Page 55 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“You have been nothing but honest—,” he began.
“And you have been more than less, Tipton. Did you think I would be so besotted with you that I would not see?” Disgusted, she dropped the bonnet, but he seized her hands, preventing her from walking away.
“I warned you about this place, my mother.” Tension made a muscle in his jaw throb.
“Yet you dragged me to Foxenclover. Why? I have asked myself. The answer is so obvious.”
Rayne’s pewter gaze darkened at her feeble struggle to free herself from his grip. “Please, share your revelation since you have found no value in my reasons.”
“I have become a new weapon in your war against the Wymans, have I not?” She had managed to stun him, because her hands slid effortlessly from his grasp. “As a viscount, you could have married someone far better than me. Oh, I’m fair enough, so you could stomach the task of bedding me. And my family is respectable enough, so when the game of tormenting your mother wanes you can still hold your head up in society.” Eyes dry, she met his furious gaze. “Maybe I should rest. I am going to need my strength to guard myself against all of you.”
“You think too little of yourself if you believe that.”
His hand speared through his hair. He removed the leather cord that secured his long hair in the back. With his long hair swinging free she could not decide if she had married an avenging angel or a beguiling demon. Or maybe he had parts of each within him and that was what made him all the more confusing.
“Do you love me?” She died by inches, watching the agony contort his handsome face. “Let us just forget I asked.”
His expression was filled with eloquent misery. “Devona, there hasn’t been much love in my life. It is an elusive emotion, I am not even certain it is real,” he spoke as if each word inflicted pain. “I have learned to count on the tangible. When I cut a corpse open, I expect to see a heart, lungs, muscle, and bone. Love”—he lifted his hand in an idle helpless gesture—“it has no texture, no taste, nor odor.”
“Shame on you, Tipton. Even I know men of science are dreamers.” She felt so sorry for him. If he had not just ground her heart to ash with his boot heel, she might have moved to comfort him. Lucky for her, she was learning her bitter lesson early. She held still, not bothering to react to the surprise he did not attempt to conceal.
“I am no dreamer.” The very notion seemed to offend him.
“Truly? What is a scientist, then, but a man who spends his time proving to the world that the unbelievable and unseen exist?” She returned to the chair and leaned over to remove her shoes. “Leave me, Tipton. Disillusionment is a bitter brew. Let’s just permit this dose to churn in my stomach for a while.”
She felt his hand on her shoulder, coaxing her to rise.
“Devona?”
It was difficult to resist the plea she heard in his questioning tone. Still, she had the Bedegrayne pride on her side. Without rising, she spoke, her gaze fixed on her shoe. “Although the act of impregnating me might hasten your mother’s demise, I regret to deny you such pleasure this day. Seek your revenge elsewhere.”
When she heard the sudden intake of his breath, she knew she had overstepped herself. The frozen silence in the room became unbearable. Making herself look in his direction, she watched his profile as he gazed at some activity from the window. His long hair free, he looked like some age-old conqueror. A man who had been fighting for his place in the world for so long that he did not know how to enjoy the simple pleasures. Deal or not, it had been a mistake to marry him.
“Tipton, what if we forgot about the bargain we struck. If it would please you, we could annul—”
“No!” The edge in his harsh reply was razor sharp and she did not feel the steel bite until it was embedded to the bone.
Dry-eyed, she stared at the private battle he waged for self-control. His body literally shook as he used flesh and muscle to cage his feelings. “You once called me reckless.”
“You haven’t changed, madam,” he snapped without thought.
“Can you not see how miserable I shall be, Tipton? I am not like you and your family. I find no joy in hurting others. As to the scandal—you care not of theton’s opinion and I shall never marry again, so the shredding of my reputation will be of little consequence to me. In truth, it could be worse.”
“Like staying married to me?”
Intuitively she sensed answering either way would unleash the emotion he fought so hard to contain. “I believe you have regretted this business as much as I, but are too honorable to renege on the deal.”
“Honorable,” he said, tasting the word. “That sounds like a gentleman’s term. I thought we agreed long ago that I lacked the attribute?”
Treading too close to the precipice of her own volatile emotions, she hugged herself. “I refuse to feel guilty,” she warned, feeling as though he was stalking her, yet he had not moved from his position at the window.
“Why should you, I say? You came to me with your plan of lunacy. You married me to ensure fruition. And now you wish to end our union because you have just realized the players in our little drama are a bit unsavory. I could have dressed this all up with pretty compliments and lies, but I find that I like you too much, Devona, to spare you.”
“So this is all my fault? I should settle down and accept my fate since I chose the course.” She shot up from the chair when he did not answer. “Poor Lord Tipton. Done in by a Bedegrayne. Ah, the scandal, the shame! Better yet, if I have such power over you, then I can end it. I will it!” So caught up was she in a fit of hysteria that she did not feel his hands gripping her arms.
“Wyman,” he softly corrected.
With her flustered by his opposing calm, her mouth fell open in surprise. “I beg your pardon.”
“If I was done in, it was not by a Bedegrayne. You are Devona Lyr Wyman, Viscountess Tipton. My wife.” The words rolled off his tongue as if he relished each syllable. “I refuse to debate who manipulated whom; suffice to say we are both wedded and bedded, Lady Tipton. I do not share, and I have an absolute rule about handing back anything I consider mine.”
His declaration disappointed her. “You have not heard a single word I have uttered.”
“On the contrary, my hearing is sound. I do, however, have some concern about your own.”
Misery churned and rose, closing her throat. “Coming here. Seeing you with her.” She rolled her eyes upward, willing the threatening tears away. “I thought to save—it is not too late.”
A curious light gleamed in his eyes when his gaze locked with hers. “Oh, it is, my lady. Much too late.”
To prove it to both of them, he lifted her high until her lips pressed to his. God help her, she did not protest. Instead, her mouth parted eagerly against his as an upwelling of desperation and need filled her. A tremor shook him as it rose from deep within his chest, before it found focus and release at their point of contact. Unbound energy surged and whirled around them, and she was so caught in the moment that she forgot to breathe. He drank deep, his tongue ravishing her mouth, and the only thought that seemed clear was, Take more! Her vision dimmed, the clawing desire to give him more vied with her body’s own life-sustaining demands. Whatever he was to her, adversary, friend, husband, or demon lover, she was unequivocally his.
