Page 17 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
FIVE
Two hours later, Rayne was sitting comfortably in a hackney, looking forward to a warm fire and brandy. No more hired coaches for Lord Tipton, he mused. He supposed he should send word that the ones in storage bearing the family crest should be refurbished. When his mother learned of his latest actions, she would definitely conclude her son was under some sort of possession! He was. Her name was Devona Lyr Bedegrayne.
Naturally, he had picked her fair face from the crowd the moment he had entered the makeshift ballroom. She had adorned herself in light blue this evening. The dress was trimmed with silver net at the sleeves and silver-gilt thread at the waist and hem. The soft hue gave her skin a creamy glow that begged to be caressed.
She had had her long hair pulled up artfully and contained within a band of fabric to match her dress. A long gold pin tipped with a large pearl secured the style. He could have spent the evening watching those fiery silken curls dance and shift with every tilt of her heart-shaped face.
Rayne had not been pleased to observe her succumbing to the charms of Lord Nevin. Notorious, seductive bastard! Devona was too naïve to be interesting prey for such a surfeited villain. Rayne wondered what kind of game Nevin was playing. It would end tonight, even if Rayne had to press his point home by sword. At least she had dismissed Nevin easily enough. Placated by the memory, Rayne relaxed into the bench.
Too clever for her own good, she had guessed right away that his presence at the ball was due to her. However, he had managed to surprise the scheming Miss Bedegrayne by introducing a scheme of his own.
“Are you willing to pay the price for my services?”
Appalled, she all but sputtered, “You want money?”
“Some would consider gold an adequate dressing to heal old wounds. Speaking as a surgeon, I can tell you that there are other more effective means.”
“You speak in riddles, sir.”
“I speak of needs, Miss Bedegrayne. The means in which to meet yours and mine.”
She shook her head. “You promised to help.”
“And so I shall. First, I need you to help me fulfill mine.” He lifted her chin with his finger: his gaze held hers. “Are you courageous enough to assist me, Devona, or has all this talk about saving Doran Claeg been just that: talk?”
“I will do whatever you ask.”
“Bold, hasty words, my lady. As dearly as they warm my heart, I confess, I am not such a blackguard as to take your vow without revealing my intentions. I want you.”
Her mouth parted slightly. Shock warred with confusion before a very feminine awareness gleamed in her eyes.
He had set himself up for failure by that truthful blunder. If it would have helped, he would have cut his throat and been done with it. A gently reared lady did not expect to hear such bold declarations. Rayne had assessed her features and thought she had too much color. Rallying what pride he had left, he had pressed onward.
“I want you to help me regain my place in society.”
She didn’t even blink at his announcement. If she was disappointed, she hid it well. “Oh,” was all she said.
“It won’t be easy. Oh, no one will dispute the title is mine by right, but you will learn that I do not possess my family’s support and that will complicate things.”
“I do not see how I can help you, Lord Tipton. My place in society is hardly coveted. At best I am amusing.”
“Then we shall make an interesting pair, you and I. Who better to take up withLe Cadavre Raffinéthan the reckless Miss Bedegrayne?”
“You want them to think that you have taken me as your mistress?” Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “I would be ruined. My father.” She shuddered. “To be fair, he has been most tolerant. But this goes too far. I would be shunned. Cast into obscurity with no hope to marry.”
For all her talk and joy of reckless adventure she was still quite young, Rayne suddenly realized. “I thought you would do anything?” he taunted, then felt remorse at her stricken expression. The unbridled jealousy he felt at her loyalty to Claeg had surged, overriding common sense. Rayne needed her loyalty toward Claeg to be unflagging. It served his selfish purpose as it did that bastard Claeg.
“What do you want of me?”
Her solemn question cut into Rayne’s flesh, as clean and precise as a scalpel. Victory had a bitter aftertaste. Cad that he was, it did not deter him. “You. Your adoration. Your affection. Your friendship.” Your heart, body, and soul. “Not as mistress,” he continued, ignoring the puzzled frown between her brows. “Although I am certain there will be talk, I want your support. Your betrothal.”
“You want to marry me?”
“Just your word will do. Despite your penchant to challenge propriety, you and I suit each other well. At my side, you will lend a certain respectability that I have never achieved on my own. Later…” He shrugged. “Well, we all know how fickle a young lady’s love can be.”
Rayne had sensed she would have argued his point. He had all but thrown down a gauntlet at her slippered feet. Unfortunately, they had dallied too long at supper. Their association tonight, the rumors over the weeks, and his unexpected return to society were too much of a curiosity to ignore for long. Lady Geary had been the first to approach them. Her eyes full of conjecture and her painted mouth twisted in tolerant amusement, she had cornered and then separated them, each being pulled to opposite sides of the room. Their prying, new friends had spent the remainder of the evening trying to glean news of the elusive Tipton and his intentions regarding Bedegrayne’s youngest daughter.
Rayne knew he had left his audience wary and full of questions. He assumed Devona had done the same. It wasn’t as if she were used to games of deceit. Rather, she just did not know what to think of him yet. He had done a fine job keeping her inquisitive mind off balance.
