Page 47 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
ELEVEN
Their wedding supper had not turned into the private affair Rayne had imagined. When the innkeeper’s wife learned of their recent marriage, she had insisted that they celebrate with the other guests. The cook had taken special care, Rayne had been told by the innkeeper’s wife, since there would be three newly married couples sharing a meal. They had supped on duck soup, trout pie, vegetable pudding, baked custards, and various fruits. For Rayne, he might as well have dined on bread and broth, for his appetite was of a carnal nature.
He leaned back in his chair, quietly sipping bramble wine and admiring his wife. “Wife.” He liked the ring of permanence of the word. He thought her most beautiful this night. She had changed her dress, the color reminding him of a tropical lagoon he had once seen. She had tamed her tresses into several fat curls, which were pinned in place and framed with a matching band of fabric. Devona must have sensed his perusal, for she halted in midsentence and glanced in his direction. She gave him a hesitant smile, then returned to her conversation.
He had wondered if she would change her mind about marrying him once Doran was secure and beyond his reach. Not that it would have mattered much. Whether it was by scandal or by duty, he had intended to have her. Too distracted by his own fears, he had forgotten that Devona was a righteous creature. If she gave her word, then she kept it. No matter the price. Doran Claeg was a fine example of the extremes his wife would go to to keep her word.
Rayne scowled. Perverse as it might be, he wanted more than duty warming his bed. Although she was innocent, he sensed the passion in his young bride. Everything she did vibrated with it. He did not consider himself so removed from society not to have recognized desire and curiosity in her gaze.
Warily, she glanced in his direction. Rayne realized he was glaring at her, and tried to keep an expression of bored tolerance on his face. Inept idiot, he mentally chastised himself. One minute he was looking at her as though he could ravish her on the table in front of one and all; then the next he was scowling at her like she did not meet his approval.
Hell of a way to seduce your bride, ol’ man!Brogden’s strong, clear opinion intruded into his private thoughts. He could almost hear the man’s laughter all the way from London at his clumsy handling of his wife.
***
“Here, let me help you,” Devona offered the servant, taking an edge of the oilcloth and helping her smooth it across the floor. The maid had arrived with two buckets of tepid water for Devona’s sponge bath. She sent Tipton a nervous glance. The action was becoming habit lately. He sat in a chair; the tome he was holding had held his interest for the last thirty minutes.
Devona did not believe it for an instant.
Tipton had generously procured her a bath, but he was not leaving. She might be new to life as a married woman; still she could not imagine any woman bathing in front of a man.
“Right and tight, mum,” the maid cheerfully said, oblivious to the tension radiating from Devona. “You’d be needing my help, mum?”
“Ah, yes!” Devona did not care if she did sound pathetically grateful for the woman’s assistance. Perhaps between the two of them, they could figure out a way to conceal—
“No.”
Eyes wide, Devona snapped her head in the direction of her husband’s succinct reply. He stood. The forgotten book was still clutched in his left hand.
“I will see to my lady this night.”
The maid accepted her dismissal with an understanding nod. “You got yerself a fine gent, mum.” She lifted one of the buckets and poured some water into the washbasin. “Makes me think of me own wedding nights.”
“Nights,” Devona echoed, the grip she had on her skirts turning her knuckles white.
“All three of them.” The maid winked at her. With a nod to Tipton she slipped through the door, leaving Devona to her own fate.
For someone who found herself rarely searching for conversation, she was at a loss as to what to say to her husband. She went to the towel horse and adjusted the towels she would use after her sponge bath. Devona nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the touch of his fingers on her shoulders.
“This isn’t an execution, Devona,” he teased, turning her around so they were face-to-face.
“I know,” she said, feeling ridiculous that she was about to succumb to a fit of vapors if she did not settle herself. “It is just that…” How was she to say it?
He playfully wrapped one of her curls around his finger, subsequently releasing it. “What, Wife?” he coaxed.
“You have to leave!” she blurted out, and then quickly realized it was not the correct thing to say to one’s husband on his wedding night. She had made a muddle of it, she thought, closing her eyes so she did not have to see the pain and anger reflected in his.
“Doubts, Devona?” Tipton silkily asked. “We had a deal.”
That damnable deal! How humiliating it was to know she had secured a husband by an exchange of favors instead of hearts. Her eyes brimmed with tears. He was such a beautiful man. His hair had always fascinated her. She dearly wished she could stroke and revel in the thick silkiness of it.
If he had courted her and proposed to her in a normal fashion, she would have been honored to accept. As she stood before him, the reality was that beauty without heart was soulless. Could he ever think of her as more than just an amusement or something he claimed like the winnings from a gaming table?
“My lord, my word is as binding as your own.”
He gave her a mocking smirk. “Obviously not.”
He was going to make her say it aloud. A tear slid down her cheek. “I gave you a promise.” Anger gave strength to her voice. “Mayhap you are the one who wishes to annul our vows.”
