Her eyes were glassy with tears. “Oh, Doran.” She closed her eyes; the tears left glistening channels on her cheeks. “Have you appealed to your father?”
“Appealed?” For the first time, anger cloaked the worshipful tone Doran always used when speaking to her. “Haven’t you heard? My father has no second son. He disavowed my birthright the moment I was fettered by the magistrate.” The bruises on Doran’s face gave him a sinister appearance. “He never bothered to ask if I was innocent.”
Devona lowered the handkerchief from her face. “Is that what you are? Innocent?”
He sagged against the metal gate and smoothed his knotted hair with a grimy hand. “Hell of a way to treat an innocent man, I say. Lock him up tight with a squirming mass of fetid squalor so that even breathing air becomes a paying privilege.” He gripped the grate separating them. “No air. No heat. No place to move. Only darkness, and the sounds of the dying as they lie in their own filth. All of us hoping there will be something left to identify us as human after the rats and roaches have had their feast.”
“Enough!” Gar stepped in front of Devona to shield her from the ugliness lurking behind the stone walls of Newgate.
“I am so sorry, Doran. I do not know what I can do. I thought I might be able to—” She glanced away, feeling helpless. “I failed. You know my father has forbidden me to see you.”
The harshness that had frozen Doran’s features into a marble mask softened at her distress. “Poor pet. Always my fierce protector, eh? Had you been born male, you would have been invincible.”
She choked on her laughter. “Had I been male, you would have looked awfully silly courting me with flowers.” Devona held out her hand. “Here, take this.” She pressed some coins into his hand when he did not take them. “Just enough to buy you some comfort, but not enough to get your throat slit.” Gar pulled her back, and this time she did not resist.
Pearl shuddered as they moved through the crowd, away from the gate. “Lord, I feel like my skin is crawling with lice! If we had any sense, we would burn all our clothing and bathe in a barrel of vinegar.”
“At least we can walk away from the despair. A good soaking, a freshly laundered dress, and we are the same.” Devona glanced back. Doran was no longer visible. “I doubt Mr. Claeg will ever be the same man.”
Gar made a sound of disgust. “Maybe you are just viewing the same man from a different viewpoint.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
Gar never was given the chance to answer. Devona found herself facing Doran’s formidable mother and his younger sister, Amara. The young woman had come out the same year as Devona. Despite the friendship between the two families, they had never been very close. Devona could tell by the expression on their faces that this accidental meeting would not be pleasant. Trying to appear pleased to see them, Devona said cheerfully, “Lady Claeg. Miss Claeg. I was just about—”
Lady Claeg cut her off with a look, then filled in the gap before she could take another breath. “I know what you are about, Miss Bedegrayne, and it will cease this moment. For the sake of my lord’s long-standing friendship with your father, I have tried to hold my tongue.”
“I meant—”
“To beguile my son, and then tell him he was not rich enough to keep you—”
Indignation dampened some of the guilt she was feeling. “I did no such thing, madam. If I had known what he was doing, for my sake or not, I would have dissuaded him from his plan. He is my friend.”
“You heartless whore! He is going to die because of your greed.” Lady Claeg sobbed, drawing the attention of those around them.
Devona shook off Gar’s grip, stepping in front of Lady Claeg when she would have walked away. Triumphant in the public assassination of her adversary’s character, the older woman was more than willing to dismiss her. It would have been better to let Lady Claeg walk away. Devona knew that and would have agreed with that direction later, after she had had a chance to settle her emotions. Unfortunately for the Claegs, Devona felt she had peeled off enough flesh on their behalf for one day.
“Madam, if you please,” she said, with a clipped tone.
“Miss Bedegrayne,” Pearl pleaded, recognizing the look in her lady’s eyes.
“I have nothing to say, Miss Bedegrayne. Come, Amara.”
Devona blocked their escape. “Good. I do. You are so willing to lay this tragedy at my feet, and I have taken it.” Her voice hitched at the sudden lump in her throat. “Maybe I deserve every slur you have uttered. However, consider this. Perhaps if Doran had had the support of his family, he would have never resolved his problems by falling in with a criminal element.”
Lady Claeg’s lips moved, her face becoming mottled with an unattractive shade of purple. “My son is innocent!”
“Possibly. More telling is Lord Claeg’s disowning of his second son, do you not think?”
The slap Lady Claeg delivered snapped Devona’s head to the left, knocking her bonnet askew. Dazed with pain and shock, she wondered if she would have ducked the attack if she had anticipated it. Her hands automatically were reaching to repair the damage.
“You will pay for your treachery. I will see to it!” The older woman whirled around, a hostile flurry of black bombazine. Amara, her eyes full of shock, met Devona’s for a second, then turned away, hurrying after her mother.
Certain the encounter would soon reach the ears of the ton and, more important, her father’s, Devona chose the opposite direction to escape. Unshed tears of fury filled her eyes. How could she have been so foolish as to have allowed that selfish, cruel woman to goad her into fighting back? So blinded by her thoughts, she collided into someone.
“My apologies,” she murmured, trying to disengage from the man’s embrace. Firm hands held her by her upper arms, refusing to release her. She lifted her head, prepared to scream. Her eyes widened in recognition. “Lord Tipton.”
“‘Mr. Tipton’ does me just fine, Miss Bedegrayne,” he corrected. His gaze searched her face, finally settling on the red handprint on her face. A fine muscle in his jaw jumped, then tensed. “That woman hurt you. What is her name?”
He looked so fierce, yet his voice was gentle, coaxing. Seeing his face for the first time in daylight, Devona noted his eyes were not really pewter, but the lightest blue she had ever seen. She fought an irresistible urge to lay her hand against his cheek and soothe the anger her tart mouth had placed there.
“I deserved the slap and more, although I wish there was some manner of preventing my father from learning this.”
“Why? Are you concerned about what your father will do to this woman?”
Rayne truly was outraged on Devona’s behalf. His hands on her arms vibrated with suppressed violence. She had been defending her actions for so long that his simple acceptance of her being in the right without question left her breathless and weak. She was halfway in love with him for his faith alone. Giving in to the urge to smile, she winced at the pain. “Lady Claeg is safe from my father. I dread the matching handprint he’ll place on my backside for disobeying him.”
Still not releasing her, Rayne stared at her, his pale blue eyes impaling the simple lighthearted defense she had erected to prevent herself from giving in to the urge to press her face against his coat and cry. “If you were mine … uh … my daughter”— the tension in his features increased as he fumbled his words—“I would punish the person who dared to strike you.”
“Mr. Tipton!” a man some distance away called out, and waved.
“Damn.” Rayne shook himself as if he just realized where he and Devona were and how he was holding her. Carefully, he loosened his grip and took a step back. “I have a promise to keep. I must go.” He sent Gar a look, sizing the man up quickly. Apparently liking what he saw, he gave the footman a nod. “See to it that your lady gets home without further violence.”
“Mr. Tipton, the time.” His acquaintance was almost upon them.
Lord Tipton touched her chin, forc
ing her to meet his gaze. “I must go. Expect me to call on you tomorrow.”
“No!” The horror in her denial chilled the warmth she had glimpsed in his eyes. It took her a moment to understand her unintentional insult. Instantly contrite, she dug her teeth into her lower lip. “My lord, your card would be most welcome. It is just that no one in my family knows about my troubles, or that I sought out your assistance.”
“And consorting with the likes of me could damage your reputation.”
“You twist my words at my expense, sir. If I worry about anyone’s reputation, I fear for yours.” Nodding her head in his direction, she started for the hackney Gar had secured.
“Mine?” Stunned, Rayne remained rooted to the ground. “Miss Bedegrayne, do you know what I am?” He ignored the persistent man at his side.
She turned back; her stance was challenging. “I know who you are, Lord Tipton,” she said, so softly she was amazed he had heard her.
“There is no Lord Tipton, Miss Bedegrayne. He died fifteen years ago. If he is the man you seek, then your faith is misplaced.” He might as well have kept silent. The woman who had haunted him since she had walked into his life was safely sheltered in the departing coach.
THREE
It never occurred to Rayne to simply ignore Miss Bedegrayne’s imperial summons. Half-expecting her to show up at his town house the night before, he had remained at home, magnanimously ordering Speck to allow her entry. To Rayne’s disappointment, her reckless behavior had not placed her in his hands. His left hand fingered the note in his coat pocket.
Lord Tipton:
If it pleases you, will you attend us at Vauxhall Garden tomorrow? We will be watching Mr. Johnson’s balloon ascension at three.
Yours,
Miss Devona Lyr Bedegrayne
Anticipation thrummed through his body as he threaded his way through the crowd, heading in the direction of the large red-and-white-striped balloon in the distance. Somewhere the beautiful Miss Bedegrayne awaited him, needed him. She did not look at him as a curiosity, a conquest, nor did she cross herself in horror when she saw him. He was just a man in her eyes. The novelty of the notion jumbled his insides. After seeing the little drama played out on Newgate Street the other day, he was inclined to agree that she might actually need his protection.
Instead of being mixed in the crowd, Miss Bedegrayne and a female companion sat apart from it on a blanket. An oversized wicker hamper kept them company. Increasing his stride, he looked forward to their meeting.
Her eyes and smile brightened when she saw him, causing his pulse to jump in his throat. She was so lovely, dressed in a celestial blue dress and a silk poke bonnet. Miss Bedegrayne said something to her companion and the other woman turned in his direction. If her expression was not as welcoming, perhaps even wary, Rayne did not care. All his attention was focused on the woman who said she needed him.
“Lord Tipton, please join us,” she said, her voice breathless.
He sat as close as he dared without raising speculation. He had learned a long time ago that it took little to have people questioning his motives. “Miss Bedegrayne, how could I resist such a summons?”
Her hands fluttered up to her cheeks, as if to prevent him from seeing the pretty blush his words had stirred. “How arrogant you must think me! I suppose I should be grateful my note did not kindle your evening fire.”
Giving in to the impulse to touch, he took her hand and kissed her fingers. “And miss the opportunity to see Mr. Johnson’s balloon ascension? Perish the notion.” Rayne winked at her, and to his delight she giggled.
“You have firmly put me in my place, sir.” Her gaze flickered to her companion, sobering a bit. “Lord Tipton, may I present my sister Miss Wynne Bedegrayne. Wynne, this is Lord Tipton.”
“Miss Bedegrayne.” He bowed in her direction. At first glance the sisters looked nothing alike. Miss Wynne was a cool blonde, compared to her sister’s cinnamon fire. Upon closer inspection, he concluded their eyes were similar in shape and there was a certain matching stubbornness in the way they lifted their chins.
“I have heard much about you, my lord.”
It was an ambiguous statement that could be interpreted in several ways, none of them flattering.
“I told Wynne how I charged into your house uninvited,” Devona volunteered, oblivious to the wariness of both her companions. “She was quite horrified, of course, and lectures me at every opportunity.”
Miss Wynne glanced at her sister. “Little good it has done.”
“I assume since you aren’t locked in your room with only bread and watery soup to eat that yesterday’s incident did not reach your father’s ears?”
The sisters looked at each other, then laughed.
“No, truly, it isn’t at all amusing.” Devona attempted sobriety and failed. “Papa was furious. He was so busy yelling that we both missed our supper.”
“I thought Papa was going to break his oath and take a leather strap to your backside.”
Before Rayne could protest, Devona added, “Papa has a rule about using that form of punishment on girls above the age of thirteen.”
“He was tempted to break that rule, Devona.”
“I know.”
“And would have, if he had heard the entire recitation of your misdeeds.” Miss Wynne gave Rayne an icy glare.
“Fortunately for all, he settled on a different punishment.”
“Which was?” Rayne prompted when they did not elaborate.
“Brock,” they said in unison.
Neither seemed upset with the punishment. Confused, Rayne asked, “Is it a person?”
Devona’s eyes twinkled, begging him to share the great jest. “I have my doubts. He is, after all, our older brother. Papa figured I could not get in much trouble if Brock was on hand.”
Miss Wynne wrinkled her nose. “Brock was entirely the wrong choice. At twenty-five, our brother has turned into quite a rake. Since our father intends to outlive us all, Brock has no need to take life seriously. It is all an adventure to him. He gambles, fights, whores—”
“Wynne!”
“It’s all true, and we only hear the cleaned-up versions of his adventures. He was the wrong choice.”
Rayne glanced around, searching for their guard dog. If there was to be a fight, he was one to hold his own. “Where is this adventurous brother of yours?”
Devona smiled again and Rayne felt his world tilt. “Why, he’s up in Mr. Johnson’s balloon!”
* * *
Devona studied Rayne’s profile while his attention was focused on the airborne balloon. Wynne had left them to speak with an acquaintance, giving her the chance to speak with him alone. What was he thinking? she mused. He kept shaking his head every few minutes and muttering under his breath.
“Did that brother of yours go willingly or did your sister hold him down while you trussed him up?”
“Oh, that was the beauty of my plan. Brock was a victim of his need for adventure. A man like him could not easily dismiss an opportunity to float along with the clouds.”
“Miss Bedegrayne, the balloon is tethered.”
She dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “A minor detail. In the end, Brock and I both got what we wanted.”
Rayne’s fingers played with the rosettes decorating the hem of her dress, his eyes never leaving her face. “And what is it that you wanted?”
“W-why,” she stuttered, finding it suddenly difficult to keep her voice steady. “To see you alone.” Her reddish-brown lashes fanned across her cheeks as she stared at her lap. “That sounds indelicate.”
He tapped her on the chin, luring her gaze back to his. “Perhaps. However, I happen to like where I am sitting.”
Devona laughed, pleased to see humor lightening the seriousness in his eyes as well. “Well, thank you very much. A gentleman is supposed to deny a lady’s faults.”
The change from amused to cold struck faster than lightning in a spring storm. “I keep havin
g to remind you that I am not a gentleman, Miss Bedegrayne. What will you do if I give in to the temptation and prove it to you?”
“Stop teasing me, sir! You would never do anything to hurt or embarrass me.”
He hesitated, not sure how to accept her observation. “Since we just met, I am amazed by your conviction in my character. Placing people at such lofty assessments must lead you to be often disappointed.”
“Rarely.”
Rayne quietly watched Wynne hug a new arrival to the small group of women surrounding her. “Your sister would probably disagree.”
“Wynne is merely protective. If you must know, she has no faith in my plan either.”
“Ah, now we get to it. What kind of trouble are you in that forces you to lower yourself to dally with an outcast?”
Sensing trouble, Devona fidgeted with the strings of her reticule. “You are not the monster they say you are.”
A cynical grin twisted his lips. “There is always a grain of truth to all rumors, Miss Bedegrayne.”
“I have always admired you,” she said softly, ignoring the quick sound of disbelief. “I was still in the nursery when I first heard the story. My brother told me it to frighten me. A young man mistakenly buried alive by his family only to be rescued by grave robbers. Quite harrowing. I am surprised no one published the account.”
“You forgot the best part. When the young man arrived home, he learned that his brother had died from the same sickness, making him the heir to the title. Sadly, his family was not as overjoyed to see him. A superstitious group, they were convinced that the new heir was some sort of resurrected demon. Soon the entire parish was whispering about the differences that proved he was more than he seemed.”
“Your family was grieving for the son they lost. They obviously did not understand how surviving had marked you.”
Annoyance flared, then was snuffed. Devona had a feeling he was not used to people understanding, nor did he desire it.
“The tale is old, and bores me. I am satisfied with my life.” He became speculative. “So what does the story have to do with solving your troubles?”
The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton Page 3
