The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton

by Barbara Pierce

  “You tell me marriage is what she needs, specifically marriage to you. Seems to me there is little in your life that is settled, Tipton. I hear that buck, Nevin, wants my girl. He has a title, one he plans to do right by.”

  Rayne resisted the urge to rub the tic. “If you need a title, I have one as well. Recently, I have taken steps to secure my position in society.”

  “Money?”

  “On my own, I have built up a respectable fortune with several lucrative investments. When you consider there is the title, and the lands, even an old mercenary like you should be satisfied.”

  SEVEN

  “So the old goat refused you, eh? I thought we had long concluded our lessons on finesse.”

  Rayne watched the ten-inch cream-and-brown-striped gecko creep up the length of his friend’s arm. She perched on his shoulders, her broad flattened head turned in Rayne’s direction, blatantly studying him.

  “Considering your recent taste in companions, at least we can categorize mine as human.”

  As Rayne listened to his slightly older friend and mentor Dr. Sir Wallace Brogden’s hearty chuckle, it might have been easy to dismiss the signs of illness. However, Rayne’s abilities of keen observation were heightened by years of training. Where the casual observer might see lines of age in the thirty-two-year-old physician, Rayne knew they were carved by weeks, if not months, of intense pain. Brogden’s occasional slurred words were the result of not an afternoon at his favorite club but rather a liberal dosing of Thebaic tincture. Rayne leaned closer, without being obvious. His friend’s breath smelled faintly alcoholic and distinctly putrid.

  The gecko adjusted her footing, then opened her mouth. A loud clicking sound disrupted the quiet. “Apala is as sensitive as any two-legged female.” Brogden stroked his pet. “There, there, sweet.”

  “It appears I have been lost without your guidance these last five years. Perhaps you should remain in England for your recuperation. My courting blunders shall be your entertainment,” Rayne said lightly, staring at his own reflection within pupils so dilated there was only a thin circle of brown.

  “Ha! Indeed I well an’ should, my friend. Though I can’t recall you having much trouble with the ladies when we sailed together on the Griffin’s Claw.” Brogden grimaced, trying to conceal his reaction by coughing into the back of his hand. “Insatiable bastard,” he affectionately muttered.

  “Jealous?”

  “As ever!”

  Rayne grinned. The memory of a sultry night in Bombay, a stolen cask of rum, and three very creative and willing women silently replayed in their minds. “English ladies are different.”

  “You sadly aren’t meeting the right ones, Mr. Tipton.” Brogden wiped the moisture from his red-rimmed eyes. “Maybe I should give up my travels and show you how to really play with these honey-water-sweetened darlings.”

  Seizing the opening, Rayne gestured to the leg Wallace had concealed with an artfully draped shawl. “If you plan to chase the ladies then we had better have a look at that leg.”

  Brogden blinked in dull surprise. “How did I give myself away? Most don’t notice. I usually arrange myself in this chair before I receive my callers.”

  “I credit myself as having had a most excellent teacher,” Rayne said kindly. Without asking, he removed the shawl and tossed it to the floor. Dragging a medium-sized mahogany case he had stowed under a nearby chair, he removed a pair of scissors. Competent hands gently cut away the dressing without disturbing the wound it protected.

  Brogden sipped from the cup he held loosely in his hand. “So you are satisfied with this life you have made for yourself here?”

  “I am content. Still I would—” He sucked in his breath as he peeled back the old dressing. “By God, Wallace, are you trying to kill yourself?” He stood, walking to the other side of the room to ring for a servant.

  “As bad as that?” Brogden peeled off the suction-toed lizard from his neck.

  “Bloody bad enough to amputate, you stubborn arse!”

  A tired-looking housemaid entered the room. “Ye rang, sir?”

  “Your master is ill. Tell Cook to keep a kettle over the hearth. I need plenty of hot water and clean linens to bind his leg.”

  “I’ll see to the task personally, sir!” She disappeared as quietly as she had entered.

  “I won’t lose the leg, Rayne.”

  He could see Wallace’s resolve was as flexible as a fifty-gun frigate with a broken rudder. Deliberately, Rayne rolled his shoulders, prepared to battle. “What good are two legs when you will be a corpse within a month?”

  Brogden took a deep breath. He slowly blew it out. “Insolent, wet-eared scold. I know my business.”

  To irritate him Rayne silently raised a questioning brow and reached into his case for a small pair of forceps. He only got a response when he confiscated his friend’s cup.

  “Give me that!”

  He ignored the command, concentrating instead on his task.

  Choosing to gaze anywhere but at his injured leg, Brogden said, “It was a monkey bite, you know. ’Bout two months ago. Damn beast was someone’s pet.”

  “Mmm.”

  Finally, unable to stand the silence, he roared, “Say something! I came all this way for you to see to it that I keep my limb.”

  “Maggots.”

  “What?”

  Head bowed over the leg, he did not bother to look up. “You have maggots eating away at your leg, while the opium is eating at what is left of your brain.” Rayne picked the offending creatures out, one by one, and dropped them into the cup. “Christ, what a mess! A ball to the heart would be quicker.”

  The housemaid appeared behind him, holding a large pot of steaming water and a fistful of clean linens. “Shall ye be needing some of the men to help ye, sir?”

  Rayne raised his head and met the pleading gaze of his friend. This man had befriended him at the lowest point in his life when even his own family had forgotten his name. He had offered his protection, money when it was needed, and had taught Rayne the skills so he could make his way in the world. He tore his gaze off those begging, tear-filled eyes and forced himself to address the servant.

  The agitated Apala clicked, Geckogeckogecko.

  * * *

  “I thought I might find you here.”

  Devona was not particularly surprised to find Rayne at her carriage door. No, what was more surprising was the fact that she had avoided him this long!

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” she said, her fine manners automatically rallying forth as if they were meeting in a ballroom instead of Newgate Street. “Have many friends incarcerated here at the ’Gate?”

  “Ladies who have criminals for suitors should not cast stones.” He frowned at Pearl, who was doing her best to blend into the background. “What can I do to make you disappear?”

  Devona stilled her maid’s escape with a hand gesture. “Lord Tipton, I shall not tolerate you terrorizing my staff. Pearl stays.”

  His frown became more pronounced. “I desire a private discussion with you, Miss Bedegrayne, that will not be bandied about the servants’ quarters this evening.”

  “Miss Brown is the very soul of discretion, are you not, Pearl?”

  “Yes, miss.” The maid visibly cringed under Rayne’s perusal. “I think I could do with a bit of air, though.” She scrambled to get out of the carriage.

  “Lord Tipton, there is no need to bully anyone here!”

  Gar suddenly loomed behind Rayne. His gaze held Devona’s, but it was the heavily muscled footman whom he addressed. “You’re late. I could have had my way with her twice over, before you interfered.”

  Devona’s saucy little curls bobbed with the indignant nod of her head. “Tipton, this is outside of enough!” She looked at Gar, hoping she had enough control over the young man to prevent the inevitable fight. She was amazed to see a slight embarrassing flush creeping from his neck up to his face.

  “Several attempts have been made on Miss Bedeg
rayne’s life,” Rayne continued in a quiet tone that seemed more menacing than if he had been yelling. “Have a care or deal with me.”

  The prominent lump in Gar’s throat wobbled. “Yes, milord.” The footman held a hand out to Pearl. “Come ride with me on top, Miss Brown. We’ll put the pink back in your cheeks.” He turned to Rayne. “Do you have a specific destination, milord?”

  The simple question set fire to Devona’s temper as quickly as a stack of fireworks. Blast him. Gar was her man! “There will be no destination,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Pretending not to notice her agitated state, Rayne climbed into the bench opposite her. “Miss Bedegrayne is quite correct. I have no destination in mind. Just keep driving until I signal you otherwise.”

  “Very good, milord.” Gar closed and secured the door.

  Devona resisted the strong urge to stomp her foot. What she really wanted to do was to plant it firmly into His Lordship’s shin. Oh, the high-handed gall of the man! “You presume much, sir!”

  “Just letting you know, beloved, that I take my responsibilities as your betrothed seriously.”

  “Ha! Now I know you are addled. That incident with the hackney was more damaging than you anticipated. To refresh your faulty memory, I must remind you that my father refused your offer.”

  He shrugged, giving her an indulgent smile. “A minor bump in our plans. Your former suitors might have been intimidated by that old bull; however, I am not. He may bluster all he wants. In the end, you will be mine.”

  Devona tried to ignore the tingling thrill coursing through her body. Her shoulders could not prevent a small shudder. Since her traitorous body would not cooperate, she chose to concentrate on the practical side of their plan. Lord Tipton had not developed a great tendre for her. This ruse would benefit them both. His return to society could be used to help Doran, and herself as well. No one pursued a betrothed lady after all. And there were benefits for Rayne as well. She could show the ton that despite all the rumors about his past Lord Tipton was a decent man, honorable, and, above all, quite ordinary. She suspected that if the polite world would treat him more like the gentleman he was, instead of some kind of supernatural creature, the embattlements he had built around his emotions would collapse. Only then would he allow himself to care for anyone.

  “I do not think I like that look on your face.”

  She had been too occupied with her own thoughts to notice he had stopped talking. “Well, the face is mine. Either love it or you may leave,” she blithely said, then stilled when he seemed to sincerely contemplate his options.

  Their bodies rocked with the swaying motion of the carriage. When she thought she could not abide his silence another moment, he murmured, “I think I will stay, if you do not mind.”

  Those gorgeous long lashes of his lowered seductively, almost fanning on his cheek. He pulled at her in ways she could not fathom. It delighted her. It also terrified her. In a subtle movement, she leaned closer to him. Conflicting emotions whirled in her head. She wished that he would kiss her again, even if it was not the most sensible thing to do.

  “Our betrothal will never work,” she said to break his invisible hold.

  “You think not?”

  Again, there was a shift in the air around them, going from seductive to distant. Devona had not realized she had been holding her breath until it rushed from her lips. “My family does not sanction our union.”

  “It is of little concern.”

  He might as well have yawned. He did not place much faith in her papa’s influence. “What of your family then?”

  “I have no family,” he said, the edge in that statement speaking volumes. “The few who claim a kinship to me would not dream of interfering.”

  “Oh.” So he was not prepared to forgive his family, despite all the passing years. Devona stifled a sigh. One problem at a time, she told herself. “There is Doran to consider.”

  “I would rather not, if it is all the same to you.”

  “Lord Tipton, if you cannot be serious—”

  “Rayne.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “As your betrothed, I think you should call me by my given name. Feel free to ‘my lord’ me in public. I am discovering there are certain rewards to becoming your lord. I will continue to savor each benefit.”

  Exasperated, she shook her head. “Have you considered that someone has been trying to maim or kill us?”

  His eyes took on a shrewd cast. “All the more reason to keep you close.”

  “There is also the fact that a betrothal matures into another state. Marriage.”

  “I’m game if you are.”

  Devona had had enough of his glib retorts. She took her parasol and whacked him on the knuckles. His yelp gave her a certain satisfaction. It was all she could do not to laugh at his startled expression.

  “Have you lost your head?” He snatched the parasol out of her hands before she could crack him again.

  “No, but obviously you have. We cannot marry.”

  “Oh, on the contrary, I think our blessed union would simplify matters.”

  She did not like the expression she saw on his handsome face. It was part mischief with a healthy dose of determination. “Have I told you that I refuse to marry out of duty?”

  “What reason do you give to Claeg’s proposal? Guilt? Sounds like duty to me.” He rolled her parasol between his palms. “Besides, no one makes a run for Gretna Green out of duty.”

  She sucked in a deep breath to fortify her. “We are not eloping!”

  He nodded to himself, as if agreeing to an ongoing conversation in his head. “Let’s see. The intended couple is present. We are presently traveling in a carriage. We have witnesses.” He flipped her parasol handle up to knock on the trapdoor overhead.

  “We are not going to Gretna Green!”

  “I knew, despite your tendency for recklessness, that you were a traditional girl at heart. You want a big wedding.”

  How had this conversation gotten so out of hand? “No. No!”

  “A smaller wedding it is. I suppose the families will be disappointed with the lack of fanfare.”

  The sigh he expelled, the telling anthem of a long-suffering male trying to please his woman, was enough to make her grit her teeth. “I think we should forget all about marrying one another. To become leg shackled to a man who can drive me insane with just a few words does not sound like marital bliss.”

  “Only because your thinking is too linear, my sweet innocent.” He offered her the parasol. When she automatically reached for it, he tugged, pulling her out of her seat and into his lap. “There are many levels of driving one insane, and I would like to have the freedom to explore each arousing level with you.”

  She struggled, feeling too vulnerable sitting in his lap. No man had ever been as bold. He did not use force to keep her in place. Instead, his mouth settled over hers, the shock of the electrifying contact stilled her attempts at escape. Sensing her surrender, Rayne pulled her so close she was certain he could feel the firm contours of her stays against his chest.

  “Tilt your head to the side,” he mumbled as he nibbled her lower lip, then moved on to the right side of her jaw.

  Her experience with kisses was limited, and it never involved the mind-numbing embraces that Rayne seemed to prefer. Frowning, Devona wondered how many women he had to kiss to achieve such a mouth-devouring talent. The thought was disturbing enough to have her start to pull back.

  “Stop thinking.”

  Using a light touch, he tilted her head himself. She looked up, noting his eyes had a pewter glow to them. His gaze followed his finger as it moved up her jaw, halting at the yellow ribbons that secured her bonnet. She saw the intent in that smoldering gaze before he acted. A quick tug and the bow under her chin unraveled. Her hands flew up to prevent him from removing her bonnet, but she was grabbing air.

  “Rayne!”

  The bonnet landed on the opposing bench. “Such delicate ears,�
� he marveled, using both hands to trace the intriguing contours. She shuddered at his touch. It was all the encouragement he needed. Threading his fingers into the intricate twist of her bound hair, he pulled her mouth to his, sinking them both into a deep kiss.

  Such skill, she mused, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his warm lips on hers. Not certain of the proper etiquette when one was caught up in a torrid embrace, Devona clutched the light wool fabric of his coat. She dearly wished she were as daring as everyone credited. It would have been quite wonderful to have removed her gloves and touched his face, to test the firmness of his lips with her fingertips.

  If Rayne had been aware of her thoughts, he would have heartily approved. It was enough that she was allowing him to cradle her on his lap. The fact that she was kissing him back with guileless enthusiasm made him want to show her all the pleasures the sharing of their bodies could provide.

  Slow down. Nothing worth keeping should be taken carelessly.

  Even as the warning flashed in his fevered brain, he could not stop himself from slipping his right hand from her arm to her knee. The carriage dipped a wheel into a rut, and his roaming hand boldly plunged under the yards of skirt to caress her dainty ankle. Another tug of a ribbon and her slipper dropped to the floor. She laughed, unexpected and hysterical when he stroked his fingertips from her silk-sheathed toes to her heel.

  “No one touches my feet,” she declared in imperious tones, and then he ruined the effect by touching her feet and making her giggle again. “You brute. I would slay my brothers for less.” She squirmed to kick her foot free from his merciless attack.

  He thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld. Her hair was disheveled, her lips puffy from his ravenous attention, and her eyes dewy and wide from their shocking exploration. It made him want her more. “It will not do for you to think of me as an irritating brother. Perhaps I can think of something else to discourage that line of thinking.”

  Rayne kissed whatever argument was about to form on her lovely full lips. His hand moved from her ankle to her knee again, but this time the silk he stroked was her warm, enticing skin.