London's Perfect Scoundrel

by Suzanne Enoch

“I didn’t mean—”

  “And you have failed to explain to me why you agreed to waltz with St. Aubyn.”

  “Victor, if you would—”

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” he went on, then took a slow breath. “Before I returned from India you could do whatever you wished. Evie, once I’m voted into the House you can go back to shopping and soirees and whatever else gladdens your heart. Until that happens, please show some restraint and common sense.”

  She hid a frown. This was obviously not the moment to confess anything. Instead, evasiveness seemed the most logical defense. She decided to offer up the explanation she’d been working on for the past several days. “I am not trying to damage your campaign, Victor. I think you would make a splendid member of Parliament. I do have several commitments of my own, however. If I were to neglect them, it would reflect badly on both of us.”

  “Ah.” Her brother reached over her head, pulled the door from Langley’s surprised fingers, and shut it. “What ‘commitments,’ pray tell?”

  Drat. If she told him she was preparing to essentially take over the supervision of an orphanage where St. Aubyn was head of the board of trustees, he would lock her in her room. “Lady Dare and the Duchess of Wycliffe have taken an interest in education of the poor. They’ve asked me to help.”

  “You?”

  She tried to ignore the skepticism in his voice, as though he could never conceive of anyone asking her for assistance or advice if they had any choice in the matter. “Yes, me. I help you, too, if you’ll recall.”

  “That remains to be seen. And the waltz with St. Aubyn?”

  “He asked. I…feared if I refused him, the scene would have been worse than if I accepted.”

  She could see the reluctant agreement in his expression as he nodded. “You’re probably right. But stay away from him, Evie; don’t give him the opportunity to ask you again.”

  “I won’t.”

  Victor took a step closer. “And remember that your ‘commitments’ are secondary at the moment. You can’t neglect your duties to this family—which means to me. Mama has agreed to accompany you to the next tea. We need to redouble our efforts. Plimpton’s after the Alvington votes.”

  “Mama’s going?”

  “She’s very committed to my cause. And so should you be, Evelyn.”

  “I already am, Victor.” Wonderful. Now she would have to go to the tea, and she’d have to spend the entire time there listening to how wonderful Victor was, and how their mother had encouraged her to marry before Victor’s return from India, because now that he was home, no one would be good enough for Evie. And it wasn’t because she was perfect; it was because Victor’s standards were so high.

  “Where are you off to now?” Her brother took the top book from the stack in her arms before she could stop him. “A reading primer?”

  “The duchess asked me to familiarize myself with it.”

  With a snort, he returned it. “Have your fun, then. Does the duke know you’re supporting his wife’s cause?”

  “Of course he does.” Thankfully, lying to Victor was fairly simple, since he remained consumed with his campaign.

  “Make certain he knows that you have my approval, then.”

  “I will.”

  “Well, hurry up. You don’t keep a duchess waiting.”

  No one kept the Marquis of St. Aubyn waiting, either. As soon as Victor vanished into his study, Evelyn hurried out the front door. “To the orphanage, with all possible speed,” she whispered up to Phillip.

  “Very good, Miss Ruddick.”

  This project would have been so much easier without Victor or St. Aubyn about. One misstep in front of either of them would ruin everything. As Lucinda had pointed out, other charities existed, all of them without Saint and at least one of them probably tame and ladylike enough to be acceptable to Victor and his political ambitions.

  The Heart of Hope Orphanage, though, was the establishment that had caught her attention, the one that most seemed to need her, and the one that she most needed. If she could make a difference there, then she would truly have accomplished something. No one would stop her from doing that; she wouldn’t allow it.

  The Marquis of St. Aubyn eyed the clustered group of females inside the orphanage’s main entry. He had no idea where they’d come from or why they’d decided to visit the Heart of Hope this morning, but they were a wholly unremarkable lot, as far as he was concerned. If they hadn’t been muttering Miss Ruddick’s name, he never would have allowed them entry. At least they’d provided him with a few moments of amusement, when he’d tried pacing back and forth and they’d scurried away from him like a terrified flock of hens. Apparently even the lower classes knew of his reputation.

  Frightening poorly coiffed spinsters was well and good, he supposed, but he hadn’t risen at the ungodly hour of nine in the morning for their sakes. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open again. Miss Ruddick was late. If she didn’t appear in the next ten minutes, she would find these odd females booted out to the street and the doors locked behind them.

  He supposed he didn’t need to wait; the more objects he placed in Evelyn’s path, the more likely she was to give up this nonsense. At the same time, he found himself curious as to what she intended to do here. In his experience, no one volunteered their time or their money without reason; whatever she was up to, he would figure it out. He would figure her out, and then take all of his building frustration out on her, again and again and again.

  The front double doors opened. He half thought it might be another of the hens, but at the electricity creeping up his arms, he turned. Miss Ruddick hurried into the foyer, her bonnet blown back from her auburn hair, and a stack of books and papers clutched to her heaving chest. Delicious.

  “Good morning, my lord, ladies,” she panted. “My apologies for being late. I was unavoidably detained.”

  “By whom?” Saint asked, leaving the sanctuary of the stairwell and not stopping until he stood in front of her. Slowly he reached out to untie the bonnet strings from around her throat.

  Gray eyes met his, startled, then darted in the direction of the huddled females. “By my brother. Please stop that.”

  He finished untying the knot and drew the strings and the bonnet slowly across her shoulder. “I’ve been trapped here for twenty minutes,” he murmured, tucking a stray strand of her windblown hair back into its clip. “Be thankful I don’t end this little farce of yours right now.”

  She squared her shoulders. “This is not a farce,” she stated. Snatching the bonnet back from his fingers, she faced the fright-faced females. “I assume that you are all here in answer to the advertisement I placed?”

  They shuffled into curtsies. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Saint stepped still closer, leaning across her shoulder. “What advertisement?” he asked, breathing in the lemon scent of her hair.

  She began flipping through her papers. “The one I placed in the London Times. For instructors, to answer your next question.”

  His jaw clenched. Bloody wonderful. If Prinny or his gaggle saw that the orphanage was hiring instructors, he’d have a hell of a time explaining what he was up to. “Consult me first, next time.”

  She nodded the back of her head at him. “Very well. Ladies, I will take three of you at a time into the adjoining room for interviews.”

  “And what about the rest of the flock? I’m not going to entertain them.”

  Evelyn faced him. “You are not required to be here.”

  “Yes, I am. Without me, you have no project.”

  “The board voted otherwise, my lord.”

  He gave her a slow smile. “I am the board, Miss Ruddick. Don’t forget that. Now, what other little surprises do you have planned for today?”

  “I have a small group of workmen coming at noon to begin clearing out the downstairs rooms.” She lifted her chin, looking him in the eye again. “And you will not discourage or dissuade me.”

  Partly because he ad
mired the way she always met his gaze straight on, he refrained from pointing out that this was only her first day here, and that he made a habit of getting what he wanted while doing as he pleased. She’d find that out soon enough. “Why are you cleaning out the storage rooms?”

  “To make classrooms.” Her fine brows furrowed. “Did you listen at all to my proposal?”

  “No.”

  “No? But—”

  “Evelyn Marie,” he said in a low voice, wishing the flock of chickens was elsewhere so he could taste her honeyed mouth again, “you’re not here because of your proposal.”

  Her scowl deepened. “Then why—”

  “You’re here because of my proposition.”

  “I told you that you wouldn’t frighten me away, my lord.”

  “Saint,” he corrected. “Have you ever seen a man naked and aroused with wanting you?”

  A deep blush stole up her cheeks. “N…no.”

  “You will.” Unable to stop himself, he reached out to touch her cheek. “The things I will teach you, Evelyn, aren’t lectured about in classrooms. And you’ll beg me to teach you more.”

  Her mouth opened and closed again. “Go away,” she finally commanded in a quavering voice. “I will not be seduced by you.”

  “Not today,” he agreed, glancing beyond her at the flock. “Where would you like the storage items to go?”

  “I…” He watched as she struggled to return to their previous conversation. Good. She was confused. “To the old stables,” she managed after a moment. “I’ll need to go through everything and take an inventory of whatever might be useful.”

  Saint sketched a bow. “As you wish.”

  “You actually mean to help?”

  With another smile, he turned on his heel. “Help, yes. Volunteer, no. Nothing is for free.”

  The workers Evelyn had hired turned out to be stock boys and footmen from some of the less reputable gentlemen’s clubs. The mix smelled of Lord Dare—though, straitlaced as Tristan had become since his marriage, Saint couldn’t imagine that Evelyn had given him the real reason she needed help.

  Dare had used to be an amusing companion with a pleasingly cynical sense of humor, until female propriety had ruined him. Damned shame, that was. Now they barely exchanged greetings except at Parliament or one of the rare respectable gatherings he attended during the Season. Saint wished him luck, but it certainly wasn’t a life he wanted for himself.

  Once he directed the workers regarding which rooms to empty and where to deposit the ramshackle items, he didn’t have much to do. Pulling the flask from his pocket, he leaned against the far wall and took a swig of gin.

  Evelyn thought he was being helpful—though of course she questioned his motives. He had some questions about hers, as well. At least he knew what he was doing, and why. Once Prinny agreed to expand his park onto the orphanage site, they’d have to empty the building before they tore it down, anyway. Gaining favor with Evelyn and getting a head start on a demolition schedule seemed a productive way to spend the day.

  The spinster herd at the far end of the hallway had dwindled to a handful by early afternoon, and a half dozen of the storage rooms were empty of everything but cobwebs and dust. For the past hour or so he’d been aware of young pairs of eyes peering around the far corner at the activity, but he ignored them. He kept food in their stomachs and a roof over their heads; this little flurry of activity was Miss Ruddick’s idea, and she could explain it to them.

  A whisper of lemon curled around him. “You might tell them what we’re doing,” Evelyn said, coming to stand at his elbow.

  “What you’re doing,” he corrected. “I’m here in an attempt to avoid boredom.”

  “It’s still good work.”

  She looked terribly pleased with herself. “Miss Ruddick,” he said, “whatever it is you’re up to, don’t think I’m a blind follower. My eyes are wide open, and whatever I do, you may assume it’s for my reasons, and not for yours.”

  “I’m not ‘up to’ anything, except trying to help these poor children. I assume that is why you chair this board of trustees, as well.”

  “You assume incorrectly.” Pushing away from the wall, he faced her. “My dear mama stipulated in her will that a member of the Halboro family remain involved with the Heart of Hope Orphanage for the duration of its existence. I am the only remaining member of the Halboro family that I’ve been able to locate, so here I sit.”

  He’d tried not to place overmuch emphasis on the “duration of its existence” part of his speech, but she seemed happy to concentrate on other portions, anyway.

  “Halboro,” she said softly, as if to herself. “I had no idea.”

  “Good God, we’re not related, are we?” he asked, scowling. He made a point of not mating with relations, no matter how distant; any thickening of his family’s bloodline, intentional or otherwise, couldn’t be good for anyone involved.

  “No.” She shook herself. “I just realized that I didn’t know your family name. Nor do I know your Christian one.”

  “Ah. Michael.”

  “Michael,” she repeated, and he found himself watching her mouth. That wasn’t unusual, except that it wasn’t because he wanted to kiss her, though he did. Very few women had ever called him by his Christian name, and he didn’t like when they did so. It implied a familiarity they hadn’t earned. Sex hardly gained them the right to fawn or coo over him. To his dismay, however, when the angelic, virginal Evelyn Marie Ruddick murmured his name, his pulse stirred. Odd, that.

  “Yes. Dull and common, but so was my mother’s imagination.”

  “That’s unkind.”

  He shrugged, growing less fond of this conversation by the minute. “It’s honest. I thought you’d appreciate that.”

  Evelyn continued to gaze at him. “This makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Talking about your family, I mean.” She wasn’t certain what made her ask the question; he had been nothing less than arrogant and dismissive and cynical toward her, but for some reason it seemed important.

  “Nothing makes me uncomfortable, Evelyn,” he murmured, taking a slow step closer. “I have no conscience, or so I’ve been told.”

  Evie took a step backward, both because of his advance and because of the predatory gleam lighting his green eyes. The workers she’d hired for the day could no doubt hear every word of their conversation, and Lord Dare had only vouched for their willingness to work. He hadn’t said anything about their willingness to keep from gossiping if they happened to witness St. Aubyn kissing her. “You’re just baiting me,” she replied, trying to sound amused in a jaded sort of way.

  He shook his head. “I’m warning you. As I said before, I don’t do any good deed for free. I will expect payment for my work today.”

  “I didn’t ask you to help,” she retorted before she could stop herself. Good heavens, she knew better than to throw challenges at him. St. Aubyn hadn’t backed down from anything so far, and making pronouncements had only gotten her kissed or ridiculed, depending on his mood.

  “No, what you’ve asked for, my dear, is my indulgence. And for the devil knows what reason, I’ve been willing to indulge you.” A slow, sensuous smile curved his lips. “But the devil and I are good friends, Evelyn Marie. You shouldn’t tempt either of us too far.”

  Still moving with that deceptive ease of his, he reached toward her cheek again, his gaze lowering to her mouth. Evelyn swallowed, but before she could protest his impropriety and inform him that he was not going to kiss her again, his fingers flicked in a feather-light caress against the base of her throat, trailed up to the back of her neck—and came away with her favorite pearl pendant necklace.

  She hadn’t even felt him open the clasp. “You…how—”

  “You should see me unfasten a gown,” he murmured, lifting the single suspended pearl to examine it. “My payment for today’s work. If you want it back, you may ask me for it at the Dundredge soiree this evening. I assume you’re attending?”

 
“I…am.”

  “Then so am I, apparently. Good day, Miss Ruddick. Inform Mrs. Housekeeper when you’re finished playing.”

  “I am not playing,” she snapped, her voice annoyingly unsteady, as he vanished around the near corner.

  Even if he’d heard her, he probably didn’t care. Outrage was difficult, anyway, when her mind was still stuck on his gown comment. Once he said it, she couldn’t help but imagine his fingers gliding down her back, her gown falling loose beneath his skilled touch. And then his hands would…“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, pushing the vision from her mind. As if she would ever succumb to his seductions. He was only trying to shock her and to amuse himself, after all. He’d as much as said so.

  Devilish and charming as she sensed he could be when the whimsy possessed him, he was also dangerous, and as Lady Gladstone had said, very, very bad. And if she ever wanted to see her necklace again, she was going to have to approach him at the ball tonight. No doubt he would ask her for a dance, and no doubt he would see to it that she couldn’t refuse.

  Evelyn frowned. Victor was absolutely going to kill her. If the Marquis of St. Aubyn didn’t ruin her first.

  Chapter 7

  We are entwined—let death come slow or fast—

  The tie which bound the first endures the last.

  —Lord Byron, “Epistle to Augusta”

  “If he stole your necklace, you should inform the authorities and have him arrested,” Lucinda said in a hushed voice, her indignant gaze searching the Dundredge crowd, no doubt for any sign of St. Aubyn.

  Evelyn had been looking for him, too, and with no more success than her friend. “Having him arrested would kill two birds with one stone, I suppose,” she whispered back, pretending to nibble on a sugared orange peel. “Rid me of St. Aubyn, and do in Victor with the apoplexy the gossip would give him. Really, Luce.”

  Lucinda chuckled. “Just trying to help.”

  “Then be more helpful. What am I going to do? Simply walk up and ask him to give it back? What if he’s with that awful Lady Gladstone?”