Page 69 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
She nodded in understanding. “You were afraid she would be hurt.”
“Don’t place any noble laurel wreaths on my head, Devona. I don’t like anyone touching that case.”
“Of course you were quite calm when you explained your concerns.”
His smile was distinctly wolfish. “Hell, no, I took very large bites out of her hide. A little fear would do that young woman some good. Maybe she will think twice about walking into a stranger’s private chambers.”
***
Brogden propped himself up on his elbows at the first glimmer of candlelight from beneath the door. There was a soft knock, but it was merely a token of politeness. The door opened without waiting for his invitation. He could think of only one person who might seek him out this time of night.
“By all means, Tipton, please join me. Maybe you would like another chance at me while I’m down. Once I’m healed, you will need your own medical services.”
“I am heartened by the news, sir.” Madeleina stepped into the room, an aura of candlelight encircling her. “It is my understanding that my brother is considered an artist with the instruments of his profession. Whether alive or deceased, it makes no difference.”
“You amazing, bold child. What are you trying to do? Your discovered presence will likely have me castrated.” It was a noble act to chase her from the room. Tipton would not hesitate to protect his little sister, despite his protests of feeling the opposite. Still, it was a treat to see her pretty face. Brogden pulled himself up into a sitting position to enjoy her visit.
She closed the door, then moved closer so no one could hear them from the hall. “I shan’t stay long,” she promised, sincerity practically radiating from her freshly scrubbed face.
“I rarely receive visitors this late of night.” He didn’t add, the ladies he had received or called on usually did not represent the dewy bud of innocence. “I figured Tipton locked you in the cellar.”
“He values his rats too much.” She held the candle closer and studied Brogden’s face. “He told me he would beat me if he found me here.”
Brogden was aghast. Protective or not, he was certain Tipton would uphold his threat. “Dear girl, why would you risk your brother’s wrath?”
“I needed to see that he hadn’t hurt you too much. It was my fault, and I could not bear the responsibility. The other reason was entirely selfish.” She pulled back, eclipsing him in shadow.
“What other reason?” he demanded.
He thought he detected a hint of a smile before she turned to open the door. “Why, because he said I couldn’t.” She closed the door quietly behind her.
Laughing, Brogden pillowed his head on his crossed arms. The delightful image of the defiant Madeleina challenging her stubborn brother at every encounter was enough to entertain him for hours.
***
“This is just an excuse to make me miserable,” Devona complained. She had been married a month. Her sister Irene was giving a ball in their honor to celebrate their nuptials. Instead of counting on Tipton as an ally to end this public showing, she was surprised by his heartily approving. The thought made her scowl.
“Stop pouting ,” Wynne chastised. “At least you have something to celebrate.”
Feeling guilty, Devona glanced down to watch the mantua maker adjust the hem of her dress. Her marriage had placed a microscopic focus on Wynne’s unmarried status. Having two unmarried sisters seemed acceptable. Being the remaining unmarried female Bedegrayne had made Wynne open to cruel speculation that there was something wrong with her. As usual, she handled the talk with dignified aplomb.
“You like, madame, yes?”
The dress was perfect; that wasn’t the problem. “Yes, very much,” Devona admitted. She gave Wynne a helpless look.
“The dress is wonderful, Nadine. Do you have enough measurements? I believe my sister is restless from all the standing.”
The mantua maker briskly nodded. “Very good.” She stood and helped Devona out of the dress. “I will send this to you. Tomorrow afternoon, yes?” she asked, her French accent distinct.
“On the morrow, then,” Wynne agreed, seeing the woman out while Devona donned her old dress.
“Allow me to assist,” her sister offered when she returned. She efficiently secured the small glass buttons on the back of Devona’s dress. “Where is Tipton? Hiding from all the female frippery?”
“He is seeing patients at the prison. Tipton is trusting all the details to Irene.” Devona tossed a glance back in Wynne’s direction. “The notion raises my hackles, if you want to know the truth. The man must be a sorcerer. Irene is smitten. It is appallingly disgusting to see her hang on his every word.”
“There.” Wynne stepped back, rechecking her efforts. “What is wrong with the family liking him? I trust you like him as well? You did, after all, marry the man.”
“Of course I like him.” She was beginning to think she loved him, too. “It just galls me to see Irene and Tipton agreeing about this ball. I do not see any reason for the fuss.”
