Page 38 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
Roughly he fought her, matching her struggles for flight against his determination to keep her. She never stood a chance. “I hate you.” The tears fell as easily as her defenses.
Brock pivoted and strode to the awaiting coach. “I may be a liar and rogue, a man ruthless enough to rip off the wings of a helpless dove to protect my own.” He pushed her into the coach. “Perhaps I even deserve your hate. Lord knows I don’t feel great self-love for myself this night. You are hurt and angry. Let me repair the damage we’ve caused. It starts with not leaving you on the streets.”
Tipton struck the trapdoor, signaling the coachman to continue. “We’re going to have our hands full dealing with your sister. How do you plan to persuade your gentle dove to remain in our custody?” He laughed when Amara sank her teeth into Brock’s hand.
“Damn!” He flipped Amara around so that her wrists met behind her back. Holding her with one hand, he reached for a handkerchief. “I used to think you were such an even-tempered child.”
She gritted her teeth. “I am no longer a child!” Both of them knew he had felt enough of her to verify that fact. “I shall scream until you release me.”
“Tipton, give me your handkerchief,” Brock said, finishing the knot binding her hands together. “I can only concentrate on one screaming, outraged female at a time.”
***
“Doran Claeg!” the gatesman called out to the dark ward. A ripple of sotto voce echoes answered the summons. “Wot so special ’bout this bloke?”
Since Wynne seemed to possess an amazing talent for handling the criminal element, Devona looked to her to push aside the man’s suspicions.
“His name appeared on our list of special blessings. One of our benefactors knew him since childhood and asked us to make certain he personally received our gifts.” The smile she gave him would have blinded the most cynical oppressor. The few coins she gave him did not hurt either.
“Doran Claeg!”
Wynne inclined her head close to Devona’s ear. “He is in a ward. I thought you said he was in a cell. Pray, how do you propose we break him out with all of these witnesses?”
“He was supposed to be in a cell. At least that was what the map revealed.”
“Map? What map?”
“I procured a map from an interesting street vendor—”
Wynne’s elegant mouth dropped open before she could stop herself. “You bought a map from some street person? Are you crazy?” she asked with enough force to have the gatesman looking their way. She struggled to appear calm. “What did you think, that X marks the location of Doran Claeg? How could you be so naïve?”
Devona could not bear to see the disappointment on her sister’s face. “I paid for a layout of the prison. I was assured it was a fair representation. It cost me sixteen shillings.”
Wynne closed her eyes. To anyone else it probably looked like she was praying. Considering the circumstances, she probably was. “Okay. I would not mention this little detail to Pearl and Gar. I can assure you their nerves would barely abide the strain.”
“I’m Claeg.” Bleary-eyed, and looking drunk, the filthy creature swaggered up to the door. Devona was grateful Amara could not see her brother in his present state.
“Ye’ve visitors. A special blessing and other rot.” The guard chuckled, ignoring the women’s indignation.
“Blessings, Brother Claeg.” Devona stepped forward, angling herself so the guard could not see her face. She placed a finger to her lips.
“What? Dev—Sister?” The look of surprise on Doran’s face was such that she battled not to laugh.
“I was just telling Mr. Pringle here”—Wynne delicately took the guard’s arm and tried not to reveal her disgust—“that a quiet place to pray with Mr. Claeg is needed. This would give him the opportunity to help our man dispense the bread and beer.”
“I don’t know.”
Wynne patted his arm. “What is the harm? You will have our man with you, and we are just three defenseless women.”
“Ah, um…”
Devona gave Doran a wink before turning away. Never was she so grateful to have a sister who could muddle a man’s mind with the touch of her hand.
***
“Since when did the Bedegrayne women take over a nunnery?” Doran demanded.
The anger was preferable to the listless drunk they had first encountered. “We never claimed to be nuns; we have just expanded on our charity work.”
