London's Perfect Scoundrel

by Suzanne Enoch

  SUZANNE ENOCH

  LESSONS IN LOVE

  London’s Perfect Scoundrel

  For Jackson Lee Byrne—

  welcome to the clan!

  But you still aren’t allowed to read this book

  until your Mommy and Daddy say it’s okay—

  in another sixteen or seventeen years.

  I love you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  “And a gentleman should realize that a lady has a…

  Chapter 1

  “I really wish you wouldn’t make such a fuss about it…

  Chapter 2

  “Langley, have you seen my brother?” Evelyn whispered as she…

  Chapter 3

  Fatima Hynes, Lady Gladstone, knew how to give a proper…

  Chapter 4

  Evie kept forgetting to write notes to herself, and she…

  Chapter 5

  “You’re joking. Aren’t you?” Lucinda stopped beside the Barrett coach…

  Chapter 6

  "Evelyn!"

  Chapter 7

  “If he stole your necklace, you should inform the authorities…

  Chapter 8

  Saint awoke with a start, hurling the nearest object to…

  Chapter 9

  Despite the interruption of the impromptu ball, Evelyn decided that…

  Chapter 10

  She arrived early at the orphanage, entering the dining room…

  Chapter 11

  Saint paced the length of the foyer. He should have…

  Chapter 12

  Saint froze as Evelyn closed the door. A lock clicked,…

  Chapter 13

  “Now who are you?”

  Chapter 14

  Saint hoped someone was tending his horse. Evelyn had mentioned…

  Chapter 15

  Jansen pulled open the front door as Saint reached the…

  Chapter 16

  Pemberly tossed the third ruined neckcloth of the morning onto…

  Chapter 17

  The sun was edging the trees by the time Evie…

  Chapter 18

  “You rented an entire box for just the three of…

  Chapter 19

  “I don’t appreciate this interruption,” Prince George said as he…

  Chapter 20

  The Evelyn that Saint drove back to Ruddick House was…

  Chapter 21

  Loath to acknowledge that the evening was over, Saint accepted…

  Chapter 22

  As soon as Evie saw the fresh strawberries on the…

  Chapter 23

  Saint turned his phaeton onto the meadow grass, joining the…

  Chapter 24

  Saint had grabbed Cassius’ bridle away from Ruddick’s groom when…

  About the Author

  Other Books by Suzanne Enoch

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  “And a gentleman should realize that a lady has a mind of her own, for goodness’ sake.” Evelyn Ruddick set down her teacup with a clatter, surprised that the conversation she and her friends had begun on the manners of men had become so…earnest. She thought she’d accepted that all males were impossible, but from the ruckus in her heart, obviously she wasn’t happy about that fact.

  Lucinda Barrett and Lady Georgiana Halley were right in their witty criticisms, as they usually were, and damn it all, she, too, was tired of being walked all over by every cravat-wearing member of humanity. Proper behavior for men. It almost seemed an oxymoron, but clearly someone needed to do something about their arrogant, self-involved ways.

  Lucinda stood, going to the desk at the other end of the room. “We should write these down,” she said, pulling several sheets of paper from a drawer and returning to hand them out. “The three of us wield a great deal of influence, particularly with the so-called gentlemen to whom these rules would apply.”

  “And we would be doing other ladies a service,” Georgiana said, her expression growing more thoughtful as her own frustration eased.

  “But a list won’t do anything for anyone but ourselves.” Still skeptical at the usefulness of such a task, Evelyn took the pencil Lucinda handed her, anyway. “If that.”

  “Oh, yes, it will—when we put our rules into practice,” Georgiana argued. “I propose that we each choose some man and teach him what he needs to know to properly impress a lady.”

  “Yes, by God.” Lucinda thumped her hand on the table.

  Evelyn looked from one of her friends to the other. Her brother would likely scold her for wasting her time in frivolity, but then he didn’t have to know. Perhaps he would stay in India forever, and leave them with one less scoundrel to reform. She smiled at the thought and pulled her blank paper closer. Truth be told, it was nice to feel as though she were doing something productive, whatever small use anyone might make of a list.

  Georgiana chuckled as she began writing. “We could get our rules published. Lessons in Love, by Three Ladies of Distinction.”

  Evelyn’s List

  1. Never interrupt a lady when she’s speaking to you, as if what you have to say is more important

  2. If you ask for an opinion, expect to receive one, and don’t make fun of it

  3. Gentlemanly behavior isn’t just opening doors; to make an impression, you have to be concerned over a lady’s needs at least as much as your own

  4. Don’t assume, when a lady wants to take up a task or a cause, that it’s just a “hobby”

  Evelyn sat back and looked at what she’d written, blowing on it to remove the excess pencil lead. There. That should do it. Now all she needed was a victim—or rather, a student. She grinned. “This is fun.”

  Chapter 1

  In law an infant, and in years a boy,

  In mind a slave to every vicious joy,

  From every sense of shame and virtue wean’d,

  In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;

  Vers’d in hypocrisy, while yet a child,

  Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;

  Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool,

  Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school.

  —Lord Byron, “Damaetas”

  One year later

  “I really wish you wouldn’t make such a fuss about it,” Evelyn Ruddick said, taking a step away from her brother. “Lucinda Barrett and I have been friends since we came out together.”

  Victor closed the distance between them again, his tone clipped and annoyed. “Be friends at some other soiree,” he returned. “Her father doesn’t even have a vote in the House, and tonight I need you to chat with Lady Gladstone.”

  “I don’t like Lady Gladstone,” Evie murmured back, stifling a curse when Victor clasped her arm, preventing her from sidling away again. “She drinks whiskey.”

  “And her husband is an influential West Sussex property owner. Putting up with a little inebriation is a small price to pay for a seat in the House of Commons.”

  “You only say that because she won’t be breathing on you. Victor, I came here tonight to dance, and to chat with my fr—”

  Her brother lowered his dark eyebrows. “You came here tonight because I escorted you. And I only did that so you would be able to assist me with my campaign.”

  They both knew she’d lost the argument before it began; she frequently had the suspicion that Victor allowed her to debate him only so he could put her in her place more often. “Oh, faddle. I liked it better when you were in India.”

  “Hm. So did I. Now go, before one of Plimpton’s cronies gets to her first.”

  Pasting a polite, friendly smile on her face, Evelyn strolled the fringes of the crowded dance
floor in search of her brother’s latest source of possible votes. In all truth, Lady Gladstone’s choice of liquor wasn’t all that troublesome. Thirty years younger than her husband, the viscountess had worse habits than whiskey. And Evelyn had already heard a rumor that one of the worst was in attendance this evening.

  She found Lady Gladstone seated amidst the scattering of chairs arranged in a shallow alcove to one side of the orchestra. Emerald-green silk clung closer than paint to the viscountess’ much-lauded curves as she lounged, her head tilted to one side. Indecent as the sight seemed in Lady Dalmere’s conservative ballroom, the man who leaned over her shoulder, his face so close to her ear that dark brown hair brushed her burnished gold curls, was even more unsettling.

  For a moment Evelyn contemplated pretending that she hadn’t seen anything and walking away, but that would only give Victor another chance to call her foolish and empty-headed. So instead she stood there until she began to feel like a voyeur, clearing her throat when she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Lady Gladstone?”

  The viscountess lifted dark eyes to her. “Saint, it seems we have company,” she tittered, her voice a breathless giggle.

  The form leaning over Lady Gladstone’s shoulder straightened to his full height, and startling green eyes set in a face of dark, lean, masculine perfection took their leisure sweeping the length of Evelyn from her slippered feet to her face. She couldn’t have stopped her blush if her life depended on it.

  All young ladies mindful of their reputations made a point of staying well away from the tall, jaded, and devilishly handsome Marquis of St. Aubyn. If not for her brother’s political ambitions, Victor wouldn’t have allowed her anywhere near Lady Gladstone for exactly that reason.

  “My lord,” she said belatedly, gathering her wits enough to dip in a shallow curtsy, “good evening.”

  He gazed at her for another moment, his wicked, sensual mouth turning upward in the faintest of cynical smiles. “It’s still too early to tell.” Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strolled away toward the gaming rooms.

  Evelyn let out the breath she’d been holding. “That was rude,” she muttered, once he was out of earshot.

  Lady Gladstone chuckled again, her own cheeks flushed—and decidedly not from the warm room. “My dear Miss Whoever-You-Are,” she murmured, “Saint doesn’t have to be good, because he’s so very…very, bad.”

  Well, that made no sense. She hadn’t barged in, though, to debate the merits of poor behavior. “My name is Evelyn Ruddick, my lady,” she said, curtsying again. “We attended the Bramhurst Christmas soiree together, and you said I might call on you in London.”

  “Oh, dear me, I am too generous sometimes. What was it you wanted from me, then, Miss…Ruddick?”

  Evelyn hated this part, mostly because it always entailed lying. And she detested lying. “Well, first of all, I wanted to tell you that your gown is absolutely the most splendid creation ever.”

  The viscountess’ lounging curves became even more pronounced at the compliment. “How very sweet of you, dear.” Full lips smiled. “I would be happy to recommend my dressmaker to you. I’m certain you and I are of nearly the same age, though your…bosom is less…”

  Obvious, Evelyn finished silently, hiding her scowl. “That would be most kind of you,” she said instead. Then, though she would have rather swallowed a bug, Evie went closer to take a seat beside the viscountess. “I had heard,” she continued in a more conspiratorial tone, “that you are greatly responsible for your husband’s political success. I…am somewhat at a loss as to how I might assist my brother, Victor, in the same arena.”

  Lady Gladstone’s distant expression warmed into one of calm superiority. “Ah. Well, first, of course, you must know the right people. That’s—”

  “Where is he?” Round soft face red as a beet and his prominent fish eyes protruding even more than usual, Lord Gladstone huffed toward them, planting his feet squarely in front of his wife. “Where is that scoundrel?”

  The viscountess straightened, though it seemed a bit late for her to attempt innocence. “Whom are you looking for, my love? I’ve been having a coze with Miss Ruddick, here, but I’ll happily help you search.”

  Wonderful, Evie thought, as the viscount’s blustering gaze turned in her direction. All she needed was to become involved in one of St. Aubyn’s infamous scandals. Victor would never allow her out of the house again—even if this incident was of course actually his fault.

  “You know damned well who I’m looking for, Fatima. You, girl, have you seen that scoun—”

  “Evie! There you are!” With her usual splendid timing, Georgiana, Lady Dare, swooped up to them and grasped Evelyn’s hands. “You must come settle an argument. Dare insists he’s right, when we both know that he never is.”

  Evie settled for nodding at Lord and Lady Gladstone as Georgie towed her to the safer, less scandal-ridden part of the ballroom. “Thank goodness,” she exclaimed. “I thought I was doomed.”

  “What in the world were you doing with Lady Gladstone?” Georgiana asked, releasing her.

  She sighed. “Ask Victor.”

  “Ah. Your brother’s trying to take Plimpton’s seat in the House, isn’t he? I’d heard a rumor.”

  “Yes, he is. It’s so…aggravating. He’s spent most of the last five years out of the country, and he still never even asks my opinion about anything or anyone in London. He just sends me to chat with whomever he deems most useful.”

  Georgiana’s expression became more thoughtful. “Hm. Well, siblings weren’t precisely what we had in mind, but you might make Victor the object of your lesson.”

  “Absolutely not,” Evie answered, shuddering. “I’m waiting for Lucinda to take her turn first. And besides, as close as you came to maiming Dare, I’d probably end up murdering Victor.”

  “If you say so. In my experience, though, the object of your lesson may just choose you.”

  “Ha. Not as long as I’m being charming and empty-headed for Victor’s silly political friends. They wouldn’t dare be anything but polite. Heavens, someone might scowl at them.”

  Lady Dare laughed and took Evie’s arm again. “That’s quite enough of that. Come on and dance with Tristan. You may even kick him, if you’d like.”

  “But I like you Tristan,” Evelyn protested, grinning and thankful for good, apolitical friends. “He scowls from time to time.”

  Georgiana’s smile softened. “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?”

  Chapter 2

  Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,

  Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;

  Few earthly things found favor in his sight

  Save concubines and carnal company.

  —Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto I

  “Langley, have you seen my brother?” Evelyn whispered as she accepted her shawl from the butler.

  “He’s in the morning room, miss, finishing the newspaper,” the elderly servant answered in an equally hushed voice. “I’d judge you have another five minutes.”

  “Splendid. I’ll be at Aunt Houton’s.”

  The butler pulled opened the door, escorting her outside to help her into the Ruddick family coach. “Very good, Miss Ruddick.”

  The butler softly closed the front door behind her, but Evie didn’t let out her breath until the coach had safely trundled down the short front drive. Thank goodness. It was bad enough listening to Victor complain about how she’d missed a chance to charm Lord and Lady Gladstone; if he sent her out to make another attempt, or tried to instruct her about whom she should or shouldn’t chat with at their aunt’s, Evelyn was going to flee London and join the circus.

  The coach rumbled down Chesterfield Hill and turned northeast, away from the center of Mayfair. The house her aunt and uncle occupied had been part of the Marquis of Houton’s property for so long that the fashionable part of London had moved on without it. Even so, it was magnificent, and if the neighbors tended to be merchant
s and solicitors now, then Aunt Houton just kept the curtains drawn.

  Fifteen minutes later the coachman turned up Great Titchfield Road for his usual shortcut, and Evie sat forward. The Heart of Hope Orphanage, once an old troop barracks for the army of George II, loomed tall and long and gray along the left side of the street.

  Most of her peers closed their coach curtains to it, as well, preferring to pretend that it simply didn’t exist. For Evie, though, it had lately become much more than an eyesore. A building that gloomy would, under most circumstances, have made her shudder and look away. Somewhere between the shivering and the eye-closing, however, she’d glimpsed the children in the windows, looking out at the street. Looking out at her.

  And so a week ago, toting a satchel of candy and a hefty helping of good intentions, she had finally asked Phillip to stop the coach and had walked up to the heavy wooden doors to knock. The children had been excessively glad to see her—or rather, to see the sweets she handed out—and the whole experience had been…enlightening.

  She had immediately volunteered to make another visit, but the head housekeeper had only shooed her out, eyeing her skeptically and informing her that all volunteers had to be approved by the orphanage board of trustees.

  Evelyn leaned out the coach window. “Phillip, stop here, if you please.”

  The coach veered to one side of the street and rattled to a halt. It just so happened that the board of trustees was meeting today—at this hour, in fact. Evie stood as Phillip pulled open the carriage door.

  “Please wait for me here,” she said over her shoulder, her attention on crossing the busy street to the tall, ominous building beyond. Here, at last, seemed a place, a cause, where she could contribute something meaningful.