Page 54 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“Mrs., my lord. Mrs. Poole.” Feeling unclear about where her loyalties lay, she cast a quick peek at her mistress. She found no reassurance. Her mistress’s attention was focused on the broken porcelain.
“Well, Mrs. Poole, I assume from the appearance of this room that you are a good housekeeper.”
“I know my job, sir!” she defended herself.
“It is always rewarding to see the efficient results of the wages I pay out to Foxenclover,” he remarked, leading Devona to the door. She still looked furious. He figured she was biting a hole through her tongue to keep mute. Soon he would be able to comfort her and have her out of hearing range. “Our rooms are prepared, Mrs. Poole?”
“Yes, indeed, sir. If you and your missus would follow me.”
While Devona followed the eager Mrs. Poole, Rayne made the point of quietly closing the door on his mother.
***
Devona savagely tore off her gloves and threw them on the table. Lobcock! She had heard the rumors, had seen the way Tipton’s face became shuttered at the mention of his family. What had she done? Attacked his mother! Frustrated and angry, Devona was already doing her best to destroy the knotted ribbons on her bonnet when Rayne strolled into the room.
While her eyes were burning with useless tears, she tugged on the knotted ribbon until it snapped. There, now even her pretty bonnet was ruined! Misery overtook the ire that had ridden on her back since she had first entered the morning room, causing her to all but collapse into a chair.
“I ruined my bonnet,” she said, the tears she had been fighting back running down her cheeks.
He gently removed the bonnet from her head and placed it on the table. “I’ll buy you a dozen to replace it.” Kneeling on his haunches, he stroked the top of her hand.
She used her free hand to wipe away the tears. “Forgive me. I do not know why I am crying.”
“Don’t you?” His eyes narrowed, an unsettling reminder of his mother. “I thought your reasons quite appropriate. You have just discovered your husband’s mother is a horrid, unpleasant bitch,” he said calmly, as if announcing the weather.
“Tipton!” She choked, thinking how strange it was to want to laugh at such a distressing time.
“You see? No more tears. Speaking the truth is always liberating.” He moved away, seeming restless. “Do you want me to help you undress? No one would scold you for wanting a nap.”
“Your mother will think I am in hiding.”
“A clever tactician understands a well-planned retreat. Something tells me the new dowager needs to rethink her plan of attack.”
She did not like the smug expression she saw. He was too pleased at the notion of upsetting his mother. “Why are we here, Tipton?” she asked, the edge back in her tone.
The question did not appear to surprise him. “I explained it to you earlier.”
She gave him a queen-to-peasant glare that would have made Wynne applaud. “I heard what you wanted me to believe. I want the truth. After all, it is so liberating,” she drawled.
“Devona, what reason can I offer when you have already decided on the words you want to hear?” He pulled her into his arms. “Forget the nap,” he murmured, her body reacting to his husky demand. “We are alone and we have a bed. Guess what truth I want to explore?”
She did not have to guess. The outline of his erection was visible proof. The thought of undoing the buttons of his breeches herself had her pulse skittering. She pulled back emotionally before she could give in to the impulse. “I suppose even a horrible mother expects her son to do his duty for the title.”
“Not really,” was his succinctly blithe reply. He nuzzled her temple with his chin. “Wouldn’t want the fiend to breed.”
“What rubbish!” she said, sounding appalled and incensed on his behalf.
He pretended not to hear her outburst. “Not that I haven’t done my best to secure such success, eh, love?” His hot breath stirred a curl resting on her cheek. “How long before you will know if you are breeding?”
It was a personal question, something she was not prepared to discuss, even with him. Her nerves were too much at the surface for clear thought. It was also difficult to bury the deeper suspicion that his pleasure at impregnating her would be due more to the news enraging his family than to the joy of making a life with her. When he behaved so attentively and charmingly, it was so easy to forget that their marriage was not based on love, let alone friendship. He had bought her. One life saved in exchange for hers. She had to remember that or the bruising she felt in her heart was going to be her constant companion.
“When did you bleed last?”
“Our wedding night!” She pulled out of his embrace and moved to the table. Picking up her bonnet, she studied the damage done to it.
Quietly, he approached her, his muscles tensed as if preparing to catch her if she tried to run. “That wasn’t what I asked, and you know it.”
She crushed the delicate bonnet when her hands contracted into tight fists. “What answer shall I give you, my lord? The truth or what you want to hear?” she said, using his own words to mock him.
