Page 61 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
FOURTEEN
The journey from Foxenclover had been uneventful. Their unwilling guest had stared at Tipton as though he were a cross between a cannibal and an unholy creature every time he addressed her. Not that he had made much of an effort to converse with the girl. It made him a bit uneasy to have her around. Lord only knew what tales of horror Jocelyn had filled Madeleina’s silly head with. Despite the tales, Rayne had to grudgingly admit that his sister was not lacking in spirit. She might think he was the devil’s disciple, but she was not averse to poking a stick in his eye.
“Oh, Maddy, see here.” Devona pointed to the passing town house. “My family resides there. I cannot wait until Wynne and the rest meet you.”
Somewhere along their journey, Devona had formed a fragile friendship with his sister. Knowing his wife, he realized that the girl had not had much choice. Once Devona set her mind on something, she could overwhelm even the most stubborn. He considered himself an authority on the subject.
“Where will we be residing?” his sister asked, her face pressed to the window. The masses going about their daily tasks had captured her attention from the moment they had entered the city.
“Not too much longer, pet.” Devona gave her hand a friendly squeeze. “I am so glad you came with us. It will be so wonderful to have a younger sister.”
The girl cast a wary glance in Tipton’s direction. He stared back, his eyes narrowing slightly, not even trying to allay her fears about him. Something akin to amusement stirred him as he watched her eyes widen and her forehead smack the glass when she turned back to the window. Perhaps having a little sister underfoot to torment would bring its own gratification.
Devona’s foot shot out and struck him sharply in the instep. He reached down to rub the injured area. Damnable woman. One would think she could read minds. He nodded at her, attempting to look repentant. And thetonthought there was something supernatural about him! A woman’s insight was more frightening than a close brush with death.
Speck had the door open and had his hand out before Rayne could offer to help Devona down from the carriage. “Good afternoon, sir. May I offer my congratulations on your recent nuptials, Lady Tipton.”
Rayne stilled, waiting for the surge of emotion he had always tied to the name. To his surprise, the dread and fury he expected remained dormant. He sought out Devona, but she was too busy pushing Madeleina toward Speck. It was a small thing, really. Yet it mattered to Rayne. The title was Devona’s now. There would be no going back for either of them.
“Speck, this is Tipton’s sister, Miss Madeleina Wyman. Maddy, meet Speck.”
Speck towered over her. “I never knew ye had a sister, sir? And a small ’un at that,” he said in a gruff rumble.
Rayne’s sister serenely met the butler’s rude stare. “You might want to practice that one in the mirror, Speck. I have gargoyles in my maze that are more terrifying.” She walked past him, not awaiting his reply.
“Fancy that,” Devona said, hiding the smile on her face with her hand as she hurried to catch up with the girl.
Rayne held back, waiting for Speck to finish giving instructions to the two underlings he had recently hired.
“What yer lady do? Shake the family tree to see who tumbled out?” Speck asked, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the sweat from his face.
“I’m newly married, Speck. It is a husband’s right to indulge his bride.”
“Pardon me fer saying so, sir, but that young’un is full of spit and piss. A man like you should be planting his own brood instead of raising a girl who has been taught from the cradle to hate ye.”
“That’s why you are paid so well to watch my back.” Rayne listened to the feminine chatter echoing from within his home. Such sounds were unfamiliar to him, but they weren’t unpleasant. “The trip to Foxenclover was not what I had anticipated.” Neither was Madeleina.
He started up the stairs. “Have you had any trouble in our absence?”
“Nary a spark. Expecting some?” Speck asked, his tone telling Rayne that he would relish it.
“I’m not certain. I have nipped the visible threads.” He shook his head. “Just keep alert.” He paused. “Has our other guest settled down?”
Speck’s grin widened, showing his pointed teeth. “The doc? It only took me and three others to stuff ’im in the carriage. One extra to pull ’im out. Hell of a fighter, even if you did whittle down his leg.” The man spat and swiped at the spittle with his shoe. “He’ll be wanting to see ye.”
“It’s a step up. His last wanting for me involved metal spikes, hot oil, and my body contorted in a creative, albeit unlikely, position.”
He strode into the town house, leaving Speck chuckling in his wake.
***
Brogden responded to Rayne’s soft knock. Pushing open the door, he entered the room, mildly astonished to see the bed empty and his friend sitting in a chair positioned at the window.
“I hear you caught yourself a wife, Tipton,” the man said, his voice hoarse. “Ready to send her home?”
“Not quite.” His lips quirked. “I have decided men like us could be improved on.” Rayne slipped into the role of surgeon and studied his patient. Brogden was two-and-thirty and this moment he looked every one of those years, plus a few more. His beard stubble gleamed silver instead of matching the rich black on his head. His eyes were clear, he seemed alert, but he exuded a faint trace of his favorite opium tincture. Rayne grimaced, thinking his friend looked too thin. Brogden’s frame had always carried an impressive bulk of muscle and the wasted form remaining was a disturbing contrast.
“And the lass is up to the task?”
