London's Perfect Scoundrel

by Suzanne Enoch

  It wasn’t until then that she realized what had been different about him the last few days—that deep, jaded cynicism had been absent. And that unsettled her more than anything else. “It’s only that I had hoped you would have done it for the children, and not for m—”

  “Damnation, Evelyn!” he exploded. “Does every deed have to be done for the ‘right’ reason? Or is it only the right reason if I have no reason at all? I’m very tired, and I’m afraid I’m a little foggy on this, so please, explain why I shouldn’t be doing it for you.”

  “I—”

  “Explain to me why you think you don’t deserve it,” he interrupted, taking a step closer. “Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

  “Saint, it’s—”

  “Explain why it shouldn’t be for you.” He put his hands on either side of her face. “And explain why you shouldn’t be grateful and why I shouldn’t kiss you right now.”

  He brushed his lips over hers, feather-light.

  “I m grateful,” she managed, using every bit of flagging self-control she had to keep from wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “So grateful. But—”

  “Sweet Lucifer, you torment me,” he whispered against her mouth.

  Evie couldn’t answer any more of his questions. She was too occupied with kissing him back.

  Chapter 20

  Yet there are things whose strong reality

  Outshines our fairyland; in shape and hues

  More beautiful than our fantastic sky.

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

  The Evelyn that Saint drove back to Ruddick House was a great deal chattier than the one with whom he’d left. For a moment he considered reminding her that she’d vowed not to converse with him, but her enthusiasm was far too exhilarating to put an end to. And besides, if he reminded her of her vow of silence, she would also remember that she’d fled home because her brother was trying to marry her off to that blockhead Clarence Alvington.

  “Do you think we might divide the ballroom into smaller classrooms?” she asked, practically bouncing in her seat.

  Saint admired her bosom for a moment. “I’m the finances,” he drawled. “You’re the decisions. Anything you need arranged, ask me, and I’ll see to it.”

  “You do know how much this is going to cost, don’t you?”

  He gave a faint smile, a warmth he quite liked flowing through him. “Do you?”

  “Oh, I know it’ll be a great deal of work,” she returned, “but if I hire the right people, I think I can manage it.”

  So she still meant to keep her involvement a secret from her family. For a long moment Saint kept his attention on the team, while he assessed the situation. Angelic, wealthy Evelyn would be a boon to the Alvington family. Her pristine, proper demeanor was a definite bonus to her brother, hence her becoming a part of the bargain. Unless someone disrupted the process, of course. “I’m sure you can manage it,” he agreed, “but that’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean, then?”

  “Everything has a price, Evelyn,” he said, glancing at her. “Do you think I’d spend over twenty thousand pounds for no reason?”

  “But…but you said you did it for me,” she faltered.

  The hurt in her voice constricted his breathing. “I did,” he made himself say. “But nothing is for free.”

  She raised her chin. “Then what is your price, Saint?”

  “Tell your family.”

  The blood drained from her face, and for a moment he thought she might faint. He steeled himself to grab her if she started to topple from the carriage. Perhaps this wasn’t for her own good, he told himself, but it was most definitely for his. If she was tainted, he could have her.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” He glanced over his shoulder at the maid-bodyguard. “Tell your family that you’ve been volunteering your time and money at an orphanage, and that thanks to your hard work and dedication, the children are being moved to an improved facility where they will receive even better care. And tell them that you intend to continue to devote time to this project.”

  “Saint, I can’t,” she gasped. “You don’t understand. Victor would—”

  “You don’t need to mention me, but you will tell them what you’ve been doing.”

  “I won’t!”

  “Then I withdraw my offer.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  His lips curved in an unamused smile. “My dear, I can do whatever I please. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

  “You will destroy my life,” she retorted shakily, fists clenching. “Don’t you realize that? Or do you just not care at all?”

  For a moment he was silent. She was right; he knew her brother well enough to have a very good idea what she would face once she confessed. He shouldn’t care. He did things to amuse himself all the time at the expense of others who owed him. This was no different—except that it apparently was.

  “Then make me a counter-offer,” he said, cursing himself for an idiot. “What would you give me in place of your confession?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I don’t know.”

  “That doesn’t sound tempting at all, I’m afraid.”

  “May I think about it, at least?”

  “You have twenty-four hours, my dear.” He looked back at the maid again. “And if you mention this conversation to anyone, I will know it. And you really don’t want that to happen, do you?”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “No, my lord.”

  “I thought not.”

  Evelyn was glaring at him, though behind the frown her expression was one of intense relief. “Please refrain from threatening my maid, Lord St. Aubyn.”

  They turned up the Ruddick House drive, and he took the opportunity to lean close and whisper in her ear. “I would take you right now if you’d let me, Evelyn. Offer me your body.”

  “I have twenty-four hours to give you an answer,” she said, soft color returning to her cheeks.

  “You can’t get me out of your thoughts, can you?” he continued in a low voice as the maid and groom disembarked and a pair of footmen appeared. “You crave me.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, then clambered to the ground with the help of the servants. “Thank you for a lovely time at the zoo, Lord St. Aubyn,” she said in a louder voice. “I’ll convey your greetings to my brother.”

  Before he could jump down and intercept her she was gone, vanished into the house. It was probably just as well, because after her one-word answer he wasn’t certain he could have stood up with any decorum, anyway.

  As he left the half-circle drive, a high-perch phaeton took his place in front of the house. Clarence Alvington. Bloody, bloody hell.

  It made sense politically, he supposed, though it annoyed him that the fop seemed to merit more time with Evelyn than he did, especially considering that he’d literally brought Wellington to the table. Of course, dandy though he was, Clarence was dull enough that his reputation remained fairly unspotted, especially when compared with Saint’s own.

  Jansen pulled open his front door as he topped the shallow steps. The Hillary ball and several other social events would take place that evening, and if he wanted to survive any of it, he needed to lie down for an hour or so. He could have stayed in tonight and slept, as he dearly wanted to, but then he would miss a chance to see Evelyn.

  He shrugged out of his greatcoat. “I’ll be in my—”

  “My lord, you have a visitor,” the butler interrupted, sliding his eyes toward the morning room and back again.

  Damnation. “Who?”

  “Saint! Thank goodness!”

  Fatima Hynes, Lady Gladstone, hurled herself into his arms, all soft curves and warm breath. Reflexively he caught her around the waist to keep from stumbling backward. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you, my darling,” she breathed, taking his hands and pulling him toward the morning room. “I have
nowhere else to go.”

  The “my darling” set his teeth on edge, but he couldn’t very well discover what she was up to while standing in the middle of the hallway. He let her lead him into the morning room and close the door behind them.

  “Very theatrical,” he complimented her, pulling his hands free. “What do you want?”

  “Where were you?” she asked.

  “None of your affair. What do you want, Fatima? I won’t ask you again.”

  “You were with her, weren’t you? Evie Ruddick.”

  His first instinct was to protect Evelyn, and that surprised him. Generally his first thought was for himself. “Yes, I was engaged in wild, passionate lovemaking with Evie Ruddick, because of all the chits in London she is the only one who could possibly catch my attention.”

  She gave him a pained grimace. “Saint.”

  “If you have no other reason for being here than to interrogate me about my whereabouts and what I ate at breakfast, then go. Now.”

  “There’s no need to insult me,” she returned, smoothing the front of her deep rose gown, “especially when I’ve come here specifically to give you another chance.”

  Saint dragged his mind back to attention. “A chance. At you, you mean?”

  “Gladstone is convinced that you and I are still lovers. I don’t see why we should waste all of that good suspicion.”

  “Ah. So Lord Brumley fell…short of your expectations, did he?”

  She looked at him. “You know everything, don’t you?”

  “Knowledge is what keeps me ahead of the game,” he said dryly. “And ahead of any musket balls that might be flying in my direction.”

  “What do you say, then, Saint?” she purred, running a finger along his jaw. “We do go very well together.”

  Surprisingly for him, he wasn’t even tempted. “We used to. This time around, I’m afraid I have to decline.”

  Fatima straightened. “And next time?”

  “I don’t think there’ll be a next time, my lady.” Saint smiled. “But thank you for the offer.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re welcome. My, my, manners. Where have you been—church?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Hm. It’ll pass.”

  “No doubt.”

  Saint showed her out, then headed upstairs. Whether he could fool Fatima about the particulars of his relationship with Miss Ruddick or not, he couldn’t deny that the two of them had a connection. For God knew what reason, Evelyn had crept under his skin, and he pursued her like a starving man after a meal.

  It wouldn’t last; it couldn’t, once Ruddick married her off to Clarence Alvington. And then what would he do? Stand in the shadows beneath her window and moon over her? Making her reputation appear unsavory to the fastidious Alvingtons seemed his best chance to keep possession of her, but as she’d said, her brother would then make her life a misery.

  “Damnation,” he muttered, falling backward onto his bed. Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn. Whatever he did, awake or asleep, thoughts about her consumed him. The only time he felt the least bit like himself was when he was in her presence, and even then he hardly recognized the relatively pleasant, good-humored man he miraculously became. He must be mad. In his right mind he certainly never would have spent twenty thousand quid on an orphanage, and obligated himself as its only benefactor for the foreseeable future.

  The new orphanage, though, seemed the only guarantee he had that he would continue to see her on a regular basis. It was either that or marry her, himself.

  Saint sat straight up.

  It was the most ridiculous thought he’d ever had. Of course, he was obsessed with her; he could acknowledge that. But marriage? If there was one thing he’d known since he’d realized how…interesting females were, it was that he meant to follow his father’s example: Carouse until he was too old to enjoy it, pick a woman, marry so that he could father a legitimate heir, and expire.

  He didn’t want Clarence Alvington to have her, but taking the step of marrying her to prevent that seemed extreme, to say the least. She wouldn’t agree to such a farce anyway—not with him. He didn’t have enough fingers to count the number of times she’d called him despicable.

  Sex with her was one thing; no one knew about that, and he’d discovered how to seduce her against her better judgment. But obsessed as she was with propriety, to join her name to his and have everyone know that she’d married a scoundrel of his black reputation…she’d probably rather join a nunnery, and that would be worse than her ending up with Alvington.

  Tiredness merging with supreme frustration, Saint rose from the bed to pace across the expensive Persian carpet in the middle of his bedchamber. What in damnation was he doing, even thinking things like this? It must be because she was practically the only female he’d seen or spoken with or touched in a month. He was simply unused to a monogamous relationship, and the unnatural condition had set his mind and body off kilter.

  Obviously, then, he shouldn’t have refused Fatima. He needed to visit another female immediately and do anything necessary to purge Evelyn Ruddick from his system. If he was actually contemplating marriage to her, he couldn’t risk taking the time to let this obsession run its course. If he didn’t recover his old self at once, by tomorrow he might be thinking of having children with her.

  “Good God,” he muttered, rubbing his temple and sinking into the comfortable chair before the fireplace. He knew he wasn’t going anywhere to look for anyone else, however perfect a solution it seemed. The reality was, he wanted Evelyn Ruddick, and spending his energies elsewhere wasn’t going to change that. No, he was going to stay home and take a nap like a tired old man, and then he would rush out tonight to whichever of the evening’s soirees seemed the most stiff and proper, in the hope that she would be there.

  Evelyn held the silver heart and diamond pendant while Sally fastened the delicate chain at the back of her neck. It was a little too elaborate for a small party, but she felt charitable enough toward Saint tonight that she wanted to wear it.

  “Charitable” wasn’t quite the right term, actually, but she wasn’t certain a word existed to describe the way she felt this evening. Saint had saved the children, to be sure, but something of even greater consequence had occurred; he’d acted directly in opposition to his own self-interest. And he’d apparently done it for her.

  Her mother knocked, pushing the door open and leaning into the room. “Are you wearing your green silk? Oh, yes, good. It brings out your eyes.”

  “Why do we want to bring out my eyes tonight?” Evie asked, gesturing Sally to stop pinning up her hair. This morning’s battle over Clarence Alvington and his idiotic poetry had been bad enough, but if they wanted more, she would deliver.

  “You should always look your best; that’s why. It’s past time that you remember you are three and twenty, and that most ladies of your age are married and have offspring.”

  Evelyn kept her silence for a moment. Her mother hadn’t mentioned Clarence, and thankfully he would not be in attendance tonight, unless he was even more stupid than she imagined. “I’m not going to find a husband at Lady Bethson’s literary dinner,” she settled for saying, “so I hardly think it matters what color I wear.”

  Her mother wrinkled her nose. “I have no idea why Victor still permits you to attend those nonsense bluestocking parties. He’s too fond of you, despite your tendency toward poor judgment. Certainly no good can come from a group of silly females and pretentious old men sitting about quoting dead people.”

  “Didn’t you know?” Evelyn countered. The act of being a charming, dim angel irked her enough when it was just for the benefit of Victor’s latest potential ally. Apparently her brother thought she really was that milksop chit—and so did her mother. She was beginning to realize herself that she had more strength of will and purpose than she could have imagined. “Lady Bethson’s cousin is Prince George’s chancellor of the Exchecquer,” she continued. “I’m cultivating her frien
dship for that reason, to aid Victor. And I’m happy to do so, because she also happens to be a delightful person.”

  “Ha. You never used to be so opinionated, Evie.”

  “I never had to be.”

  Genevieve gazed at her. “And now you shouldn’t be. You know it won’t do any good. And remember that you and I are to join Victor for an early breakfast at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  That couldn’t be good. A command appearance at breakfast most likely meant that Victor had another ultimatum to hand down. She wasn’t going to stand for many more of those. Her mother had it completely wrong. She’d begun to realize that once she’d taken the opportunity to express her convictions and act on them, she’d never felt better. In fact, she wondered what her family would say if she simply told them she preferred Lord St. Aubyn’s company to theirs, and that even when she was angry with him, she liked Saint far more than any of the politically motivated connections her brother kept trying to foist on her. He might mean well, but he had a woefully poor idea of who she really was.

  Of course, when she thought of Saint, her heart began to hammer. She had less than eighteen hours to think of a way to repay him for his services in procuring the orphanage. She knew how she wanted to pay him—he roused such wanton emotions in her that she could scarcely believe it of herself.

  That solution, however, was too easy, no matter how satisfying it would be. Whatever she decided to do had to be good for him, had to continue the lessons in being a good person she’d been working so hard to dispense to him.

  When Lucinda arrived, she still didn’t know how she would best use Saint’s latest challenge to her advantage. If something didn’t occur to her soon, she would end up naked with him again, because she absolutely could not tell Victor or her mother that she’d practically adopted a houseful of orphans behind their backs.

  “Don’t fret,” Lucinda said, giving her an encouraging smile. “We won’t let those children end up in one of those horrid places.”