“Then you could tell Victor you were recruiting her for his election campaign.”
Evie started to reply, then closed her mouth again. “You know, that might work.” As she contemplated the idea, though, reality crashed down again, as it had been doing all evening. “No, because then Lady Gladstone would demand to know why Saint had my necklace, and she’d claw my eyes out before I could answer.”
“Whose eyes are getting clawed out?” another female voice asked from behind her.
Her abrupt breath left in a relieved sigh. “Georgie,” she said, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing it, “you frightened me half to death.”
Georgiana’s tall husband nodded sympathetically. “Happens to me all the time.” Snatching a handful of chocolate balls, he gave one to Georgie and popped the rest into his mouth. “How were the slaves I sent you?”
“Shh,” Evie said, though likely no one but she and Georgie could interpret Dare’s chocolate-mangled question. “It’s secret.”
The viscount swallowed. “Yes, so I gathered. And why was I secretly sending stock boys to an orphanage?”
His wife scowled at him. “None of your affair, Tristan. Go bother Emma and Greydon now.”
“Yes, my love.” With a grin and a swift kiss on the cheek, Lord Dare strolled off into the crowd.
As soon as he was gone, Georgie lowered her voice to the conspiratorial whisper Evie and Lucinda had been using. “All right, whose eyes are getting clawed out?”
“Mine,” Evie returned, unable to help a grin. Georgie and Lucinda were quite simply the most marvelous friends she could ever have hoped for. Whatever she told them would remain a secret, and she could tell them anything. That, though, didn’t serve to explain why neither of them knew yet that St. Aubyn had kissed her. Nothing, however, could explain that—or why she continued to think about it so often.
“And why is that?”
“The Marquis of St. Aubyn stole Evie’s necklace this afternoon,” Lucinda explained, “and we’re trying to form a strategy to get it back that won’t involve bloodshed.”
“You’re certain he stole it?” The amusement in the viscountess’ eyes vanished.
“He took it off my neck,” Evie said, “and told me that if I wanted it back I could ask him for it tonight.”
“Well, he’s obviously trying to make trouble for you. From what I’ve heard, he delights in that sort of thing.” Georgiana joined Lucinda and herself in searching the crowd for the marquis. “You know, Evie, this may have passed the point where you can safely participate.”
It had passed that point the moment she’d learned of St. Aubyn’s involvement with the orphanage. “I will not be cowed by someone else’s poor behavior,” she stated. “And especially not that scoundrel’s.”
“Poor behavior, hm?” Luce repeated in a thoughtful tone. “And here you are, Evie, without a student for a lesson in—”
Georgiana blanched. “No, no, no! We could never send our Evie after St. Aubyn. He’d ruin her in a second if he realized what she was doing. We’ll find someone more malleable to whom she can deliver her lessons.”
“I—” Evie began, her heart skipping a beat.
“Yes, you’re right,” Lucinda interrupted, sparing a sympathetic glance for Evelyn. “A subject must at least have the remnants of a soul. I’m afraid, Evie, that Georgiana’s correct; this orphanage plan of yours has become too risky. I’m sure we can find somewhere safer for you to volunteer your time.”
“And a safer student for you to instruct,” Georgie added.
Evelyn looked from one of them to the other, the noise of the ballroom dimming to a dull background roar. Her friends, her dearest friends, expected her to fail before she’d barely begun, and to make a muck of her reputation at the same time. More than likely they’d thought her orphanage plan a disaster as soon as they’d heard about it, and the marquis with his awful reputation had merely provided a convenient excuse enabling them to spare her feelings. Well, just for once if she was going to be considered inadequate, she would like to make an attempt to succeed first.
“You’re right, Luce,” she said quietly, wondering if they could hear the fast thudding of her heart.
“Don’t fret, Evie. We’ll begin looking for a more suitable charity for you first thing tomorrow.”
“No, I mean you’re right that St. Aubyn is the perfect candidate for a lesson in polite behavior toward females. And that I happen to be in the perfect position to deliver it.”
Lucinda’s eyes widened. “No, Evie, I was very, very wrong. If you take this on, you wouldn’t just be working at improving a questionable orphanage, you would be working on—”
“On improving St. Aubyn. I know. I don’t think I could ask for a grander challenge than that. Do you?”
Georgiana took her hand again. “Are you certain? You don’t have to prove anything.”
“Only to myself,” she returned, though that wasn’t quite true. “And yes, I’m certain. I’ll be either a spectacular success on both fronts, or a catastrophic failure.”
Her friends continued to argue with her, trying to convince her that she was taking an unnecessary risk and that both the orphanage and St. Aubyn were simply beyond her depth. They were wrong, however, and whatever they were saying ceased to make any sense, anyway, as Saint strolled into the crowded room.
For the first time, she noticed how many women gazed at him from behind their husbands’ backs and from the fluttering shelter of their ivory-ribbed fans. He couldn’t possibly have that many clandestine lovers; there weren’t that many nights in a lifetime, when one added in the single, less reputable females also known to consort with him. Even so, the looks reminded her of what Lady Gladstone had said, that Saint didn’t have to be good because he was so bad.
They all seemed to want him, or at least to want to watch him. His smooth panther’s stalk was magnetic even when he wasn’t hunting. With an entire room full of willing game, then, why was he after her? Or was he just amusing himself, as he’d claimed? Perhaps he had a pocketful of necklaces waiting to be reclaimed by damsels he’d accosted during the day.
“Evie,” Lucinda whispered urgently.
She shook herself. “Beg pardon?”
“He’s here.”
“I know. I saw.”
Her friends exchanged glances, which she pretended not to notice. “What are you going to do?” Georgiana asked.
Evelyn took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “Ask for my necklace back.”
“But—”
Before she could lose her nerve, Evelyn walked away toward the refreshment table. Saint looked to be heading in that direction, and a chance meeting there would raise fewer questions than if she stalked up to him, hand outstretched.
When she reached the rendezvous point, however, Saint was still several yards away, requesting a drink from a footman. She studied him from behind the shelter of an ice sculpture, the glassy swan wings twisting and elongating his broad chest in his stark black jacket, but leaving his lean face unobscured.
Michael Halboro. She wondered what his middle name might be. Knowing so little about him made every possible bit of information more…significant than it probably was. Dark hair obscured one eye, giving him a vulnerable, raffish expression. Then his gaze flicked up to meet hers, as though he’d known where she was all along, and her heart stopped.
Whatever game or amusement he had in mind, it was aimed at her. With a slow smile, he dismissed the footman and made his way past a half dozen other young females, not even sparing them a glance.
“Good evening, Miss Ruddick,” he drawled in his low baritone voice, the sound reverberating down her spine. “You came.”
“Did you think I’d be hiding under my bed?” she returned. Her voice sounded composed and steady, thank goodness.
“When I think of you, it’s not under a bed. Ask your question.”
Heavens. Standing in the middle of the ballroom as they were, no doubt dozens of guests coul
d overhear every breath of their conversation. And she could think of no way to phrase her question without it sounding as though she’d done something tawdry or improper. No doubt he counted on precisely that. Whatever she said next, he could use it to ruin her. She should have hidden under her bed tonight.
Best to get it over with, then. “Lord Dare mentioned that you’d found a necklace at the Hanson soiree. I think it might be mine. May I see it?”
His lips twitched. “Yes, I discovered it in the punch bowl,” he said smoothly, and reached into his pocket. “Would this be it?”
Evie felt faint with relief. “Oh, thank you so much, my lord,” she gushed, before he could even produce the thing for her inspection. “It’s my favorite piece, and I thought I’d never find it.” She held out her hand.
Saint stepped behind her. “Allow me.”
Before she could do more than gulp and flush bright red, the marquis slid the cool chain around her throat and fastened it. His fingers brushed the hairs at the back of her neck as he leaned closer. “Well done, Evelyn Marie,” he murmured into her hair. “Now smile and say ‘thank you, Saint,’ or I’ll kiss your ear.”
If her heart beat any faster, it would burst from her chest. She gave a friendly smile to the air. “Thank you again, Saint. That was quite thoughtful of you.”
“You arouse me,” he whispered, “and you’ll pay for that.” Then he released her and stepped back.
The lesson, she reminded herself frantically, closing her eyes for just a moment to steady herself. “Lord St. Aubyn, have you met my mother?” she asked, turning. “I’m certain she’d like to thank you for your good deed, as well.”
He froze for a heartbeat, then faced her. “You want me to meet your mother?” he repeated, surprise touching his eyes.
It was the first time she’d ever seen him off balance. “Yes. Why not?”
“I can name a thousand or so reasons,” he returned, then shrugged. “But why not, indeed? The evening’s been fairly uneventful so far.”
Yes, except for her near ruination and nearer fainting spell. “This way, then, my lord.”
“Saint,” he reminded her softly, falling into step beside her and, to her horror, offering his arm.
“But—”
“If I’m being civilized, then so must you be.” Not waiting for her response, he took her hand and draped it over his black sleeve.
As they left the ballroom for the salon where most of the matrons had gathered to gossip and nibble on sweets, Evie realized what a mistake she’d just made. “Saint,” she whispered, as her mother came into view, “she doesn’t know I’m working at the orphanage. Please don’t say anything.”
For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her, that he was occupied with noting the shocked expressions and gasps of the matrons as they realized who’d wandered into their midst. Then he glanced at her, green eyes amused and cynical. “For a kiss,” he murmured.
“B…beg pardon?”
“You heard me. Yes or no?”
With the rest of the matrons edging away from her, Genevieve Ruddick pasted a mortified smile on her thin face. “Evie! What in the world are you—”
“Mama, I would like to introduce the Marquis of St. Aubyn to you. He found my missing necklace in a punch bowl at the Hanson ball, of all places. My lord, my mother, Mrs. Ruddick.”
“Mrs. Ruddick,” he said amiably, taking her hand. “I should have introduced myself days ago, I suppose, since your daughter and I—”
Oh, no. “Yes,” Evie hissed.
“—waltzed at the Hanson soiree,” he finished smoothly. “She’s a brave young lady.”
Her mother’s expression darkened into a frown, which looked much more natural on her pale countenance. “An impulsive one, anyway.”
Evelyn held her breath, waiting for the marquis to turn her mother’s comment with some insinuating remark of his own. Instead, though, he only offered a brief, enigmatic smile. “Indeed.”
Well, that was good. It might very well have been his first attempt, but he’d managed to be polite for nearly three minutes. And that was probably pushing her luck far enough for one evening. “Oh, is that the quadrille?” she asked brightly. “I promised this dance to Francis Henning. Excuse me, Mama. Would you care to escort me, Lord St. Aubyn?”
He didn’t say anything further, so Evie decided it would be more prudent to leave and hope that he followed. She’d barely made it through the door when a hand clamped down on her shoulder and nudged her into the nearest alcove.
“What was that all about?” Saint asked, regarding her darkly.
“Nothing. I only wanted to see if you would do it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a—”
Saint put out an arm, blocking her escape. Very aware that only part of a curtain screened them from the hallway and the ballroom beyond, Evelyn swallowed. Her friends had warned her how dangerous teaching St. Aubyn a lesson would be, but she was well aware of that anyway. In an odd way, though, it only seemed fair that if he meant to try to ruin her, she should attempt to improve him.
“Please move.”
“Kiss me.”
“Now?”
With one step he closed the small distance that remained between them, so that she had to lift her chin to meet his gaze. “Yes, now.”
Evie sighed to cover the sudden speeding of her pulse. “Very well.”
He stayed where he was, gazing at her. She wondered what he saw that made him keep teasing her like this. A petite female with reddish brown hair and gray eyes, her face darkened by yet another blush. Anything else? Did he think her as naive and useless as her friends did?
“Well?” she whispered after a moment. “Get it over with.”
Saint shook his head. “You will kiss me.” His eyes half closed, he ran a finger across her skin, just above the low neckline of her gown. “Kiss me, Evelyn, or I’ll find something more intimate for us to do.”
Her skin where he’d touched her felt hot. Abruptly she realized what the problem was—she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel the sensation again that she’d experienced when he’d kissed her at the orphanage.
He slowly slipped her gown from one shoulder, his caress soft and warm as he slid his fingers beneath the material. “Kiss me, Evelyn Marie,” he repeated in an even softer voice.
Trembling and scarcely able to breathe, she raised up on her toes and touched her lips to his. Heat blazed through her as his mouth responded to her soft touch, deepening the embrace with a thoroughness that left her floating. No one’s kiss had ever made her feel like this, humming and shivering inside.
“How in the devil am I supposed to watch her every damned minute?” her brother’s angry voice snapped from very close by.
She gasped, and Saint flattened himself against her, pressing her back against the wall. Hiding the two of them behind the curtain’s scant shelter was her only hope; if anyone saw her there, alone with St. Aubyn and even with space separating them, she would be ruined.
“I don’t expect you to,” her mother’s voice, equally sharp, returned. “But you escorted her here, Victor. I think she’s lost her mind, introducing me to St. Aubyn.”
“I half think she’s trying to ruin my political career so I’ll go back to India. There’s Lady Dare. Ask her if she’s seen Evie. I’ll go look for St. Aubyn.”
The voices faded, but Evie couldn’t relax—not with Saint’s lean, hard body pressed against hers. She should be grateful, she supposed, that he hadn’t simply tossed her out of the alcove to the wolves. If they remained any longer, though, her fading luck was bound to leave her completely.
“Saint—”
He lowered his mouth to hers again, his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head. This time he was hard and ruthless and very thorough. A helpless moan left her before she could stop herself, and her hands lifted to slide around his waist.
Before she could actually touch him, though, he broke the kiss, backing to the far side of the alcove. “So sweet,
you are,” he said in his low voice, wiping a hand across his mouth. “You’d do best to stay away from me, you know. Good night, Evelyn Marie.”
Leaning against the wall and trying to regain her breath and her senses, Evelyn thought her mother might be right. She must be going mad; now even St. Aubyn himself had warned her to stay away, and all she could think of was that she would see him again tomorrow.
With a last deep breath she yanked her sleeve back up, straightened, and returned to the hallway. A mirror hung just outside the ballroom door, and she took a moment to check her hair and make sure he hadn’t removed any other articles of her clothing, or her necklace again.
Evelyn froze, gazing at the reflection of her throat. A single diamond in a sterling silver heart pendant winked back at her. Slowly, her hand shaking, she reached up to touch it. It wasn’t just her imagination. The Marquis of St. Aubyn had taken her pearl necklace this afternoon, and replaced it with a diamond this evening. An exquisite one. “Oh, my,” she whispered.
If nothing was for free, what would he expect in return for this? After that last kiss, a part of her wanted to find out.
“St. Aubyn.”
Saint didn’t look up from the gaming table. He’d managed to slip into the Dundredge card room via the servants’ stairs, though at the same time he was dodging Victor Ruddick he had to wonder why he bothered. Almost no one called him out any longer; the survivors had warned the rest of the populace about the danger of questioning his honor, warranted or not.
Evelyn Marie, however, had actually asked him not to ruin her. That had surprised him into complying, along with the additional thought that it he did ruin her reputation, she would be removed from his grasp. It was all a good lesson in reasons not to dangle after proper, virginal females, but it didn’t lessen his obsession with her in the least.
“St. Aubyn.”
With a sigh, he looked up over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Have you…” His square jaw clenched, Victor Ruddick glanced at the crowded room and lowered his voice. “Have you seen my sister?”
“First of all,” Saint said, gesturing for another card, “who the devil are you?”
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