Page 48 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
He reached for her again, threading and locking his fingers through her hair at the back. Pulling her closer, he leaned closer so that their noses were inches apart. “A man would never challenge my word. You risk much, little wife. Have you forgotten that now I have the power to beat you for your cheek?”
Considering their present conversation, she could not believe all she wanted to do was close the gap between her and him and kiss him. It was too wanton. And amusing. The man speaks of beatings and all she could think about was feeling his warm lips nibbling at her throat.
“Did I say something to amuse you?” His eyes had heated to their pewter hue.
“Ah, no, my lord. It’s just that I—” She wriggled out of his grasp, pulling away before she did something foolish like actually kissing him. “I want you to leave so I can take my bath. Even a thickheaded male should understand that a woman needs to do such things in private!” Her tone might have been frosty, but her cheeks were burning hot.
He laughed. The man truly dared to laugh at her misery. Her eyes narrowed as they searched for something light enough to handle yet heavy enough to give him a good headache. He grabbed her arm when she stalked past him.
“Let go, peasant!” she hissed.
A judicious man would have backed away. Tipton was not such a man. Laughing still, he wrapped his arms around her until she was soundly ensnared. “I outrank you.”
She sniffed. “Sadly, some breeding never shows. Release me.”
“Never,” he vowed. “I do not know why I doubted you. Never have I seen such a ferocious guardian of what is right. And that’s what we are, Wife. Right.” Tipton pressed his face into her hair and breathed deeply. “You are such a bold creature, it makes me forget that you have never been with a man while I—”
If he mentioned the women in his past, Devona promised herself she was going to draw blood. “Yes?” This was not jealousy, she assured herself; this was a lesson in discretion.
Tipton must have recovered a dollop of common sense or it was the promise of pain in her eyes when he spun her around. “I have never had a wife.” He kissed her on the lips and pulled away before she could enjoy it.
“I am serious, Tipton. I will not bathe in front of you. It is unseemly.” She gasped when he plucked the fabric band from her hair.
“And you are always a pious model of proper behavior?” He tossed the band over his shoulder.
“I could give instruction to young ladies!” she replied, daring him to disagree.
Instead, he settled for seizing her hands. He began peeling off her gloves. “London can only handle one Devona Bedegrayne.” One glove fell to the floor. He worked on the other.
“Wyman. Devona Wyman. I am Viscountess Tipton, you rogue. Will you stop playing with my fingers!” she demanded.
The other glove dropped. He had a dazed look on his face as though he had not considered that she had taken his name. “I do not think so. Turn around.”
His deep voice had changed into an intriguing drawl that made her legs feel boneless.
“Forget it, Tipton.”
He gently clasped her by the shoulders and turned her until he was presented with her back. “Permit me to play lady’s maid. You are my wife. I want to see you, all of you,” he cajoled.
As he unfastened the buttons on her dress, she tried to think of an argument against him being there. None came to mind. “I doubt that my sister Irene bathes in front of her husband.”
“You are not Irene and I am not married to her.” He kissed the back of her neck, causing a cascade of shivers to travel down her spine. “You and I do not fit the molds thetonherald as fashionable. Never have we met our families’ expectations. None of it matters here, Devona. With you in my arms, I welcome your recklessness. I demand it. There are no rules, no conduct that will be censured.” The back of her dress opened. Rayne gently pushed the cap sleeves down so that the dress slipped and became a circle of fabric at her feet.
Free of her dress she felt vulnerable. No man had ever seen her in such a state. Rayne’s hand splayed across her abdomen and guided her to step aside so he could kick the garment off the oilcloth. He could not seem to stop touching her; his hands were everywhere: her shoulder, her back, her arms. She felt like a brightly wrapped gift and he was enjoying the outer wrapping as he slowly unveiled the object within.
Tipton’s fingers traced the whalebone of her long stays. “It must feel great to free yourself from fashion’s trappings.” He began to untie the strings.
“N-not really. I suppose women get used to them.” After some time, the stays fell away, another protective layer vanquished. He turned her to face him so he could work on the buttons on her chemise.
“I think the first thing I noticed about you were your eyes. No, that’s not right. It was your sassy tongue and audacity to sneak your way into my study.”
His teasing made her laugh. He was trying to ease her fears of him, and his small kindness made her want to weep all of a sudden. “You were not pleased to see me. You had Speck throw me out.”
Rayne did not seem bothered by her indignation. He unfastened the remaining buttons. “Only because I was afraid I would do something impulsive like locking the door and ravishing you.”
“Please!” Devona playfully pushed at him, not believing one word of it. She did not have the kind of beauty men would kill to possess.
She had not budged him, but her outburst brought out a mischievous glint to his eyes. “Well, since you asked so prettily.” His fingers hooked the shoulders of the chemise and tugged.
