Page 20 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
Why was he making this so difficult? She gave him her best patronizing smirk. “My mistake, Lord Tipton. I accept it, and know when to move on. Doran needs my help.” Devona shrugged out the knots in her shoulders. “There are other surgeons.” She had no intention of asking anyone to help her, since she had learned firsthand the results.
Rayne crushed her wrist. Ignoring her wince, he raged in his dry, raspy voice, “What are you planning to do, Devona? Hound and break into every surgeon’s residence until you find the right man to help you?”
“If I have to.”
The explosion she saw in his expression should have rocked the town house on its foundation. “You go too far. Even for you, Miss Reckless Bedegrayne. Take up with another man? The devil you will! And I’m just the man to see to it.”
Finally, frightened, Devona jerked her wrist out of his grip and took two steps back. Despite his illness, she could see why men considered him a formidable adversary. “I think not. Do not bother to call when you have recovered. I will not be home to you.” There, she ended it. She should be feeling relief. She had never felt worse.
“Devona. Damn you. Come back here. This is far from finished. Devona!”
The desperateness and loss she heard when he shouted out her name almost made her turn around and run back into the safety of his arms. Almost. The tears she had held back slipped freely down her face. She raced out of the town house without looking back.
***
“Where did you go this afternoon?”
Devona glanced at Wynne and then returned her attention back to the small orchestra. They were playing a piece from Handel’sWater Music,one of her particular favorites. There was such joy on the musicians’ faces, the music coming from something deeper than just their hands and breath bringing their instruments to life. She let the music sink into her, hoping it would soothe the soreness in her heart.
“Devona?”
“Sorry. I have not been attentive. Her Grace outdid herself this evening, I think. Did you want to play cards?”
Wynne watched her closely, the protective mother, searching for signs of illness. “This is not you, Sister. What brought on the mulligrubs? Did you go see Doran again?” The question held no censure.
“No. I did, however, attend an interesting lecture on phrenology this afternoon. The lecturer, Mr. Christian Wohlman, is an esteemed disciple of Mr. Johann Spurzheim. I was most fortunate to locate a seat.”
“So what happened? Did you have the lumps on your hard head analyzed and discover something frightening? That you are stubborn? An odd ridge that shows you will likely drive the ones you love to madness?” Wynne touched her heart at Devona’s suspicious sniffle. “Here now, I was but jesting. We have known for some time of your stubbornness and that the Bedegraynes are a mad lot, even without your help.”
“The room was too crowded to gain an introduction to Mr. Wohlman. Oz was there,” she added absently.
“All this drama, for a moment of sulking. Really, Devona, there will be other lectures.”
“I was not sulking about the lecture.” She spotted Lord Nevin in the distance. Devastatingly handsome enough to make any woman gape, he moved with catlike grace through the throng, toward the card room. He did not look her way. She was grateful, since she was not in the mood to put up with his flirtation.
Wynne noticed his presence as well. Her lips tightened, and for a moment she appeared quite fierce, the ice queen a few of the vanquished suitors for her hand had dubbed her. “Do you hope to gain that man’s attention?”
The coldness in Wynne’s tone snapped Devona’s attention back to her sister’s face. “I have it. The problem is what to do with it.”
Wynne flushed; an uncertainty uncharacteristic to her nature had her carefully choosing her next words. “He is too old for you.”
“He is eight-and-twenty.”
“Too worldly, then. Heed me when I say that he is not for you.”
For the first time, Devona noticed the high color in her sister’s cheeks and the nervousness in each gesture. Was it possible? She had never guessed. “Who is he for, Wynne?”
“What? No one. A satyr is not a fit husband for any lady.” Wynne dismissed the earl and the subject with a sharp nod. “Stick with the Mr. Lockwoods and Lord Tiptons of this world. They will be kinder to your heart.”
“Lord Tipton? I thought you did not approve of him.”
“Odd. Of the two men, he is the first you acknowledge.”
“Wynne.”
Relenting, she admitted, “Disregarding his reputation, I like him well enough. More so since he kept my favorite sister safe.”
“I saw him today. Before the lecture.”
