Page 35 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“Young Brock, it was so good of you to attend our fanciful ball.”
Observing that his sister Devona was occupied dancing, he felt it was safe enough to turn his attention to the middle-aged woman dressed like a cabin boy. “Lady Dodd, a most unusual ball. What have you called it?”
The woman’s dark eyes gleamed behind her mask. “Oh, we are calling it Highwaymen, Pirates, and Various Rogues. Guess who I am?” She preened under his gaze.
Seeing most of thetonstrutting around representing the cesspool of mankind made for a peculiar kind of evening. He tried to hide his amusement. “I haven’t a clue, madam.”
“Why, I am Mary Read, lady pirate who apprenticed as a footboy to a French lady. However, I was born for high adventure and took to the sea.”
Watching this demure woman playing the role of a pirate was too much for Brock. He rubbed his jaw to conceal his laughter. “Very effective.”
Lady Dodd made rolling circles with her hand toward the ballroom before them. “You have your sister Devona to thank for this amusement. She was the one who suggested the theme, and I for one am eternally grateful.”
Brock’s gaze moved back to the ball, seeking out his sister again. He caught a flash of her as she maneuvered her way through a lively reel. Although he could not see her face, he knew her eyes would be twinkling and a genuine smile would gift each passing partner. He sighed. Yes, he could believe Devona had her hand in this bit of absurdity.
“Only my sister could look fashionable in masculine togs. Which derelict of society is she?” Judging from her clothes, the knave she played was at least one hundred years dead.
“Let me think,” Lady Dodd said with a very unladylike tug on the slipping waist of her borrowed trousers. “Claude something. Du Vall.” She beamed, pleased to have recalled the name.
“A flamboyant Frenchman?”
She laughed as if he had made a jest. “Your sister is original if nothing else. And who are you, young Brock?”
He tried not to wince at “young Brock.” Some folks around kept forgetting he was five-and-twenty, a man fully grown. “Consider me one of the various,” he growled.
“Marvelous, simply splendid!”
Brock was relieved to see Rayne appear suddenly at his side. “Tipton. ’Bout time you got here. Like I have little else to do but nursemaid my sister.”
“Gentlemen, if you will excuse me?” Wide-eyed, and more than a little impressed to have Tipton show up, Lady Dodd curtsied, then made her way to the ballroom to tell everyone of her special guest.
Dressed in black, Rayne appeared the perfect rogue without much effort. “Where is she?”
Brock cocked his head in the direction of the ballroom. “The fancy lace-bibbed lad in the silver-lined cape.” He might not approve of Tipton for his sister, but one thing was obvious: the man considered her his own. He knew the moment Rayne had spotted her, just by the subtle narrowing of his eyes.
“White plumes on her mask?”
“Who else?”
“Someone, but not Devona,” Rayne said with a cutting coolness that had Brock snapping his head in his sister’s direction.
“Ridiculous!” He watched her lean forward to whisper something in Oz Lockwood’s ear. The older man did not appear pleased when she accepted the arm of her waiting dance partner. Pivoting on one heel, he departed in the opposite direction of Devona. “I know my own sister, Tipton.”
Tipton’s pewter gaze flashed; the raw fury he held in control would have sent a less courageous man scurrying. “And your sister has never slipped the leash in your hand, right?” he asked. The sarcasm and the shame that he was correct had Brock wincing.
“See here, I have been watching her all evening.” Feeling defensive, since he had mishandled her in the past, made him add, “Maybe a man your age should consider a pair of spectacles.”
In low-enunciated tones that made the hairs on the back of Brock’s neck rise, Rayne said, “That woman is not your sister.” He moved to prove his point.
“Wait.” Brock grabbed him on the arm. “Devona has barely said three words to me this evening. She has not forgiven me for taking your side in this marriage business. Seeing us together will only make her dig in.”
Rayne gave him a look of disbelief. “So she sulks.”
Oz Lockwood blocked their course. “Bedegrayne. Tipton.” He gave them a distracted nod. “I say, Bedegrayne, your sister is in a mood this evening. She dances with every man in the room as if her slippers have been bewitched. When I beg her for a moment of respite she whispers in French that she has sworn off all men who know her this eve.” He stiffened, recalling her dismissal. “If I have offended Miss Bedegrayne, would you tell her to accept my apologies?” With a nod to each of them he headed for the front hall.
“Odd,” Brock murmured, “I thought she was rather fond of Lockwood. In a friendship sort of manner,” he felt compelled to add when he saw Tipton’s expression.
“Sworn off all men who know her. Very convenient.” Rayne sneered. He sliced a path through the crowd as cleanly as a ship’s bow moved through water, his target the woman smiling behind the white plumed mask.
Sensing she was being watched, she turned in time to see their determined approach. Even with the mask hiding all but her mouth and chin, enough was exposed for Brock to see her displeasure. Had he not warned Tipton that Devona would be angry? Ha, let the man suffer the edge of her tongue. Mayhap he would reconsider marrying her.
Rayne grabbed her before she could make her escape. “Mysterious lady, I believe I have not had the pleasure.”
Never lost for words, Brock was surprised when all Devona did was part her lips to speak, then tightly close them. Now that he saw her close up in the candlelight, he thought the color of her hair was slightly off. Then there were the curls. His sister had a natural curl to her hair. It was obvious from the way some sections of hair had fallen that a hot iron had been used to create the effect. Not pleased with the renewed role of idiot brother, he snatched the mask from her face with enough speed that he had Rayne raising an approving brow.
Brock may have suspected a ruse; however, the lady beneath the mask was a complete surprise. The stormy blue eyes that had gazed at him over the years with a shyness that he had always thought endearing were now sparking with the promise of violence. “Amara?” he said, his voice hoarse with shock.
Amara shook the sagging curls from her face. Her dainty chin held high, she glared at them as if they were in the wrong. Even Rayne appeared for the moment undecided on how to handle her. “I told her the hair dye would be a mistake,” she snapped, daring them to contradict her. Brock, considering himself a man with some sense, figured he should check her for concealed weapons before replying.
