Page 23 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
There was a scraping noise overhead, confirming Devona’s amorous companions were still around. She felt trapped. If she continued her stroll, the couple in the balcony would know that she had been eavesdropping. To return to the ball would place her directly in the path of Lord Nevin, ruining all of Wynne’s efforts. Indecisive, Devona bit her lower lip.
From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the pins holding her hair in place drop to the floor. Pretty glass beads were attached to the numerous pins in her hair, giving the effect of diamonds cast in a sea of cinnamon. Or at least that was the idea, she thought with a self-effacing grin. She leaned forward to retrieve the pin.
The collapsing bench propelled her forward. She shrieked, landing in an embarrassing sprawl. A shower of stinging bits of rock and dust covered her. It took her a moment to move, her mind trying to form a coherent thought.
Her head turned to the broken bench. It made no sense until she saw the broken head of a cherub grinning mischievously at her. Awkwardly, she stood. Her dress was ruined. Dirt marred the front, and there was a horrendous tear where her knees had struck the tile. Thinking of her knees made them start to burn. She took a few steps forward so she could see the balcony.
“Anyone there?”
The upper story was silent. She also noted the vacant corner where the cherub had once set. An accident. Just a terrible accident. Fine tremors shook her slender frame. How did a piece of heavy statuary suddenly fall from its perch with such deadly accuracy?
A noise to her left had her moving backward, deeper into the conservatory. Did she call this place a sanctuary? Feeling giddy with hysteria, she skirted several enormous pots packed with geraniums. Devona ducked behind the iron trellis, which created a living wall of ivy and flowering vines. She heard the shuffle of footsteps. No one called out or commented on the smashed wood and marble as one might expect.
A horrible thought struck her. What if someone had helped the cherub over the side? If it had been an accident, wouldn’t they have called out a warning? Maybe it wasn’t an accident, after all. Footsteps moving closer had her crouching and pressing deeper into the foliage. She held her breath. Why was it so cold in here all of a sudden? She couldn’t stop shaking.
A man came into view. Or rather, his arm and part of his back. He stood, stock-still, listening. It would have been so easy to jump up and startle the man. She could have babbled on about playing a game with her companions, then hurried out of the conservatory toward the rooms holding light and laughter. She did nothing. Something about the way he held himself made her remain hidden in the shadows.
Minutes ticked by and neither moved. Devona slowly let out the breath she had been holding, and just as carefully inhaled. Voices. Voices in the distance. Sudden laughter. Someone else was approaching. The man moved his arm, and then was gone from her line of vision. What the devil had just happened? She had the wildest urge to giggle.
There were more footsteps; this time pleasant conversation flowed with them. This time she did not care who saw her. The clawing need to run from this room and the house was overwhelming. Springing from her hiding place, she bumped against the wall of vines and straight into the arms of a man.
Devona screamed.
She struggled against the captive embrace, but strong arms had her effectively caged.
“Dear me! Devona, what is going on here?”
Wynne’s shocked voice cut through Devona’s hysteria. Her reserves spent, she sagged against the warm chest seizing the offering comfort. Wynne was here. She was safe. Devona tilted her head back, half-expecting to see the dashing Lord Nevin.
Surprised, she all but gasped. The man holding her was just as appealing, maybe more so. The lines of tension in his face were cut deep by the shadows and he gleamed with sweat. He was also furious. Tipton. She never was so pleased to see him.
***
“Oh my, you all must think I am a real rattlepate for carrying on so,” Devona said, another variation of the apologies she had been issuing to anyone listening in the last thirty minutes. She held a cooling cup of tea her harried hostess had insisted she drink to settle her nerves. Rayne thought a good dosing of brandy would have been better.
“Those statues have resided in their places for years, and nary an incident,” the duchess fretted. “Are you certain you are well? Maybe we should call for a doctor?”
“Lord Tipton has seen to me, and says I am fit. Is that not correct, my lord?” Devona could not quite meet his gaze.
Rayne knew she was trying to assure everyone, including herself, that she was fine. Every bit the lady, she sat primly, her spine Spanish steel, ignoring the fact that her dress was torn and dirty. Or that her hands trembled when she tried to smooth her disheveled hair. There were scratches on her face, hand, and knees. The latter was shown to him only under dire threat. She had taken the brunt of her fall on the right knee. The wound had still been seeping blood when he had smeared it with basilicum ointment and bound it.
“It was all a terrible accident. No one is to blame.”
He doubted she believed a single word of it. He sure as hell didn’t.
“Please, I feel badly that I have taken you from your guests, Your Grace. I have my sister to see me home.”
“If you are certain?” The woman was torn by concern and the obligation to her other guests.
“Very. Thank you for inviting me.” She smiled, encouraging the woman to leave. With a nod to all, the duchess departed for the library, closing the door behind her.
He would have laughed if he had not noticed Devona meant every word. The woman had just been stalked by some unknown assailant but would not allow such a trifle like almost dying to put aside her manners. Typical. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. At least his fever had broken.
“Shall I ring for our coach?” Wynne asked, interrupting the silence.
“Might as well. I do not feel like dancing tonight.” Devona touched her sister’s arm when she turned away to hide her tears. “You are not to blame.”
A sob broke over her breath. “I was a fool to send you out here. I thought if I dealt with Lord Nevin, he would leave you alone.”
