No one invited him to their al fresco luncheons, and when they did, he certainly didn’t send replies thanking the host for the invitation and expressing his intention to attend. Nor did he arrive on time and with the idea of staying for the duration of the event.
As he drew his team to a halt and hopped to the ground, he estimated that between forty and fifty guests were in attendance, though with the number of footmen, grooms, valets, and maids the setting required, he found it nearly impossible to determine who was there to play and who was there to work.
“You came.”
At the sound of Evelyn’s voice, all of the nonsense and atypical behavior and the bee flitting around his beaver hat ceased to matter. “You managed to procure me an invitation,” he returned, facing her.
“I thought you might still be angry with me.”
“And yet you kept your part of the bargain.”
Gray eyes danced as she met his gaze. The yellow of her muslin gown matched the color of the scattered daffodils in the grass, and as she smiled at him, Saint forgot how to breathe.
“It was either see you invited or find myself rendered naked, as I recall,” she whispered.
Saint shook himself. “My, aren’t we outspoken today?” he murmured, offering his arm. “I’d still be happy to accommodate you regarding the rendering, if you’d like.”
She blushed, and he abruptly felt more comfortable. Evelyn might be willing to say something bold to him, but she was still proper, anything-for-orphans Evelyn. To his surprise, however, she took his proffered arm.
“Perhaps I should introduce you to some people first.”
This was interesting. Not at all unpleasant, but certainly unexpected. “Arm in arm?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Not that I’m complaining, but I was under the impression that we were only to touch when no one else could see us doing so.” He leaned closer, breathing in the scent of her hair.
“I owe you a payment,” she returned. “You said I was to stay at your side today, so here I am.”
That explained her compliance. She was making good on a promise. His angel would stand by the devil if she’d given her word to do so. “Introduce me, then.”
They crossed the grass to where the majority of guests had gathered. Dare was there with his wife, and Saint stifled a scowl. He’d mocked the viscount for becoming domestic, and yet here they were at the same event. And not for the first time.
No, no, no. He had not been domesticated. He was here because he wanted to see Evelyn, and because it might be interesting. A picnic for some of the ton’s greatest and most respected wits, and he’d found himself invited.
“General Barrett,” Evelyn was saying as she tugged him around, “have you met Lord St. Aubyn? My lord, your host, General Augustus Barrett.”
The tall gentleman, eyes the same color as his steel-gray hair, nodded with the precision of a salute. “St. Aubyn. My Lucinda suggested I invite you. Enjoy yourself.” He glanced at Evelyn and back again. “But not too much, I trust.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As he watched the general stride over to greet the next group of arrivals, it occurred to Saint that his host had hit on the key to success. If he wanted to win Evelyn over the dull, idiotic Clarence Alvington, he simply needed to enjoy himself less. Stodginess would win the day—not his usual method of speaking his mind and damn the consequences. It would be difficult, but he could at least tell himself it was a challenge.
“That wasn’t so terrible, was it?” Evelyn whispered, gripping his arm more closely.
“No, I suppose not.” He looked down at her fingers curled over his sleeve. “What are you doing, by the way?”
“What do you mean? I told you, I made you a prom—”
“In the month or so we’ve known one another, you have spent most of your time telling me how little you want to have to do with me, Evelyn Marie. What’s happened? Or is it that you’ve decided to continue our…friendship after you marry Clarence Alvington?” In front of everyone else, he would behave. She already knew better, and he saw no reason to be less than honest.
Her jaw dropped. “Of course not!”
In reality it was probably the best he could hope for, he realized. To be her lover after she married the man chosen by her family. “Would it be so bad?” he pursued softly. “No one would know. Just you and me, Evelyn.”
“Stop it,” she snapped. “Don’t even suggest such things. I would not be unfaithful to my husband.”
“But what if I don’t want to let you go?”
She slowed, gazing up at him. “Then do something about it,” she whispered, and pulled her hand free.
Saint stopped, looking after her as she walked over to chat with Lord and Lady Dare. What was she trying to tell him? That he should make a bid for her hand? He was quite prepared to do that, but she had to know at least as well as he that her brother would never condone a match with someone of his reputation.
He could kidnap her, of course, as she’d done to him. It was more than intriguing, the idea of keeping her captive at St. Aubyn Park, dressed in silk robes and nothing else. She’d probably even enjoy it for a time, until she realized how completely ruined she was.
A wide empty circle seemed to have formed around him. The same phenomenon happened at most proper events he attended, but it wasn’t supposed to happen today; that had been the purpose of keeping Evelyn by his side. People liked her, even if they were terrified of him. Taking a deep breath, he followed her. Be good, he reminded himself sternly. Whatever the temptation, be good.
“Why the smile?” Georgiana asked, kissing Evie on the cheek.
“It’s a pretty day.” And she was going to spend it with Saint.
Dare took her hand, bowing over it. “Even with the sun and the birds, the notion that I was being forced into a marriage with Neckcloth Alvington would not leave me with the urge to smile.”
Georgie elbowed him, none too gently. “Dare.”
“Oof. On the other hand, I am happily married, so who am I to naysay another’s union?”
“Naysay all you like. I have been.” Evie watched as Georgie leaned against her husband’s shoulder, their fingers entwined. She felt a distinct stab of jealousy. Georgiana and Tristan’s courtship hadn’t been easy by anyone’s standards, but they were so obviously in love. Sometimes seeing them together made her want to cry. Today she kept trying to shake the image of herself and Saint standing just like that, and how very nice it would be.
“You’re not married yet, Evie,” Georgiana said firmly. “Your brother may still come to see reason.”
“We could always kidnap him and force him to reconsider,” Saint drawled from close behind her.
Used to his comments as she was becoming, being near him in itself was enough to send heat to her face and down her spine. “I doubt it would have any effect on Victor.”
The marquis shrugged as he stopped beside her. “Sometimes people surprise you.”
The same compelling urge she’d felt at Lady Bethson’s to touch him, to run her fingers along his bare skin, left her trembling. And then she remembered that she had decided to be a little naughty today. “Yes, sometimes people do surprise you,” she returned, sliding both hands around his arm.
His muscles tensed beneath her fingers, but otherwise he didn’t move. “Then a kidnapping it is,” he said, his voice not sounding entirely steady.
Dare cleared his throat. “I meant to tell you, Saint, you earned Haskell’s respect yesterday—and that of a few others’ as well, I’d wager.”
“It was either apologize or begin a brawl, and I was wearing my good jacket.”
Evie glanced up at Saint’s lean, handsome face. He actually looked uncomfortable, as though he didn’t know what to make of a compliment. Whatever had happened, he seemed sincere about it. For goodness’ sake. She felt so proud of him. And she wanted to kiss him so badly that it physically hurt to remain unmoving beside him.
“Evelyn?” he murmured.
&
nbsp; “Yes?” Her heart skipped.
“You’re going to draw blood if you don’t loosen your grip on my arm.”
“Oh. Oh.” She relaxed her fingers a little.
“What do you think of General Barrett’s picnic soiree so far?” Georgiana asked brightly.
“It’s interesting. I’m glad Miss Ruddick recommended me for an invitation.”
Evie glanced up as Lord and Lady Huntley crossed the grass in front of them, leaving one group of guests for another. The countess was Clarence Alvington’s second cousin, and known to be fiercely loyal to her relations’ good standing. Neither Evie’s brother nor the Alvingtons would be in attendance today, so the Huntleys were her best chance for getting a tale carried to Clarence. She tugged on Saint’s arm.
“Let’s pick some flowers, my lord,” she said in a carrying voice, making an effort to giggle. “The guests always supply the blooms for the serving tables.”
From Saint’s expression, he thought she’d lost her mind, but he nodded. “Flowers. Of course, Miss Ruddick. Will you join us, Dare, Lady Dare?”
Tugging again, Evie decided it would be easier to move the Tower of London than the Marquis of St. Aubyn if he preferred to stay put somewhere. “Everyone’s going. Come on, before they find all the best flowers.”
Dare didn’t look any too confident about her mental state, either. “Evie, perhaps Saint would prefer to remain—”
“You two go on,” Georgie interrupted. “It’s perfectly proper. Look, even Mrs. Mullen is gathering daffodils with the general. You don’t need a dull married couple for chaperones.”
The viscount raised an eyebrow at his wife. “Dull?”
Apparently Saint didn’t want to hear the inevitable argument, because he gave way with the reluctance of a tree root giving up its hold on the earth. Evie nearly fell on her backside.
Saint caught her beneath the elbow while she regained her balance. “You might warn a body,” she muttered.
His gray eyes twinkled. “Apologies, my gentle little lamb.”
“Ha.” Gripping his arm with one hand and lifting her skirt free of the meadow grass with the other, she led the way down the slope.
“By the by,” he continued conversationally, “are you completely insane?”
“Because I want to pick flowers?”
“Because you want to be seen with me, Evelyn. I said you should stay by my side. I didn’t mean we should wander off into the wilderness together. If your brother should hear—”
“Never mind my brother,” she interrupted, with more confidence than she felt. She was walking a tightrope, and lustful as she was feeling at the moment, she’d be lucky not to fall off and end with her skirt above her waist. “Just enjoy yourself, Michael.”
“If my goal for the day were to enjoy myself, you and I would be in my bedchamber with the curtains drawn. This,” and he gestured at the scattering guests, “I am tolerating.”
Evie slowed. Perhaps she was the one being mean and self-centered today. Of course he wouldn’t enjoy himself here, with everyone looking askance at him. “Do you wish you hadn’t come?”
He smiled that dark, sensuous smile of his. “If I hadn’t come, I would at this moment be pacing my billiards room and wishing for it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re here. Why do you think?”
“I…just didn’t expect…” She felt her face warm as he leaned even closer.
“You didn’t expect me to admit it,” he finished, holding her gaze. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Saint—”
He shook his dark hair. “Michael.”
Oh, goodness. Maybe, if she acted startled or surprised afterward, she could get away with kissing him and not being completely ruined. It would be worth it, just to feel his mouth on hers, just to feel him against her and know that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Just—
“Look, daisies.”
Moving with an awkward abruptness completely unlike his usual grace, Saint practically pushed her off his arm, backed away, then turned and strode toward a small stream. Breathing hard, Evie looked after him. Something was very wrong. She’d wanted him to kiss her, and he hadn’t done it. He’d run away, or very nearly.
“These are nice, aren’t they?” he called, yanking a few of them from the ground.
Evie blinked, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from sudden laughter. He was nervous. “Heavens. Not the roots. Just the stems.”
He looked down again, twisted the roots off with an easy strength she couldn’t help admiring, and held the stems out to her. “Better?”
She took the poor broken-backed things from him as she reached the stream bank. “Ah. Very nice. Don’t you have a knife, though?”
“Yes.” He bent over, pulling a narrow, nine-inch blade from his boot.
Evelyn swallowed. “Did you…” She stopped, tearing her gaze from the weapon to look up at his amused expression. “Did you have that at the orphanage?”
“And if I did?”
“Then thank you for not using it.”
Saint pursed his lips, his gaze far away, as if he were thinking of something else. “I didn’t have it with me. And in retrospect, I’m glad of that.” He squatted, slicing the stems of another half dozen daisies and handing them up to her. “I think my life would have been very different if I’d been armed.”
“So you’re…glad I kidnapped you and chained you up for a week in an orphanage cellar.”
He smiled, a gentle, thoughtful smile she’d never seen before, one that made her heart do an odd flip. “I’ve finally realized why they called that damned place the Heart of Hope. Because somehow, someone guessed you and I would meet there, Evelyn Marie.”
Oh, my. “Michael, I very much want to kiss you right now.”
Saint’s smile deepened, the wicked light coming into his eyes. “Evelyn, kissing is only the beginning of what I want to do to you right now. However,” and he straightened, offering her another handful of perfect blooms, “I am not going to do anything.”
She couldn’t help scowling at him. “Why not?”
He ran a finger along her cheek. “Because I’m trying very hard to behave.”
“But I don’t want to behave.” His light touch left her trembling.
“A tumble in the grass would be…delectable,” he murmured, offering his arm, “but someone would see. What I want of you doesn’t end today, my dear. And frustrating as being proper might be, if that is what it takes, that is what I shall do.”
For a moment she couldn’t speak. Saint—Michael—had changed so much she could scarcely believe it. And apparently it was because of her. “You are very nice sometimes,” she whispered. Even if there was no hope for the two of them, she wasn’t ready to admit it yet to herself, and much less to him. Not today.
As the sounds of flirtatious conversation faded downstream, Lady Huntley craned her neck to peer around the stand of cattails behind which she and her husband had taken refuge. Thank goodness she had decided the cattails would make a lovely centerpiece, or they might not have known until too late. “Did you hear that?” she whispered, elbowing her husband.
“Sounds as though St. Aubyn’s tomcatting after that Ruddick chit,” he grunted, climbing to his feet and brushing damp grass from his knees before he pulled her up after him.
“Oh, it’s much worse than that, I’m certain. I think she’s already been caught. And orphans, and someone was kidnapped, and God knows what else. We must inform Alvington.”
“Alvington? Why?”
“She’s the girl Clarence is set on marrying, for heaven’s sake. Do keep up.”
“I’m trying, my dear.”
Evie decided later that she should have realized an ambush was coming. At Victor’s most boring, stodgy dinner party of the year, however, she was more concerned with keeping her eyes open than with looking for traps. After the most wonderful day she could ever remember spending, her brother’s political acquaintances and strict prop
riety only reminded her how much she’d come to enjoy having Michael Edward Halboro in her life.
Everyone kept looking at her. At least it seemed as though she were receiving more attention than she usually did as the resident charming decoration of the household, but she ignored it as best she could. Even Clarence, trying to nudge her foot with his from across the table, only made her more determined to concentrate on the roast pheasant before her and excuse herself as soon as possible. Until Clarence proposed and she had to face reality, ignoring the entire thing and behaving in a slightly scandalous manner seemed the best plan.
“I heard the most extraordinary thing today,” Lady Alvington said over the clinking of silverware.
At the same time Aunt Houton glanced in Evie’s direction and frowned. Evie’s heartbeat quickened. Now she would find out if the Huntleys had reported that she had sat with St. Aubyn all day, holding his arm as often as she could, and that once she’d even brushed a ladybug from his dark hair. And Saint the terrible, the scoundrel, the dead shot with a pistol, had laughed and blown it from her fingers.
“What did you hear, my lady?” Victor asked.
“I almost hesitate to say, except that it bears directly on someone at this table.”
“Then you must say,” Genevieve Ruddick insisted.
Evie briefly wondered whether the theatricality was on her behalf, or whether they always spoke to one another in so dramatic a fashion because otherwise the dullness of the conversation would put them all to sleep. She paid so little attention to them, and even less lately, once she’d discovered how many more important things existed in life.
“Very well.” Lady Alvington leaned forward conspiratorially, though she didn’t bother lowering her voice. Gossip was no fun if the servants couldn’t overhear and pass it on. “Apparently the Marquis of St. Aubyn was involved in a kidnapping at that orphanage he oversees. That’s why he vanished for a week.”
All the blood drained from Evelyn’s face. Fighting pure panic, she took several breaths, trying to keep from fainting at the dining room table. Oh, no, no, no. Who had heard that? Saint would never tell anyone; he’d promised her.
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