Page 44 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“Doran is lucky to be free of her.” Brooding, Brock watched Lady Claeg as she seized Amara in what had to have been a painful hold and all but pushed her into the carriage. “Amara is not going to have a good time of it, now that she is all Lady Claeg has left.”
***
Wynne poured tea, comfortable with the role of hostess. “Papa told me Lady Claeg dared to threaten him. The Bedegraynes have been scratched off their invite list.”
Brock pushed away his tea, opting to drink something stronger. “I doubt he stood for that woman speaking in such a manner to him.”
“Actually, Papa restrained himself out of respect for Doran and his friendship with Lord Claeg,” Wynne said, finally taking a seat next to Devona. “I am sorry, Devona, but I fear she blames you for Doran’s death. And Brock is now responsible for ruining Amara, although I think Lady Claeg would allow some of that blame to drip onto you. She truly despises you, Sister.”
Eyes bright with tears she refused to permit to fall, she struggled to appear indifferent. “You cannot say I have not inspired it.”
“Glenda Claeg is no longer your concern.” Rayne’s tone was steel as he spoke from the doorway. “You and Doran are both out of her reach.”
“Doran had to die to escape her clutches,” Wynne observed, looking fresh and beautiful despite the black dress she had worn for the funeral. “What is Devona going to do?”
“Marry me.”
Brock coughed; the drink he had been sipping went down the wrong way. Wynne arched an inquisitive brow, seeming almost amused. She calmly leaned over and pounded her brother on the back.
“I thought the betrothal stood only to help you move in society until you found a way to help Doran?” she asked.
“There is still the attempt on her life to consider,” Rayne reminded them.
Brock, unsure of his role, cautiously added, “She has family to protect her.”
“Now she has me. Tell them.” He directed the order to Devona, mentally willing her to say the correct words to ease her family’s fears.
“I love him. Scary reputation and all. I cannot think of another man who would tolerate my nature.” She gave him a faint smile.
Devona’s words punctured his control as if she had thrown spears instead of words at him. He gripped the painted wooden door frame to keep him from crossing the room and pulling her into his arms. Had she meant what she said? Or was her admission just her way to prevent her prying siblings from discovering their devil’s bargain? Why did he want her so? All she managed to do was torment him. Her body, her mind, her heart… he would have them all, by God!
Wynne jumped up and hugged her sister, oblivious to the morbid tempest stewing behind Rayne’s façade. “Devona, a love match. I am so pleased. But what of Papa? Irene? You know our news will never reach Nyle in time.”
Brock rose. “Leave that to me.” He walked over and offered his hand to Rayne. “I predict our father will be pleased with the match when everything has been presented to him. Welcome to the family, Brother.” His expression was clear: don’t make me regret this.
“Have you set a date? We will need time to prepare.”
Rayne moved from his outsider position to Devona’s side. “There is no need to fuss, Wynne. Devona and I are eloping, then on to my country estate. You may throw us a ball to celebrate our return if you like.”
Since he had not revealed his plans to Devona, she was as surprised as her siblings. He had to admire the way she handled the announcement. With the exception of a faltering blink of her lashes she looked every bit the bride on the verge of running off with her betrothed. He tucked a loose curl behind her ear because he had just given himself the right. Also, he needed to touch her, to reassure her silently that she was not making a mistake.
If her smile had been any brighter, Rayne figured they would all be sporting sunburns. “Our decision should not surprise you both,” she said lightly. “A runaway love match. A fitting fate for someone of my nature, do you not think?”
***
Amara lay curled in her bed, yet sleep eluded her. She could not believe Doran was dead. All the risks she took, agreeing to help Wynne and Devona rescue Doran, it had all been for naught. Amara had been willing to face the wrath of her mother and father if her disobedience would have given them back Doran. Furious, she threw off her covers and went to the table. Efficient despite the darkness, she opened a small box and went about lighting a candle.
Grudgingly she admitted to herself that the Bedegraynes had not deceived her in their promise to cover what small scandal might result from Lord Tipton and Brock’s unmasking and kidnapping her from the Dodds’ ball. She should have known her mother would have placed guardians in her absence. She blew on the piece of tinder before touching it to the wick of the candle. Trust was a limited resource in her family.
She had been surprised that Brock would have dared to approach her at the funeral. He had held her arm, his handsome face weary and full of concern. It embarrassed her still that in an unguarded moment she had told him of her mother’s wrath, of her ruined hair. She touched what was left of her long tresses. The length of it hung two inches from her ears. If the housekeeper had not entered the room when she had, Amara was certain she would have been sheared to the scalp. What her mother could not control she destroyed.
A puff of wind made Amara turn toward the window. She took an involuntary step back at the shadowed figure of a man. “Brock?” she asked in a strangled whisper.
“If this is the manner in which Bedegrayne does his courting, I am surprised no outraged father has ever thrust a sword through his heart.” Lord Tipton stepped closer into the small circle of light from her wavering candle.
She felt a rush of heat, more for thinking Brock Bedegrayne would ever come to her in the night than facing Tipton in her nightclothes. “Forgive me, Lord Tipton, I never receive visitors in my bedchamber, let alone undressed.” Amara walked to the table, recalling there was a small knife in the drawer. She would defend herself if he approached her. “Just so you know. Mr. Bedegrayne has neither called upon me by day or night. I do not know why I thought…” She rested against the drawer. Behind her back she fingered the handle.
Her expression must have given her away. He gave her a gentle smile she had thought him incapable of and sat in a nearby chair. “Take the weapon out if it gives you comfort, Miss Claeg. I have no interest in your jewelry or have intentions of seduction. I bring you news.”
