Page 8 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
THREE
It never occurred to Rayne to simply ignore Miss Bedegrayne’s imperial summons. Half-expecting her to show up at his town house the night before, he had remained at home, magnanimously ordering Speck to allow her entry. To Rayne’s disappointment, her reckless behavior had not placed her in his hands. His left hand fingered the note in his coat pocket.
Lord Tipton:
If it pleases you, will you attend us at Vauxhall Garden tomorrow? We will be watching Mr. Johnson’s balloon ascension at three.
Yours,
Miss Devona Lyr Bedegrayne
Anticipation thrummed through his body as he threaded his way through the crowd, heading in the direction of the large red-and-white-striped balloon in the distance. Somewhere the beautiful Miss Bedegrayne awaited him, needed him. She did not look at him as a curiosity, a conquest, nor did she cross herself in horror when she saw him. He was just a man in her eyes. The novelty of the notion jumbled his insides. After seeing the little drama played out on Newgate Street the other day, he was inclined to agree that she might actually need his protection.
Instead of being mixed in the crowd, Miss Bedegrayne and a female companion sat apart from it on a blanket. An oversized wicker hamper kept them company. Increasing his stride, he looked forward to their meeting.
Her eyes and smile brightened when she saw him, causing his pulse to jump in his throat. She was so lovely, dressed in a celestial blue dress and a silk poke bonnet. Miss Bedegrayne said something to her companion and the other woman turned in his direction. If her expression was not as welcoming, perhaps even wary, Rayne did not care. All his attention was focused on the woman who said she needed him.
“Lord Tipton, please join us,” she said, her voice breathless.
He sat as close as he dared without raising speculation. He had learned a long time ago that it took little to have people questioning his motives. “Miss Bedegrayne, how could I resist such a summons?”
Her hands fluttered up to her cheeks, as if to prevent him from seeing the pretty blush his words had stirred. “How arrogant you must think me! I suppose I should be grateful my note did not kindle your evening fire.”
Giving in to the impulse to touch, he took her hand and kissed her fingers. “And miss the opportunity to see Mr. Johnson’s balloon ascension? Perish the notion.” Rayne winked at her, and to his delight she giggled.
“You have firmly put me in my place, sir.” Her gaze flickered to her companion, sobering a bit. “Lord Tipton, may I present my sister Miss Wynne Bedegrayne. Wynne, this is Lord Tipton.”
“Miss Bedegrayne.” He bowed in her direction. At first glance the sisters looked nothing alike. Miss Wynne was a cool blonde, compared to her sister’s cinnamon fire. Upon closer inspection, he concluded their eyes were similar in shape and there was a certain matching stubbornness in the way they lifted their chins.
“I have heard much about you, my lord.”
It was an ambiguous statement that could be interpreted in several ways, none of them flattering.
“I told Wynne how I charged into your house uninvited,” Devona volunteered, oblivious to the wariness of both her companions. “She was quite horrified, of course, and lectures me at every opportunity.”
Miss Wynne glanced at her sister. “Little good it has done.”
“I assume since you aren’t locked in your room with only bread and watery soup to eat that yesterday’s incident did not reach your father’s ears?”
The sisters looked at each other, then laughed.
“No, truly, it isn’t at all amusing.” Devona attempted sobriety and failed. “Papa was furious. He was so busy yelling that we both missed our supper.”
“I thought Papa was going to break his oath and take a leather strap to your backside.”
Before Rayne could protest, Devona added, “Papa has a rule about using that form of punishment on girls above the age of thirteen.”
“He was tempted to break that rule, Devona.”
“I know.”
“And would have, if he had heard the entire recitation of your misdeeds.” Miss Wynne gave Rayne an icy glare.
“Fortunately for all, he settled on a different punishment.”
“Which was?” Rayne prompted when they did not elaborate.
“Brock,” they said in unison.
