold creature, it makes me forget that you have never been with a man while I—”

  If he mentioned the women in his past, Devona promised herself she was going to draw blood. “Yes?” This was not jealousy, she assured herself; this was a lesson in discretion.

  Tipton must have recovered a dollop of common sense or it was the promise of pain in her eyes when he spun her around. “I have never had a wife.” He kissed her on the lips and pulled away before she could enjoy it.

  “I am serious, Tipton. I will not bathe in front of you. It is unseemly.” She gasped when he plucked the fabric band from her hair.

  “And you are always a pious model of proper behavior?” He tossed the band over his shoulder.

  “I could give instruction to young ladies!” she replied, daring him to disagree.

  Instead, he settled for seizing her hands. He began peeling off her gloves. “London can only handle one Devona Bedegrayne.” One glove fell to the floor. He worked on the other.

  “Wyman. Devona Wyman. I am Viscountess Tipton, you rogue. Will you stop playing with my fingers!” she demanded.

  The other glove dropped. He had a dazed look on his face as though he had not considered that she had taken his name. “I do not think so. Turn around.”

  His deep voice had changed into an intriguing drawl that made her legs feel boneless.

  “Forget it, Tipton.”

  He gently clasped her by the shoulders and turned her until he was presented with her back. “Permit me to play lady’s maid. You are my wife. I want to see you, all of you,” he cajoled.

  As he unfastened the buttons on her dress, she tried to think of an argument against him being there. None came to mind. “I doubt that my sister Irene bathes in front of her husband.”

  “You are not Irene and I am not married to her.” He kissed the back of her neck, causing a cascade of shivers to travel down her spine. “You and I do not fit the molds the ton herald as fashionable. Never have we met our families’ expectations. None of it matters here, Devona. With you in my arms, I welcome your recklessness. I demand it. There are no rules, no conduct that will be censured.” The back of her dress opened. Rayne gently pushed the cap sleeves down so that the dress slipped and became a circle of fabric at her feet.

  Free of her dress she felt vulnerable. No man had ever seen her in such a state. Rayne’s hand splayed across her abdomen and guided her to step aside so he could kick the garment off the oilcloth. He could not seem to stop touching her; his hands were everywhere: her shoulder, her back, her arms. She felt like a brightly wrapped gift and he was enjoying the outer wrapping as he slowly unveiled the object within.

  Tipton’s fingers traced the whalebone of her long stays. “It must feel great to free yourself from fashion’s trappings.” He began to untie the strings.

  “N-not really. I suppose women get used to them.” After some time, the stays fell away, another protective layer vanquished. He turned her to face him so he could work on the buttons on her chemise.

  “I think the first thing I noticed about you were your eyes. No, that’s not right. It was your sassy tongue and audacity to sneak your way into my study.”

  His teasing made her laugh. He was trying to ease her fears of him, and his small kindness made her want to weep all of a sudden. “You were not pleased to see me. You had Speck throw me out.”

  Rayne did not seem bothered by her indignation. He unfastened the remaining buttons. “Only because I was afraid I would do something impulsive like locking the door and ravishing you.”

  “Please!” Devona playfully pushed at him, not believing one word of it. She did not have the kind of beauty men would kill to possess.

  She had not budged him, but her outburst brought out a mischievous glint to his eyes. “Well, since you asked so prettily.” His fingers hooked the shoulders of the chemise and tugged.

  “No,” she pleaded. “This does not feel right, Tipton.” Her hands covered his to prevent him from pulling the fabric down. He was still dressed and the notion of standing in front of him nude was disturbing.

  “You are concentrating on the wrong feelings.”

  Her hands tightened over his. “You have your clothes on.”

  “And rightly so, Wife. This is your bath, love. I am merely your servant.”

  “Ha! Papa would have had a fit if I had summoned Gar to perform such duties.” There was nothing in Rayne’s stance or expression that suggested vassalage. Even if he denied himself the title, he was very much a lord. Her lord.

  “I could easily kill any man who dared to look upon you thus.” He worked the fabric from her fingers and pulled the fabric down, finally revealing shoulders, breasts, and abdomen. The fabric continued its revealing journey until it pooled on the floor. “Devona, you are so lovely. Not even in my dreams could I create such perfection.” His hands hovered inches from her narrow hips. The control he exerted not to grab her roughly to him made them shake. “Your sponge bath, madam.”

  She turned to the washbasin, offering him time to study her backside. Tipton was looking at her strangely, and odder still was her reaction. Her chest felt so tight she could barely take a breath. Every movement she made seemed sluggish, as though she did not have complete control of her body. She dipped a cloth into the tepid water.

  “No. Allow me,” he whispered hoarsely behind her. He took the cloth from her boneless hand.

  She gasped at the first touch of the wet cloth against the back of her neck. “Just your servant,” he murmured. “Close your eyes and enjoy the feel of the cool cloth against your skin.”

  “S-soap.” The cooling wetness and the heat from his stroking hands was a startling, wonderful contrast. She instinctively leaned into him, reveling in his attention.

  “Criticizing my skills already, madam,” he teased, rewarding himself with a quick taste of her neck. “I endeavor to prove myself worthy.” He dipped the cloth back into the water. He traced the length of her spine, then drew wet circles across her buttocks. “If I survive this,” he groaned more to himself.

  Devona did not look back at Tipton. She was content to listen to his movements behind her. The arrangement placed a certain detachment to their actions. He could become in her mind exactly what he said. He was her servant. The image was shattered when Tipton, growing bolder by her silence, moved the cloth from her back to her front. Water droplets sluiced over and between her breasts, tightening her nipples into firm buds. He moved in closer, his front lightly pressed against her nude back. The cloth followed the meandering trails of the droplets.

  “Your shirt will be soaked.” She noticed that his breathing had changed. The rapid, warm exhales tickled her right ear.

  “Perhaps I should remove it?” he suggested, kneeling before her. The lightest touch of his hand had her turning to face him. “Would you assist me, madam?”

  Her fingers all nerves, she grasped his cravat and pulled at the intricate knot.

  “Easy, Devona. I value my neck as much as the next man.”

  He placed his hands over hers and showed her how to loosen the knot. Her husband expected her to be inexperienced with men, but her incompetence made her feel no less foolish. “It was not my intention to strangle you, my lord.”

  “Rayne.”

  The cravat came away, dangling loosely in her hand. “If you like.”

  His gaze roamed up the length of her body, up to meet her eyes. “Oh, I do. Very much so.” He undid the three pearl buttons at his throat. “Help
me, love.”

  Devona grabbed the sides of his linen shirt and together they pulled it over his head. He met her curious stare, awaiting her instructions. Now she understood why he was so fascinated by her body. Seeing him shirtless made her curious to see more of him as well. Forgetting about her own nudity, she stepped forward. A man’s body was a marvelous creation, she thought. Rayne’s shoulders were straight and firm, the muscles ropelike as they strained and pulled. He was almost as perfect as some of the statues she had seen in the museum. However, he was not made of cool, smooth marble. Rayne was heat and motion. “Is touching permitted?”

  “Christ, yes, please.”

  Her fingers ruffled the hair on his chest; the hesitant gesture probably seemed flirtatious to him. How did one go about pleasing a man?

  Rayne resumed washing her; the cloth glided across her stomach. He watched the water drip down into her downy nest of curls. “No rules, Devona,” he murmured, bringing the wet cloth to the curls and pressing. It made her think of the time in the carriage when he had touched her there, sunk his fingers deep within her.

  Devona threaded her fingers through the short hair on his chest. He sucked in his breath when her knuckle brushed against his flat nipple. She smiled when it reacted very much as her own had. “The night we met, your hair was unbound. May I?” She did not wait for his permission. A quick tug on the leather cord and his hair fell to his shoulders. Her hand traced the shock of white standing out from the darker hue. “I heard this was the result of your accident.”

  If Rayne was disturbed about speaking of his premature burial, he hid it well. He pressed a kiss to her belly. “I noticed it the following morning.” He shrugged. Either it was a subject he never dwelled upon or he was too distracted to elaborate. She assumed it was both.

  He placed a few more kisses against her belly, each lower than the last. His tongue swirled around her navel. “That tickles.” She jerked back, but he held her, his strong hands firmly gripping her hips.

  “Hold my shoulders, love. I plan to seek out all your ticklish areas.” He buried his face into her nether curls and she bit back a scream from the pleasure of it. There was no hesitation as he licked and suckled the drenched, sensitive flesh until she was quivering with need.

  Rayne’s hands rested on her hips, although he did not have to keep her in place. His little wanton had her hands so firmly fisted in his hair he doubted he could free himself even if he had desired it. He had wanted to gently introduce her to lovemaking, to slowly acclimate her to his hands and mouth on her body. She was not going to allow him to do this slowly. All he had to do was touch her and she burned like a flame in his arms.

  Her moans and cries of pleasure enhanced his own. He buried his tongue deep into the cleft between her legs, wringing another sigh from her. Rayne cupped her buttocks in his hands, adding strength to her stance that he suspected was weakening as much as his own. Gliding up, his tongue flicked, then swirled around the sweet nubbin of her desire. Her hands tightened against his shoulders, feeling the bite of her nails into his flesh. He welcomed her passion. Required it. When he buried himself deep within her, he wanted her caught up in the carnal journey.

  He rubbed a finger, moistening it with her dewy response, then slipped it within her slight virginal passage. She flinched at the intrusion, then relaxed as if recalling the last time he had touched her. That time there had been no pain, only new pleasure. He hoped that this evening would be the same. He slid two fingers within her, preparing her, testing her readiness for him. He felt like he had been waiting for her his entire life.

  Devona shifted in his embrace opening herself more to him. A growl of frustration rumbled in his throat while he stroked and playfully nipped the gift she offered. Her body tensed, awaiting the release his wife was just beginning to understand. His fingers plunged deeper, encouraging the release he craved to give her.

  “Ahh!” she cried out, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, then slackening when the fiery surges of her release came to completion.

  Rayne pulled back, wiping the wetness on his face with the back of his hand. Fierce possessiveness ran through him with the knowledge that he was the only one who had ever given her such ecstasy. He picked up a towel and wrapped her trembling body.

  She bent down, pressing her cheek to his. To his delight, she laughed, the sound a closing fist around his heart. “I do not think I can take a single step,” she confessed.

  Rayne stood. Devona had yet to look him directly in the eye, a shyness having settled in her demeanor. The different dimensions to her character fascinated him. He smiled, contemplating the ways he could lure the wanton back. Scooping her up, he carried her to the bed.

  “I think your breeches are ruined.”

  He hid his smile with a kiss to her temple. “Still worrying about my clothes?” He placed her reverently on the bed. “I guess I will have to humor you and remove them.” His hand reached for the buttons at his waist. One by one he undid the flap, his gaze never straying from hers.

  “The candles?” Her voice had a wispy quality as she watched him push his breeches down, revealing his very aroused state.

  “Leave them lit. I want to see us together.”

  She nodded, her eyes now focused on his jutting cock. He could see the uncertainty, the unspoken fears any gently bred lady would have. He would be a gentleman for her. He would handle her delicately, guiding himself slowly into her, no matter how much it would kill him to do so. She deserved this. He tried to think of some way to assure her that he was not some kind of beast that would leap upon her and rut until the madness had been purged from his brain and his seed had been spent. Even if that was how he was feeling at the moment. “If you will not trust your husband, you can trust my medical expertise as a surgeon. This sort of union has been successful since the dawn of mankind.”

  She surprised him again by giggling. Before he could question her on the source of her amusement, she coyly admitted, “It was not the science I questioned, Husband. Rather it was the size of your”—she glanced down pointedly at his cock, which twitched at her brazen appraisal—“that I … uh, marveled at.”

  Rayne choked on his strangled laughter. He had never met a woman who could push him to the brink of pain and laughter at the same time. She aroused all elements of passion within him. “I insist you take full measure of it, Wife.” She was still laughing when he kicked aside his breeches and climbed into the bed beside her.

  His closeness sobered her but did not diminish the brilliance in her eyes. He tugged on the towel under her to bring her closer. Devona tilted her chin up in the defiant manner she had, as if challenging him to take her. He did. He lowered his face to hers and plundered her mouth. Her lips were full and pliant against his, returning the kiss. Covering her with his body, he coaxed her mouth open by gently squeezing her jaw. When she complied, he deepened the kiss. She stiffened at the intrusion of his tongue.

  “Like this.”

  He licked her lips, then teased her tongue to mimic his movements. After an experimental flick or two of her tongue against his, she became enthusiastically caught up in the sensuality of the seemingly never-ending kiss. Together lips brushed, tongues licked, explored, and claimed. Her kiss-swollen mouth and the way her breasts rubbed against his chest were testing the limits of his control. His cock, hot, velvet steel, was already pressing against the wet nest of curls, demanding entry.

  Devona pulled back from the kiss. “I cannot take a breath,” she gasped. Her eyes dilated from passion had a glazelike quality to them.

  He slipped a hand between them and parted the soft hidden folds, readying her for his entry. “Look at me, Devona. I want you to see what you do to me when I make you mine.”

  Her eyes still had a dreamy haze to them, focused on his. What he saw there sapped the last of his control. She trusted him. Whether it was her body, her heart, or both he did not care. Rayne surged into her, with one definitive thrust. She automatically arched beneath him, a small
sound escaping her lips. He stilled, his body viciously warring against the primitive instinctive need to pump until completion and the concern that he had hurt her.

  “Is there pain?” he asked as if the question had been ripped from his throat. Needs were riding him too harshly for polite conversation.

  “N-not exactly.” She lifted her hips, trying to adjust to him being inside her. “Now I can understand why you never hear of this part discussed in the ladies’ retiring room.”

  Her movements made him slide deeper within her. He groaned. “Don’t you dare make me laugh, madam. Some events deserve veneration.” He pulled out slowly, enjoying the way the muscles of her passage resisted his withdrawal. In a fluid motion with his hips, he filled her. This time her arching gasp was of appreciation.

  “I would not dream of ruining your adoration,” Devona said, giving him a sultry look that had what little blood he had left in his brain draining to his nether regions. “Pray continue, my lord.”

  Rayne had never imagined his wife was capable of such an expression. A man would sell his soul to have a beautiful woman stare at him in that manner. He only had to die and lose everything to have her. It seemed a small price now. “Put your hands on me, beloved,” he murmured, increasing the tempo of his thrusts.

  Devona’s slender fingers clutched his upper arms as he moved, her body accepting his pressing weight. He could feel the sweat pool and run down his back as his exertions brought him closer to his release. Her eyes were closed now. She breathed through her mouth as he did, her breath as labored as his own. The bountiful wetness of her arousal assured him that she was more than enduring his insatiable penetration.

  The tempo quickened, rising to yet another level of feverish need. Her hips lifted in a counter rhythm. Rayne gritted his teeth, a tingling at the base of his cock warning him that he could no longer prevent the impending release. One hand cupped her buttocks, bringing her closer. Devona stiffened and cried out, but he was too caught up in his own explosive release to barely notice. He ground his pelvis into her, the head of his cock buried deep as he pumped his seed into her womb.