The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton

by Barbara Pierce

  Tipton moved as if to pounce. “I have had enough of this banter! Let’s take her to my town house. I possess items that will make even the most stalwart gain their tongues.”

  Brock leaned his arm across her to block Tipton from touching her. “Threats of torture will only scare her speechless, man. Bury your emotions, for I need you to think of places we might search.”

  Brock’s features softened when he looked at her. Amara reminded herself that he was ruthless, too. He would do and say anything to gain what he wanted.

  “You have been growing up while my back was turned, little one.”

  She bit her lower lip to keep from stuttering, not realizing her innocent actions seemed provocative. Nor did she react to Brock’s answering flare of awareness in his pale green eyes.

  “Bloody bad timing to play with a bit of skirt, Bedegrayne,” Tipton muttered.

  “Find your own gel.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do, you fool!”

  Brock ignored him. “Your hair always reminded me of polished mahogany.” He leaned forward and pressed his nose into her hair. “Mmm, and smells of lemons. Nice.”

  Amara tried to temper the thrill of having him so close that she could taste his breath. Unrequited love may inspire the poets, but for a young woman it sentenced her to life as a spinster. “You are very good at this, my lord. Never have I heard such false words ring true. Doran always thought you Bedegraynes had the stuff for the stage.”

  Brock frowned at her lightly spoken words, feeling the sting of the backhanded slap. “I do not lie.”

  “Only when it suits you. Do not worry, sir; I understand it is the male way.” She glanced at Lord Tipton, noting his incredulous look of disbelief at their exchange. She preferred it at the moment to Brock’s false, flattering concern.

  “Who hurt you, dove?”

  Dove. It was a playful nickname of childhood. When she was a child it had made her feel special. It inflicted pain on the woman she had become. “I do not see how it is any of your concern.”

  Sensing this was a locked door she would not open to him tonight, Brock allowed the subject to drop. She saw a flash of his white teeth, and could not prevent him from twisting a curl around his fingers. “I vow, I cannot believe you permitted Devona to douse you in henna.”

  Amara thought back to the battle of wills she had fought with Devona and lost. She always lost when facing a Bedegrayne. “When she is on a mission, you know there is no stopping her.”

  The enlightenment she saw in both men’s expressions had her silently cursing them both.

  Brock gave Amara’s shoulder a comforting stroke, but his triumph left her cold. “I only know of one mission which Devona seeks to accomplish. The saving of Doran Claeg. Is this how she lured the most sensible little dove I know? She swore your actions would help him?”

  “What could she hope to gain at this hour?” Tipton wondered aloud.

  Amara switched her gaze from one side to the next, attempting to keep the tears that burned her eyes from falling. Her mother had been right. The Bedegraynes were nothing but users. They employed their beauty and cunning to trip up the lesser mortals. She had been conned by a master. The bitterness she felt dried the oncoming tears. One day she would gain satisfaction from Brock Bedegrayne. Unfortunately, tonight she would sup on defeat.

  “If you halt the coach and grant me leave, I will tell you where to find her.”

  Tipton rapped on the trapdoor to alert the coachman. Brock blocked her escape. “There is no manner in which you can convince me to allow a lady to walk the streets at night.”

  “As Lord Tipton pointed out, after word gets out, no one will ever consider me a lady. You have ruined me.”

  If Amara’s tone lacked emotion, Brock made up for it with the passion in his. “By God, do you think I would allow a scandal to touch you for protecting my sister and her insane notion of duty?”

  “That protection will likely get your sister in trouble if not worse.”

  “Still that tongue, Tipton, before I split it myself!” The coach had stopped. “Tell us what you know and we will collect Devona. Tomorrow, we will straighten out what the ton thought they saw at the ball.”

  Amara slipped under his arm and was out the door before he could grasp her skirts. “Such concern, Mr. Bedegrayne. You break my heart,” she mocked. The tears in her eyes showed them both how ill-used she felt. “Devona is at Newgate. As you both thought, she has a plan to rescue Doran. Good evening.” Her cloak twirled around her as she began her walk in the opposite direction from the one in which the coach was heading.

  She managed to get ten feet from the coach before the world tilted. She screamed, frantically reaching for something to steady herself, and found purchase clutching Brock’s muscled shoulders. “Put me down, you lying rogue.”

  Roughly he fought her, matching her struggles for flight against his determination to keep her. She never stood a chance. “I hate you.” The tears fell as easily as her defenses.

  Brock pivoted and strode to the awaiting coach. “I may be a liar and rogue, a man ruthless enough to rip off the wings of a helpless dove to protect my own.” He pushed her into the coach. “Perhaps I even deserve your hate. Lord knows I don’t feel great self-love for myself this night. You are hurt and angry. Let me repair the damage we’ve caused. It starts with not leaving you on the streets.”

  Tipton struck the trapdoor, signaling the coachman to continue. “We’re going to have our hands full dealing with your sister. How do you plan to persuade your gentle dove to remain in our custody?” He laughed when Amara sank her teeth into Brock’s hand.

  “Damn!” He flipped Amara around so that her wrists met behind her back. Holding her with one hand, he reached for a handkerchief. “I used to think you were such an even-tempered child.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I am no longer a child!” Both of them knew he had felt enough of her to verify that fact. “I shall scream until you release me.”

  “Tipton, give me your handkerchief,” Brock said, finishing the knot binding her hands together. “I can only concentrate on one screaming, outraged female at a time.”

  * * *

  “Doran Claeg!” the gatesman called out to the dark ward. A ripple of sotto voce echoes answered the summons. “Wot so special ’bout this bloke?”

  Since Wynne seemed to possess an amazing talent for handling the criminal element, Devona looked to her to push aside the man’s suspicions.

  “His name appeared on our list of special blessings. One of our benefactors knew him since childhood and asked us to make certain he personally received our gifts.” The smile she gave him would have blinded the most cynical oppressor. The few coins she gave him did not hurt either.

  “Doran Claeg!”

  Wynne inclined her head close to Devona’s ear. “He is in a ward. I thought you said he was in a cell. Pray, how do you propose we break him out with all of these witnesses?”

  “He was supposed to be in a cell. At least that was what the map revealed.”

  “Map? What map?”

  “I procured a map from an interesting street vendor—”

  Wynne’s elegant mouth dropped open before she could stop herself. “You bought a map from some street person? Are you crazy?” she asked with enough force to have the gatesman looking their way. She struggled to appear calm. “What did you think, that X marks the location of Doran Claeg? How could you be so naïve?”

  Devona could not bear to see the disappointment on her sister’s face. “I paid for a layout of the prison. I was assured it was a fair representation. It cost me sixteen shillings.”

  Wynne closed her eyes. To anyone else it probably looked like she was praying. Considering the circumstances, she probably was. “Okay. I would not mention this little detail to Pearl and Gar. I can assure you their nerves would barely abide the strain.”

  “I’m Claeg.” Bleary-eyed, and looking drunk, the filthy creature swaggered up to the door. Devona was grate
ful Amara could not see her brother in his present state.

  “Ye’ve visitors. A special blessing and other rot.” The guard chuckled, ignoring the women’s indignation.

  “Blessings, Brother Claeg.” Devona stepped forward, angling herself so the guard could not see her face. She placed a finger to her lips.

  “What? Dev—Sister?” The look of surprise on Doran’s face was such that she battled not to laugh.

  “I was just telling Mr. Pringle here”—Wynne delicately took the guard’s arm and tried not to reveal her disgust—“that a quiet place to pray with Mr. Claeg is needed. This would give him the opportunity to help our man dispense the bread and beer.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Wynne patted his arm. “What is the harm? You will have our man with you, and we are just three defenseless women.”

  “Ah, um…”

  Devona gave Doran a wink before turning away. Never was she so grateful to have a sister who could muddle a man’s mind with the touch of her hand.

  * * *

  “Since when did the Bedegrayne women take over a nunnery?” Doran demanded.

  The anger was preferable to the listless drunk they had first encountered. “We never claimed to be nuns; we have just expanded on our charity work.”

  Doran sank onto the small bench, putting his head into his hands. “What have you done, Devona?”

  “Nothing yet. With luck we will have you out of here soon.”

  Instead of being pleased, he appeared appalled. “You are planning to break me out of here? The three of you?”

  As she was tired of defending herself, pride rose to meet his disbelief. “Not just the three of us. Gar is with us. And Amara is holding her own, keeping Brock distracted.”

  Doran’s head snapped up. “Amara. Amara is here?”

  “Not at the prison. She is pretending to be me at Lady Dodd’s masquerade.”

  He pinched the strain building between his eyes. “Dev, love, when we spoke of my release, I thought you had plans that involved that odd surgeon. You mentioned nothing of risking yourself or my sister.”

  “Thanks for remembering me and Pearl, Doran. Wish I could say I am pleased to see you, too,” Wynne said drolly, moving away from her post at the door. “I think it is safe to pray, Sister.”

  “Wynne, I thought you had more sense than indulging Devona and her schemes.” He took the cup of beer Wynne offered and drank deeply.

  She knelt beside him. Dipping her handkerchief into his cup, she dabbed at the small, oozing cut on his forehead. “How could I refuse when someone else knows which heartstrings to pluck?” She gave him a knowing look that had him flushing under the dirt on his face.

  “We do not have time to argue about this.” Devona reached for a long loaf of bread and broke it in two. Baked within was a large file. “I almost had heart failure when that guard broke those first two loaves. I guess I am not the first to smuggle tools into this place.” She grinned.

  Pearl stirred from her position. “Miss Wynne had quite an effect on him. Daresay your father will have a question or two if that man comes calling.”

  “Quit teasing,” Devona said, glancing back at her. “It’s time for you to strip.” She ignored Pearl’s weary sigh.

  Wynne grabbed Doran by the shoulders and turned him toward the wall. “Now is not the time to indulge your fantasies, Mr. Claeg.”

  He bit into the bread. “Why is she removing her dress?”

  “It is what’s under it that we’re after.”

  “Christ,” he moaned. “You aren’t planning to dress me up in ladies’ underwear?”

  Wynne’s smile had little to do with humor. “As amusing as that sounds, I fear we must forgo such entertainment. Pearl wears trousers and a shirt underneath her dress.” She gave him an experimental sniff. “From the smell of you, I would think a change of attire would be welcome.”

  Devona handed him the clean clothing. “You have lost so much weight, Doran. If you cannot conceal them under the rags you wear, we will have to hide them elsewhere.”

  “Not that I’m not grateful, Devona. I am. Still, what good is a change of clothes and a file in this place?” he asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Men have escaped this place possessing even less than you have at your disposal.” Wynne sneered. “I do not know why you want to save his worthless hide, Devona. The man is a quitter. He is already dead.”

  Doran jumped to his feet, blocking Wynne’s dismissal. “What do you know of fear or despair, you sharp-tongued shrew? I’d wager you have to scrape the frost off your heart each morning just to get it to beat!”

  Eyes flashing fury, she held her ground. “Go ahead and take that wager, Mr. Claeg; everyone knows what a coward you are. Even your own family has cut their losses!”

  “Wynne.”

  Her angry focus switched to Devona. “You have always been too kindhearted to see how he has used you. Why do you think I am here? To save his worthless hide? Not in this lifetime. I am here to save you from yourself.”

  Doran was an old issue between the two of them. The fact that Wynne had chosen now to bring up the subject had Devona jumping to her friend’s defense. “You speak as if I do not know what I am doing.”

  Wynne grabbed her hand before she could stand beside Doran. “Well, let’s take a good look at what we are doing. We have bluffed our way into the ’Gate. We are about to break out a man who has in my opinion taken advantage of your generous heart and most likely we will hang right alongside of him if we are lucky.”

  “Don’t pounce on your sister when it is I who—,” Doran tried to interject.

  “Oh, quiet if you please, Doran. You have done quite enough in my opinion!”

  Devona pulled her arm out of her sister’s grasp and took up Doran’s in a show of support. “If you felt so strongly on the matter you should have not come.”

  “Still you defend him! I cannot decide who is crazier, you, him, or me for being here.” Wynne’s tone all but dripped sarcasm.

  “An interesting observation. Shall we put it to a vote?” Tipton asked, surprising the little group with his unexpected appearance. Pearl shrieked and ducked for imaginary cover.

  Devona was the first to recover. Moving quickly to keep the distance between Doran and Rayne, she tried to think of some intelligent reason for her presence. The subtle tightening of Tipton’s jaw told her he was not going to believe she was on a charitable mission. “My lord, you move in the oddest circles.”

  He opened his arms, and she went willingly into his embrace. “Another thing we share in common, my love.”

  * * *

  “I do not think Amara is going to ever forgive you and Brock for treating her no better than trussed-up game,” Devona said, not liking the silence between them. The evening had not gone as she had planned. Doran was still in Newgate, Amara was so furious she was speaking to no one, and Devona’s own thoughts of a reprieve quickly faded when Rayne announced to her siblings that he would see her home. Neither Wynne nor Brock objected, so here she was at midnight, sipping brandy in his study. Even Speck was suspiciously absent.

  “I do not particularly care if Miss Claeg ever deems to forgive me. Your brother handled her with gentler hands than I would have. He seems to have a soft spot for wide-eyed doves.” He absently twirled the contents of his glass.

  Devona blinked. “Doves?”

  “Never mind. A private joke.” He set his glass down on the table. “Forget your brother. Let’s talk about your adventure.”

  It took every ounce of her will not to give in to the desire to rub the prickled hairs on the back of her neck. She would have preferred it if he yelled at her. This composed mask he wore made her uneasy. “I do not know what else there is to say. Having Brock lecturing me all the way back to the Dodds’ ball has made me ill set on the subject.”

  An unholy gleam lit his face. Some might have called it humor, but she could not begin to fathom what he considered amusing this evening. “Indulge me.” />
  She used the toe of her slipper to toy with the rug. “I can assume you are not pleased.”

  “Your instincts are correct. Would you like to tell me the why of it?”

  “The devil take you, Tipton!” she raged, overwhelming exasperation outweighing self-preservation. “You are not my father. I do not have to sit here and be chastised.”

  “On the contrary, my fiery temptress, you gave me that right when you accepted my betrothal.”

  “There would be no need for a betrothal if you had allowed me to carry out my plan.” There was no point mentioning that their arguing had drawn the attention of the guard.

  Rayne stilled. “Is that why you risked you life? To escape tying yourself to me?”

  Devona met his gaze. His features were unreadable, yet she sensed his impatience for her reply. “You make it sound like I am the sacrificial virgin for the funeral pyre.” She laughed, but she could not even coax a smile from him. “See here, Tipton, you were willing to betroth yourself to me to help me save Doran.”

  “And to protect you from harm,” he softly added.

  Flustered, she glanced away. “Well, yes.…” She cleared her throat. “I thought I had hit upon a plan that would benefit everyone. Truly, you cannot want to marry me?”

  Rayne did not answer her question. Instead, he cocked his head, giving her a considering stare. “You might have been able to pull it off, if you could have kept your sister and Claeg from tearing at each other.”

  The bubble of disappointment within her rose and burst. What had she expected? A declaration of love from Rayne? He might have a soft spot for her recklessness, but he was too scarred by his past to allow more than mild sentiment to guide him. She shrugged. “Wynne has never understood my relationship with Doran.”

  “Or she has understood it too well.”

  She motioned her hands in a mock surrender. “Not you, too?”

  Rayne dismissed the question by swallowing some of his brandy. “If Wynne has not been able to convince you, then I will not waste my time. Woefully, the man is at the heart of the matter. As the only trained surgeon in our little group, I intend to do what I do best.” He swallowed the remaining brandy. “Do you know what that is?”