The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton

by Barbara Pierce

  Disgusted, Maddy seized one of the fallen pillows and eased it under Brogden to replace her lap. “To reason with a man one must find his mind reasonable. Forgive me for lacking the strength to aid you, Sir Wallace.” She pushed past Lord Tipton. “What my brother lacks in brains he makes up for in brute strength.” She slammed the door behind her.

  “All she was trying to do was ease my suffering by helping me to the bed.” He groaned when Tipton pulled him to his feet and then lifted him in his arms to put him in the bed. “I haven’t decided who was cast the villain in your sordid little drama, me or your lovely sister.”

  * * *

  “Is Madeleina asleep?”

  “No.” Devona closed the door to the study. Rayne was sitting in a large chair near the fireplace, a glass of brandy clasped in his hands. She walked over, took the glass out of his hands, and placed it on the mantel. “But she has stopped crying. I left her reading a book.” She sat in his lap. He folded his arms around her and pulled her close. Rayne grimaced and rubbed his ribs.

  “Did Brogden hit you?”

  “No, I— It’s nothing.” He rested his cheek against her head. “I overreacted, Devona. I saw them on the bed and thought the worst.”

  “How badly injured is he?”

  “Falling on his injured leg has reopened the wound. There was some oozing blood and fluid. If he remains in bed instead of moving about as if he were indestructible, he might survive.”

  “Maddy said that she was only trying to help him move to the bed since Mrs. Winters was elsewhere. She blames herself for what happened.”

  “And rightly she should,” Rayne said, getting incensed all over again. “Why she chose to visit him in the first place is highly suspect.”

  Devona stroked his face, enjoying the texture of flesh and the beginnings of a beard. “You were lecturing her again, were you not?”

  “I caught her digging into my medical case. She could have cut herself on a saw or blade.”

  She nodded in understanding. “You were afraid she would be hurt.”

  “Don’t place any noble laurel wreaths on my head, Devona. I don’t like anyone touching that case.”

  “Of course you were quite calm when you explained your concerns.”

  His smile was distinctly wolfish. “Hell, no, I took very large bites out of her hide. A little fear would do that young woman some good. Maybe she will think twice about walking into a stranger’s private chambers.”

  * * *

  Brogden propped himself up on his elbows at the first glimmer of candlelight from beneath the door. There was a soft knock, but it was merely a token of politeness. The door opened without waiting for his invitation. He could think of only one person who might seek him out this time of night.

  “By all means, Tipton, please join me. Maybe you would like another chance at me while I’m down. Once I’m healed, you will need your own medical services.”

  “I am heartened by the news, sir.” Madeleina stepped into the room, an aura of candlelight encircling her. “It is my understanding that my brother is considered an artist with the instruments of his profession. Whether alive or deceased, it makes no difference.”

  “You amazing, bold child. What are you trying to do? Your discovered presence will likely have me castrated.” It was a noble act to chase her from the room. Tipton would not hesitate to protect his little sister, despite his protests of feeling the opposite. Still, it was a treat to see her pretty face. Brogden pulled himself up into a sitting position to enjoy her visit.

  She closed the door, then moved closer so no one could hear them from the hall. “I shan’t stay long,” she promised, sincerity practically radiating from her freshly scrubbed face.

  “I rarely receive visitors this late of night.” He didn’t add, the ladies he had received or called on usually did not represent the dewy bud of innocence. “I figured Tipton locked you in the cellar.”

  “He values his rats too much.” She held the candle closer and studied Brogden’s face. “He told me he would beat me if he found me here.”

  Brogden was aghast. Protective or not, he was certain Tipton would uphold his threat. “Dear girl, why would you risk your brother’s wrath?”

  “I needed to see that he hadn’t hurt you too much. It was my fault, and I could not bear the responsibility. The other reason was entirely selfish.” She pulled back, eclipsing him in shadow.

  “What other reason?” he demanded.

  He thought he detected a hint of a smile before she turned to open the door. “Why, because he said I couldn’t.” She closed the door quietly behind her.

  Laughing, Brogden pillowed his head on his crossed arms. The delightful image of the defiant Madeleina challenging her stubborn brother at every encounter was enough to entertain him for hours.

  * * *

  “This is just an excuse to make me miserable,” Devona complained. She had been married a month. Her sister Irene was giving a ball in their honor to celebrate their nuptials. Instead of counting on Tipton as an ally to end this public showing, she was surprised by his heartily approving. The thought made her scowl.

  “Stop pouting ,” Wynne chastised. “At least you have something to celebrate.”

  Feeling guilty, Devona glanced down to watch the mantua maker adjust the hem of her dress. Her marriage had placed a microscopic focus on Wynne’s unmarried status. Having two unmarried sisters seemed acceptable. Being the remaining unmarried female Bedegrayne had made Wynne open to cruel speculation that there was something wrong with her. As usual, she handled the talk with dignified aplomb.

  “You like, madame, yes?”

  The dress was perfect; that wasn’t the problem. “Yes, very much,” Devona admitted. She gave Wynne a helpless look.

  “The dress is wonderful, Nadine. Do you have enough measurements? I believe my sister is restless from all the standing.”

  The mantua maker briskly nodded. “Very good.” She stood and helped Devona out of the dress. “I will send this to you. Tomorrow afternoon, yes?” she asked, her French accent distinct.

  “On the morrow, then,” Wynne agreed, seeing the woman out while Devona donned her old dress.

  “Allow me to assist,” her sister offered when she returned. She efficiently secured the small glass buttons on the back of Devona’s dress. “Where is Tipton? Hiding from all the female frippery?”

  “He is seeing patients at the prison. Tipton is trusting all the details to Irene.” Devona tossed a glance back in Wynne’s direction. “The notion raises my hackles, if you want to know the truth. The man must be a sorcerer. Irene is smitten. It is appallingly disgusting to see her hang on his every word.”

  “There.” Wynne stepped back, rechecking her efforts. “What is wrong with the family liking him? I trust you like him as well? You did, after all, marry the man.”

  “Of course I like him.” She was beginning to think she loved him, too. “It just galls me to see Irene and Tipton agreeing about this ball. I do not see any reason for the fuss.”

  “Irene wants to show the ton that your marriage has the family’s support. I can assume your husband is trying to amend the distance he has placed between himself and the polite world. It is an admirable gesture to protect you and your children from being ostracized as he once was.”

  Agitated, Devona paced the room. “It is more than that. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “You cannot still believe that Lady Claeg is behind that accident at the conservatory?”

  “I saw her that night. The woman probably blames me for Doran’s death.” The lie was becoming easier to say with practice.

  “She has Amara and her position in society to consider. No, I think you are wrong,” Wynne said dismissingly.

  Tipton was up to something; Devona was certain of it. Nothing would convince her that the Bedegrayne family could meekly lead her husband around like he was a child’s pony. He had agreed to the ball because he hoped to lure their mischief maker out in the open. She feare
d she and Tipton were the bait.

  * * *

  Behind locked doors a figure hunched over a writing desk, feverishly scribbling the news of the ball to honor the Tiptons. The letter would be of interest to the receiver. Its purpose was to inform, as per their bargain, but also to taunt.

  The receiver thought the position of power was their own. Untrue. A correction would be made at the appropriate time. Only a weaker individual would hire someone to do their misdeeds. The true power was possessed by the messenger; the figure was certain of this.

  It was a simple task to watch Lady Tipton from a distance. There were too many around guarding her to act. Lord Tipton’s feeble attempts to protect her were a nuisance and at times entertaining. The figure accepted the challenge. A special trap had been created for the elusive Lady Tipton. And Lord Tipton, too. His interference would be recognized and punished.

  The figure sat back, satisfied with the letter. It was an announcement and a warning. It was a pity the receiver was too dim-witted to appreciate the complexity of its true meaning.

  The fiend would devour them all.

  * * *

  Carriages and pedestrians congested the streets surrounding the Suttons’ residence. According to Irene, this declared her ball an instant success.

  “I told you everyone would be too curious about you and Tipton to refuse an invitation,” Irene murmured, her blue eyes twinkling like the deep blue sapphire and diamond necklace she wore around her neck. “It is amazing how the correct presentation can whitewash even the darkest reputation.”

  Devona wrinkled her nose in an unladylike manner. “Tipton did not create a scandal. He just did not care what the polite world thought of him.”

  “Truly, Devona, you are a married woman. You must remember that your position in society is always tenuous. How you conduct yourself is constantly scrutinized.”

  Devona bit her lower lip; otherwise she was going to tell her sister where society could stuff their judgmental opinions. If Devona had listened to any of them, she would have never dared to approach Tipton. She doubted her sister would appreciate the observation.

  “Irene, perhaps you should put all of this wisdom down in a book.” She smiled and waved at her father. “I might even read it.

  “Papa! Irene managed to lure you from your clubs. It is a miracle to be sure.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Brock promised to show up as well.”

  “Applied an ample dosing of guilt, eh?” Sir Thomas Bedegrayne gathered each daughter in his arms and gave them an affectionate squeeze.

  Devona gave one of his side-whiskers a playful tug. “Only just enough.”

  “It is good to see you, Papa,” Irene said, stepping away from his embrace. “You and Sutton are not permitted to hide in the card room for the evening. Devona, you are expected to circulate. Where is your husband?”

  “He was delayed by a patient. He will be along soon.”

  “Excellent. Was his sister terribly upset not to be included tonight?”

  Irene was already being distracted by a new arrival, but she answered the question anyway. “Maddy made a token protest. I think she plans to spend the night playing cards with Speck.”

  “Who?” Irene asked, confused by the two different ongoing conversations. “Oh, that’s nice, dear.” And she returned to the other participant.

  “Come along, Papa. You should really see this champagne fountain. If everyone drinks this flowing river, the ton should be positively sloppy with affection for Tipton.”

  The hours swept by and despite the crush Devona was enjoying herself. She had lost track of her husband again, but she suspected her father had lured him and Brock into the card room. Irene had been correct. Presentation was important. Serve Tipton up with pineapples, champagne, and syllabub and he would suddenly be hailed as a long-lost friend.

  “Greetings, Lady Tipton. You are enchanting this evening.”

  Pleasure shone off her face as she offered her hand. “Mr. Lockwood. It appears you caught me hiding at another ball.”

  Oz Lockwood bowed over her hand. “To win the lady’s favor I bear a gift.” He presented her with a cup of punch. “I had to scale a mountain of humanity to gain this. You may now show the proper gratitude.”

  Devona curtsied. “My thanks, sir.” She took the glass and sipped the warm punch. “Oz, it is so good to see a friendly face.”

  “Mine in particular or will any do?” he teased.

  “Yours, of course,” she replied automatically. Before she had met Tipton, Doran and Oz had been her closest male friends. Now Doran was gone and she was married. There was something calming about seeing that Oz had remained the same.

  “The other day at Gunter’s,” he said, trying to be heard over the music and hundreds of other vying conversations, “I feared I had lost your friendship.”

  She shook her head. “My new household is taking some adjusting. We have taken on Maddy, who cannot decide whether or not she hates her brother. Plus we have an old friend of Tipton’s who is recovering from the loss of his leg. Emotions are running high, and Wynne was only being protective.”

  “You are fortunate to have such a loyal family.”

  Yes, yes, she was. She had to confess that even stuffy Irene had managed to do the impossible. “I agree. However, I shan’t tell a soul, else they would expect constant praise.”

  Oz laughed. “Never change, my dear.”

  Devona gestured to the chaos around her. “So, Mr. Lockwood, is there a certain lady around who could entice you to become leg shackled yourself?”

  “I can think of a certain miss who might take me on,” he contemplated.

  “Who?”

  “A man must keep some secrets. If she refuses, I would like to bear my rejection with some dignity.”

  A footman touched her on the arm. “Lady Tipton, your husband requires your presence.”

  “Where is he? Is something wrong?”

  “I have no knowledge of that, my lady. You are to meet him outside, near the gardens.”

  “Thank you,” she said, dismissing the servant. She took a sip of the punch, then pressed it back into Oz’s hands. “I have to go. Thank you for the punch. Promise to let me know when she accepts your offer.”

  Oz Lockwood waved her off. “I’ll send you a note the moment the deed is done. Hurry on; I wouldn’t want your husband angry at me for delaying his wife.”

  Haste was impossible. Devona slowly pushed her way through the crowd, acknowledging the people she was practically shoving out of her way. She welcomed the thought of stepping outside. The warmth from all the bodies packed in the room was making her light-headed.

  She stumbled as someone pushed her from behind. Devona felt something scratch her on her exposed upper back. She touched the injury and her fingertips revealed traces of blood.

  “I am so sorry, my dear,” a woman slurred behind her. “My pin must have pricked you.”

  “You and her lord,” a drunken companion quipped.

  Devona ignored them both. It was taking all her energies to focus on making it to her husband. The heat was most intolerable, she thought, raising a gloved hand to her temple. She would be soaked to the skin by the time she found the doors to the outside.

  She moved from person to person, gripping the disconnected arm or hand as if it were a rope of flesh leading her to Tipton. Hopefully, she could reach the gardens before she disgraced herself in front of all these people.

  The walls rolled toward her and she cried out in fear. Another push and she was through the open door. Torches lit up the night. Their flames were ridiculously long, their smoking tails attempting to lash at her. She staggered sideways to avoid being burned alive.

  “Rayne!” she screamed, running deeper into the shadows. She kept running until she collided with the brick garden wall. Closing her eyes to keep out the horrifying images, she used her hands to feel along the wall. There had to be a gate, some way she could escape. The brick fell away, and then there was cool iron in her g
rip. She shook the gate. It was locked. Locked away like Doran, she despaired, falling to her knees. Devona was curled up like a child, sobbing into her skirts, when Tipton found her.

  * * *

  “Some bastard drugged her,” Rayne announced to the somber Bedegraynes. Too caught up in her nightmare to realize that the man she had called for was carrying her, Devona had fought him and Brock like a raving lunatic. They had tried to be discreet, but there had been too many witnesses. It was evident that she had not seen the many guests standing about as she made her escape from her invisible demons. Rayne’s hands clenched into fists at the thought of her suffering.

  “How’s my gel, Tipton? Will this madness linger?” Sir Thomas asked, fearing the worst.

  Rayne closed his eyes. “I assume the drug will dissipate in a few hours.”

  Wynne entered the room. “Her slumber is less disturbed. Maddy is at her bedside. She will call out if Devona awakens again.” She sat next to her father and rested her head against his shoulder. “Do you know what caused these manifestations?”

  “I don’t know. There are numerous plants in the correct amount and combination that could create this effect.”

  Brock ground his fist into his palm. “Someone got to her. How did we slip up? I thought you hired extra men to watch the guests, Tipton!”

  “What? One man to watch every fifty? There were too many bloody guests.” He already blamed himself. Having Brock remind him was like putting an adze into his flesh.

  “She should have been safe!” Brock raged.

  “Tell that to your sister Irene. She should have been more selective with her invitations,” Rayne snapped back.

  Sir Thomas held up a hand. “Barking at each other isn’t helping my gel upstairs. The deed is done. Tell me, Tipton, how do you think she was poisoned? Something she ate?”

  “That would have been my first guess,” Rayne confessed, seizing the topic as an alternative to pounding on his brother-in-law. “I was at her side when she took her supper. She ate nothing different from the other women. If it was in her food or drink, there would have to have been a mass dosing.” He massaged the back of his neck. “No, I think our mischief maker was a little more devious. There is a three-inch scratch on her shoulder.”