Page 26 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“Well, Lord Tipton would seriously consider anything that you tell him. His position is too tenuous not to.”
Devona fought her way back into a sitting position. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning Tipton is more clever than the other males that have come sniffing around you only to be rejected. Or do you think his sole purpose for speaking to Papa is to discuss politics?”
Her nose wrinkled as she waved the question away. “Oh, that. Do not concern yourself that I shall be leg shackled before you. It is only a ruse to help Doran.”
“Oh, really?”
Panic churned in her empty stomach. “’Tis part of his plan. He needs me to— Oh, Wynne, do you think he actually means it?”
She gave her sister a pitying glance. “You may have been the one to shoulder your way into his life, but he is making plans to keep you there.”
***
Entering the Bedegrayne household had felt a bit like entering the lair of a dragon. One half-expected to get blasted by a wall of fire or stomped to death. The fact that neither occurred put Rayne on alert. Sir Thomas Bedegrayne, he was informed, would see him forthwith. Keeping his relief concealed beneath a façade of indifference, he followed the butler through a tight maze of halls.
The small chamber was pleasant enough, the intricately designed glass windows positioned to capture and reflect the sunlight. Rayne had not been left alone. Wynne and a woman introduced to him as Aunt Moll had sat quietly working on their needlepoint.
His hand casually fingered the note in his coat pocket. Brogden’s sudden return to England was curious, since he had once sworn that nothing could lure him back. A half smile played across Rayne’s lips as he looked forward to visiting one of the very few men he considered a friend again. Still, a man had priorities. Rayne was certain the fact that Devona was his made the lady a very nervous woman.
The ensuing silence prompted him to ask, “Where is your sister, Miss Bedegrayne? I trust she has recovered from last evening?” Her absence concerned him, but it would not deter him from his purpose.
Wynne glanced up. “Consider yourself fortunate we forced her to keep to her bed for a day. All around, it should make your visit here much more amiable.”
Rayne never was given the chance to probe the subtle warning. The butler had returned. Sir Thomas Bedegrayne was waiting to meet him.
***
He supposed he had imagined Devona’s father to be an older version of Brock, shrunken and thin boned by the ravages of age. The giant who held out a fleshy hand held no resemblance to the young man who desired his death.
Sir Thomas Bedegrayne was large, over six feet. Broad-shouldered and sporting a salt-and-peppered beard to match the unfashionable length of hair on top, he looked like the type of man more comfortable with a broadsword and a siege before him than with playing the social games of polite society. Meeting the older man’s gaze, Rayne saw at once where Devona had acquired her intriguing blue-green eyes. The older version skewered him as much as they assessed him. He could feel their sharp points all the way down his gullet.
“So you are the lad Brock says is up to every rig and row with our Devona. Thinks he should call you out,” Sir Thomas’s voice boomed in the quiet room.
Rayne could not recall the last time anyone had referred to him as a lad, nor when he had felt like one. “I appreciate your understanding in the matter. I meant no insult to Devona or her family.”
There was a speculative gleam in those flinty eyes. “Such flummery. I expect as much from the crop of fops that preen for my lovely gels. If the rumors are true about your circumstances, I am surprised that you found the time to attain the polish.”
Acknowledgment either way was an insult. Rayne knew it; so did the shrewd old man. If Sir Thomas expected him to respectfully back down, then he would be disappointed. “If you know something of my life, then you know what I have today was born of sweat and sheer will.”
“Stubborn, I give you that.”
“Useful to the man who has been denied all gentle things because of a freakish twist of fate,” he softly countered.
Sir Thomas ignored the blatant opening. He leaned back in his chair. “So you are old enough to understand the advantages of the softer comforts. Is this how you view my daughter Devona?”
“No offense, sir, I find little about your daughter that is soft or convenient.”
“You arrogant pup!” The older man’s blue-green eyes flashed outrage. “You telling me something is wrong with my gel?”
Rayne blinked. He suspected whatever position he chose, the older man would argue it to his advantage. “She is somewhat forward.”
The oversized globe Sir Thomas had been lightly stroking was sent into a reeling spin. “You calling my Devona fast, Tipton?” he asked; the edge to his tone was as keen as the look in his eyes.
“She pushed her way into my household at midnight to meet me. You cannot call her slow.”
“It sounds like you need to hire sharper staff,” Bedegrayne snapped.
