The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton

by Barbara Pierce

  “That is enough, Madeleina,” Devona interrupted before the pair of them could begin to argue in earnest. “Miss Brown may be in my employ; however, she is your elder and you will display a more ladylike decorum when addressing her.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The glare Madeleina sent in Pearl’s direction promised retribution.

  Devona could barely contain a sigh. The Wymans were a combustible clan. Her appreciation for Tipton’s self-control was growing each day.

  “This is your shopping excursion, Devona,” Wynne said, reminding everyone of their purpose. “Shall we do gloves or shoes next?”

  “Neither. Maddy must be hungry after several hours of fittings. I propose we move on to Mayfair. Our new sister has never seen Berkeley Square and I think an ice from Gunter’s would improve her mood.”

  “Truly?” Maddy exclaimed, looking more like a child than a woman at the moment. “I would enjoy that very much, Devona.”

  “Do you think indulging her whims will benefit her disposition?” Wynne asked as they waited for their carriage.

  Devona shrugged, not offended by the question. “Years of denial have left her hungry. I intend to feed her.”

  * * *

  “Miss Bedegrayne, is that you?”

  Devona turned, her hand lightly resting on the cool glass of lemonade as she searched for the person who had called out her name. Oz Lockwood was striding briskly toward her, his walking stick sharply striking the wooden walkway with each step.

  “Mr. Lockwood, it is a pleasure to see you again.” She held out a hand and he immediately clasped it and bowed. “You of course are acquainted with my sister Wynne.”

  “Mr. Lockwood.” Wynne acknowledged politely his quick bow in her direction.

  “And may I present another sister, Miss Madeleina Wyman. Maddy, this is a dear friend, Mr. Oz Lockwood.”

  Maddy looked up from her ice and frowned. “You look familiar.”

  Not pleased to be addressed in such a forthright manner by a mere schoolgirl, Oz irritatingly replied, “I doubt it, Miss Wyman. I rarely associate with children.” Pleased he had put her in her place, he turned to Devona.

  “Miss Bedegrayne—oh, forgive me; you are Lady Tipton now, are you not?”

  She tried not to wince at the disapproving tone.

  “You must forgive me, my dear, but your sudden marriage came as a shock to all of us.”

  “Really?” Wynne’s smile should have frosted Oz’s eyebrows. “Anyone close to the family could obviously see how smitten Tipton was with our Devona. I am certain you could understand how a couple in love is swept away by the romance of eloping.”

  Oz glowered at Wynne. “I was under the impression, Miss Bedegrayne, that Sir Thomas heartily denounced this match.”

  “Father was naturally disappointed that Tipton denied him the pleasure of marrying his youngest daughter off with the flourish suitable to our rank. Perfectly understandable, do you not think?” Wynne gazed directly into his eyes, her warning unambiguous. “Nevertheless, Tipton has the support of the Bedegraynes.”

  Devona tried to get her sister’s attention, but she was too focused on putting Oz in his place. Wynne had never been very tolerant of Oz’s peevishness. She had always said that the only reason Mr. Lockwood hung around them was his interest in Devona’s hand. If this was true, the man had done a remarkable job hiding his intentions.

  “Would you care to join us, Mr. Lockwood?”

  Oz rolled his walking stick between his palms. “I had hopes of luring you away for a private discussion, Lady Tipton.”

  Wynne touched her hand before Devona could agree to the request. “Unfortunately, you have caught us at an awkward moment, Mr. Lockwood. You do understand.”

  Devona didn’t, not one word. “What awkwardness?”

  “My brother’s displeasure,” Maddy happily explained. She spooned another mouthful of ice into her mouth.

  Ah, they had a point. Devona could not claim that her husband was a jealous man, but he did have some odd notions about her male friends. “We must continue our shopping, Mr. Lockwood. Another time, perhaps?”

  Oz’s lips had thinned to the point that his upper lip had disappeared completely. His hand tightened on the silver head of his walking stick as he leaned heavily on it. “Forgive me for intruding, ladies. I look forward to our next encounter.” He nodded to Wynne, a small capitulation from the vanquished. “Lady Tipton.” He moved on quickly, as if attempting to distance himself from their rejection.

  “Oz Lockwood is harmless,” Devona announced to anyone who needed reminding.

  Pearl, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, shifted in her seat. “He’s had his eye on you; it’s obvious.”

  “Ridiculous. The man is my friend. I have known him for years.”

  Wynne signaled to Gar that they were ready to depart. “I would not try that pathetic defense on your husband.”

  Being the youngest Bedegrayne was wearing on Devona’s cheerful disposition. “I am not naïve, Wynne. Stop treating me like a child.”

  “You should be grateful for my intervention,” her sister replied, oblivious to Devona’s increasing exasperation “I will wager Mr. Lockwood is, or will be once his anger diminishes.” She took a bite of her ice, then pushed it away.

  “Grateful for chasing my friend away? Why should I be grateful?” Devona wondered aloud.

  “That Lord Tipton doesn’t murder Mr. Lockwood for approaching you for a private discussion.” Maddy made her astute observation while she licked the pink smear of sweet confection from her lips.

  * * *

  “I am surprised you called this meeting at the club,” Rayne said, taking the seat offered by Devona’s father. “I had anticipated a more private setting.”

  “Like Wimbledon Common at dawn?”

  A reluctant smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Something along those lines, although I expected Brock to issue the hotheaded challenge.”

  A blaze of indignation fired up in Sir Thomas’s gaze. “What, Tipton, you think a little gray hair means I lack the teeth to punch a ball into your heart?”

  “No, sir. I suspect a man like you would simply forget about the invitation.”

  The older man leaned forward, his stance intimidating. “I’m no coward, Tipton, to plan an ambush. If I wanted you dead, you would be the first to know.”

  Rayne settled back in his chair. He liked the old Bedegrayne, even respected him. Rayne could tell from which side of the bloodline the offspring had acquired their character.

  “You expressed my thoughts better than I, Sir Thomas. My apologies if I offended you.” He waited while a servant poured him coffee. “Your daughter is well. She hopes you will visit us soon.”

  “Come, Tipton, I did not invite you here for an idle chat.”

  Rayne matched the comment with an equally direct question of his own. “Why the imperial invitation, sir?”

  Sir Thomas Bedegrayne slapped his palm against the table and looked about the room. He glared at the few men brave enough to boldly stare in their direction. “A bunch of gossipy old women,” he mumbled. “Did you know there is a bet in the books?”

  Since Rayne did not frequent the club, he shook his head. “What was the wager?”

  “That I would kill you the moment you returned to town with my gel.” The older man’s smile reminded Rayne of a wildcat playing with a snake.

  “I plan to live a long life. Do you object?”

  The smile warmed a degree. “Oh, I had my fantasies, Tipton. However, my boy Brock spoke up for the match. In fact, he insisted on it.”

  “I discovered Brock was a reasonable young man, once he stopped challenging me.”

  “It makes me wonder, though…,” Sir Thomas trailed off. His eyes widened at some undisclosed insight. “You have something on him. Something he didn’t want bandied ’bout town.”

  “Brock’s business is his own,” he replied, sensing the ambiguous answer would infuriate his companion. Rayne did
not have to wait long for the outburst.

  “Lies and half-truths are the same in my book, Tipton,” he grumbled. Bushy brows drawn together in an uneven line, he looked every inch the outraged father. “Drunk or sober, my boy has a functioning mind. What did you threaten him with to bring him in line?”

  Rayne weighed his options. Bedegrayne appeared to be a sensible man. Rayne doubted he would murder a man for doing right by his daughter. “I told him Devona was my mistress.”

  Sir Thomas laughed. “And he believed you? My gels are ladies. Not one of them would risk their papa’s wrath.”

  “I reminded Brock that it mattered not whether it was truth or fiction, the ton relishes such scandals. The downfall of the reckless Devona Bedegrayne would be a tasty morsel for the jaded.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed as if he found something distasteful in front of him. “You would ruin a young gel because it amuses you? By God, you are as evil as they say.”

  “You forget. That lady is my wife. Her reputation is secure and I would call anyone out who says otherwise. We are on the same side, sir.” Rayne got up. He was mildly surprised to see Sir Thomas do the same. “Since your daughter is safe in my hands, are we finished?”

  “Not quite.”

  He did not expect the hammerlike fist his father-in-law planted in his stomach. He doubted he would have stopped him even if he had. A whoosh of air expelled from his lips. It was a respectable connection. Rayne doubled over, using his hand to brace himself against the table. His eyes began to water.

  Sir Thomas leaned over so that his lips were an inch from Rayne’s ear. “Don’t think marriage is saving you from staring at me from across a dawn field. My gel has tender feelings for you, so we will consider our disagreement at an end. Welcome to the family, Son.”

  FIFTEEN

  Maddy was still fuming as she marched upstairs. Who asked the mighty Lord Tipton to start acting like an older brother? She had been getting along just fine without him these last fourteen years. Her hand absently struck a door as she moved down the hall, fury almost blinding her. If she was so uncultured, perhaps he should just send her back to the country, where she could rusticate with the rest of his livestock. Her hand connected with another door.

  “Enter at your own risk.”

  She froze. She had forgotten about the other guest in the house. She did not know much about him except that he was an invalid and a friend of her brother. Considering her present feelings toward her sibling, the last thing she wanted was to visit some boring old man and listen to his nauseating praises for the blackguard.

  “Come on. If the thought of looking at it sickens you, can you imagine how being at your mercy angers me?”

  The bitterness she heard in the mysterious booming voice should have sent her running to her room. Instead, she hesitated. What was it he expected would sicken her? She pushed the cracked door open and peered into the room.

  “It’s about time you got in here, you heartless wench. Did you expect me to sleep on my arse? Come closer so I can get my hands around your spineless spongy neck.” His severe features lightened in puzzlement, then to delight at his unexpected visitor. “Well, well, whom do we have here? Come in, come in.”

  Maddy chewed on her lower lip, wavering about what she should do. “I was warned not to disturb you, sir.”

  “You’ll do on many levels, and I am in the fortunate position to have the time to contemplate each one of them. Please join me. My apologies for not rising to greet you formally.”

  “Lord Tipton will not like me being in here.”

  Brogden gave her a measuring look. “Neither of us gives a farthing what the lofty surgeon thinks. Come closer, pretty Madeleina. I do bite, but I’m adequately hobbled.”

  Her gaze followed his down to the stump he had concealed under a blanket. “How do you know my name?”

  “By the usual manner. I asked.” Cynical amusement curled his well-formed lips. “Do you want to see it? I’m thinking about charging admission. Dr. Sir Wallace Brogden, physician and freak. Since I am feeling generous tonight you may gawk all you want.” He reached to lift the blanket. Maddy boldly blocked his hand, then pushed it back down to his side.

  “Forcing me to look at your wounded leg is not generosity. It is plain meanness. Is someone supposed to attend you? You thought I was someone else when I passed the door.”

  “Oh, the cruel Mrs. Winters. As cold as her name, with a face that makes a monkey’s arse appealing.” His eyes widened when Maddy’s hand covered her mouth to stifle her giggles. “How rude of me! Is ‘a monkey’s southern port’ acceptable?”

  “I do not know. According to Lord Tipton, I am an uncivilized and ungrateful chit. I have been dragged to London to better my ways so I can be married off.”

  “A beauty like you needing improvement? Absurd. If you were older or I less jaded I would have to think of something to prove otherwise.”

  Sensing he was merely being kind, Maddy just shrugged. “You are more tolerant than Lord Tipton.” Deciding she was being rude, she added, “Thank you. Can I find your Mrs. Winters?”

  “Actually welcome her to my room? Never!” His whiskey-colored eyes glowed in mock horror. She laughed at his expression.

  “Fine. No Mrs. Winters unless she breaks down the door. So how can I help you?” Studying him, she guessed his age was close to her brother’s. Brogden’s face looked menacing, with the shadow of a beard highlighting his gaunt cheeks. Whatever had made him ill enough to take most of his leg had also ravaged his entire body.

  Brogden glanced at the bed. “The bones in my arse—there I go again with my salty speech. I feel like the bones—”

  “In your southern port,” Maddy offered.

  “Aye, those very ones.” He grinned, the first genuine grin she had seen, and she was stunned by how handsome it made him. “Those bones feel like they’ve been hammered into the chair. I was wishing for some relief in the bed.” He shook his head as if coming to a private decision. “Maybe you should hunt down the disagreeable Mrs. Winters after all.”

  It was obvious that the idea had little appeal for the injured man. Pity swelled in Maddy’s heart, but she swallowed it back down. She suspected Dr. Sir Wallace Brogden possessed no tolerance for that particular emotion. “You could lean on me, if you like.”

  “Thanks, lass. You are such a wee thing. I would not want to hurt you.”

  Now she was feeling challenged. “Brace yourself on the chair. We’ll need it for support to get you standing.”

  “Your brother will cut off my other leg for touching you, dearling.”

  “You aren’t touching me. I am helping you. Besides, you were correct. I don’t give a farthing what Lord Tipton thinks.”

  His face shone with approval. “That’s the spirit. All right, Miss Wyman. I will have to put my arm around your shoulders as an anchor. You promise not to slap my face for being too forward?”

  “Your face is safe, sir. I have not had a lesson regarding impropriety yet.”

  Maddy slipped her arm around his, and he locked his arm around her shoulders. Brogden took a few fortifying breaths before he used the chair to push himself onto his foot.

  “Not exactly graceful.”

  “We are doing fine,” she said through clenched teeth, as though the action would add steel to her gait. “What are you doing?” she asked when she realized he was adding to their weight by dragging the chair with each step.

  “Counterweight.”

  The journey was an agonizingly slow one and noisy. Both of them were breathing heavily. The chair groaned and squeaked as it was dragged, then leaned upon for support. Maddy was surprised the entire household had not sought out the curious sounds. “Almost there.” She could tell he was tiring. He was allowing her to accept more of his weight with every step.

  “I’m hurting you and am sorry for it.”

  Several feet from the bed, one of the legs of the chair caught on a small woven rug. The snag threw their rhythm off and
Brogden’s weight pitched them forward. Maddy’s startled cry was muffled against his chest as she landed on the bed with Brogden on top of her. He had struck his wounded leg on one of the wooden side beams of the bed and was swearing in such a manner that would have made a sailor blush.

  “Sir, I cannot breathe!” Maddy pushed at his arms, a futile attempt to move him. An agitated clicking between them had her crying out, “Heavenly saints, what is this?”

  Brogden groaned. He had the indecency to chuckle. “My lizard?”

  “By God, you have gone too far, Brogden.”

  Lord Tipton’s deadly pronouncement stilled her movements and managed to seep into even Brogden’s pain-filled consciousness. Suddenly she was free from his weight. She sat up just in time to see a cream-and-brown-striped lizard run across the bed and disappear over the side. Her brother gripped Brogden with one hand while he slammed his other fist into his jaw. Brogden, unsupported, dropped like a stone onto the floor.

  “You fool! Are you trying to kill him?” she shrieked. Scrambling off the bed, she crouched at his side. Brogden, dazed from the punch, meekly allowed her to cushion his head in her lap.

  “You are my friend,” Lord Tipton said, each word spoken in slow precision, reminding them all of the fury he was bridling. “I brought you into my home, caring for you as if you were my brother.” He paced, glaring at both of them. “You repay me by acting like a damn satyr.”

  Maddy sucked in her breath. Realizing she was holding it, she blew it out. “This is the meaning of your outrage? You think he was tossing my skirts up? Or perhaps you think your friend is the victim? Maybe I was the one who seduced him into bed?”

  Brogden tried to get her attention by lightly touching her cheek. “Sweet Madeleina, attacking your brother will not make him see reason.”

  His caress halted the ascent of her growing rage. She had the sudden urge to lean over and chastely kiss the swelling she saw forming on his jaw. “Are you well?”

  Uncertain of the scene before him, her brother said defensively, “He was warned you were off-limits. It is indecent that you are here.”