London's Perfect Scoundrel Page 3

  He nodded. “Very well. We meet again a week from Friday.”

  Her soft lips opened and then closed soundlessly. “Thank you.”

  “Shall I write it down for you, to be certain you remember?”

  Her blush deepened. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Good.”

  “I…do have another request, my lord.”

  Saint folded his arms. “I’m waiting.”

  “I insist on visiting the orphanage again first, so that I may see what the children most need. That’s the only way I may be certain that my presence there would actually have some benefit for them.”

  He didn’t laugh in her face, but the cynical humor in his eyes deepened. Evie kept her own expression stern and serious. Perhaps he found her silly and amusing, but she could accept that if he would allow her to proceed.

  “And have you asked the other board members about this?” he asked.

  “No. You said you were the chairman, and so I have come to you.”

  His look became more speculative. “So you have.”

  Evie kept forgetting to breathe in his presence, probably because her heart began pounding in her throat the moment she considered approaching him to speak. “Do you agree?”

  “I have a condition of my own.”

  Oh, dear. Now he would undoubtedly make another insulting remark about wanting to bed her or something. “Yes?” she asked anyway.

  “You will be escorted for the entire duration of your visit.”

  She blinked. “I agree.”

  “And…” he continued, that slight, sensuous smile touching his lips again, “you will waltz with me.”

  “A…a waltz, my lord?” she squeaked.

  “A waltz.”

  If she could put him off until after he agreed to her plan, perhaps she could avoid it entirely. “I’m spoken for this evening, of course, but I’m sure I could save a waltz for you this Season.”

  He shook his head, a dark strand of hair falling across one eye. “Tonight. Now.”

  “But I told you, I’m spoken f—”

  “The next waltz is mine, or you and your pretty bottom will stay out of the Heart of Hope Orphanage.”

  So the Marquis of St. Aubyn was making declarations again, hoping she would run liked a scared rabbit and he wouldn’t have to deal with her any longer. Well, this wasn’t about him; it was about her, and about how she hadn’t been able to get the children or the orphanage out of her mind. No one had ever valued her assistance before; at the orphanage, what she did would be important.

  “Very well,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “May I inform Lord Mayfew that I must decline his invitation?”

  Something unreadable touched his gaze for a fleeting moment. “No, you may not.” As if waiting for his cue, the waltz began out on the ballroom floor. He gestured toward the main room. “Now or never, Miss Ruddick.”

  “Now.”

  Prior to this evening, the most daring, scandalous thing she’d ever done was put on her brother’s clothes for a masquerade soiree, and that had been at Adamley Hall in West Sussex when she’d been fifteen. Her mother had fainted. This would probably kill Genevieve Ruddick.

  The marquis led the way to the crowded dance floor, declining to take her hand and no doubt hoping she would take the opportunity of his turned back to flee. Evie was tempted.

  At the edge of the floor he faced her, and with a last strangled breath she joined him there. His hand slid slowly about her waist, drawing her still closer while she waited for lightning to strike her dead.

  Lord Mayhew appeared, but whatever protest he’d been about to utter vanished in a convulsive swallow as he saw her companion. St. Aubyn merely looked at the baron and abruptly Mayhew turned away, scurrying off as though he’d remembered the immediate need to relieve himself.

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered. Perhaps Georgie and Luce were right, after all. Chivalry was dead.

  And St. Aubyn was kicking stones into the grave. “Changed your mind?” he asked, taking her fingers in his other hand.

  This close he smelled of shaving soap and brandy. Her eyes were level with his crisp white cravat, and she didn’t want to look up at him. This close, he…overwhelmed her, every scandalous tale she’d ever heard about him swirling about in her mind. What was she doing, standing in the embrace of the Marquis of St. Aubyn?

  With a slight shift of his hand, he guided them into the waltz. She’d never seen him dance before that she could recall, but Evie wasn’t surprised that he moved with elegance and grace. And light as his grip was, she felt the steel beneath. Evie had no doubt that she wouldn’t be able to escape unless he let her.

  “Look at me,” he murmured, his soft breath in her hair reminding Evie of his intimate conversation with Lady Gladstone.

  Swallowing, she lifted her chin. “You’re very mean, you know.”

  An eyebrow lifted. “I’m giving you what you asked for.”

  “In exchange for humiliating me.”

  “I only requested a waltz. I might have asked for something much more intimate, you know.”

  Evie decided she might as well blush. He probably thought beet-red was her natural coloring, anyway. “You already did, and I refused you.”

  St. Aubyn chuckled, the sound unexpected and warm. Even his eyes lit just a little, and she wondered for a fleeting moment why he seemed so determined to be jaded and cynical all the time.

  “Sharing my bed was a suggestion, not a request. A very good suggestion, by the way.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I don’t even like you. Why would I want to…become intimate with you?”

  For a moment he looked genuinely surprised. “What does liking someone have to do with anything? It’s the act that’s pleasurable.”

  Oh, God, now she was going to faint. Discussing sexual intercourse in the middle of a ballroom with the Marquis of St. Aubyn was akin to a demand to be ruined. He’d kept his voice low, though, and she hoped no one had overhead their discussion. As for what else anyone might think she could possibly be chatting about with him, she would worry about that later. “I admit to ignorance about the details you discuss,” she returned, “but I would think any interaction between two people would be…nicer if genuine affection were involved.”

  “Your naïveté is truly remarkable,” he said, then lowered his head to whisper, “and I would be happy to relieve your ignorance.”

  His lips brushed her ear, feather-light, and she shivered. He’s just playing with me, she told herself desperately. He’s bored, and he’s trying to keep himself entertained. “Stop that,” she commanded, annoyed that her voice shook.

  The waltz ended, and he released her before she could pull away. She expected another intimate, insulting comment, but instead he sketched an elegant bow. “You’ve fulfilled your part of our agreement,” he said, lips curving in a soft smile. “Be there at ten tomorrow morning to meet your escort. If you’re late, you lose the opportunity.”

  Again before she could react, he strolled into the crowd of guests. They parted in a wave before him. Evie abruptly felt the need for some fresh air.

  The noisy, tittering crowd parted for her as well, as she made her way to the balcony. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she didn’t need to; their conversation would feature the Ruddick name and the St. Aubyn title, and that couldn’t be good.

  “Evie,” a female voice said behind her, and a hand clasped hers.

  “Lucinda,” she returned, light-headed with relief. “I had no idea you were h—”

  “Are you mad?” Lucinda Barrett continued in the same hushed voice, though from her smile anyone in the audience would think they were discussing primroses. “St. Aubyn? Do you know what your brother would say if he knew?”

  “I’m sure he does know,” Evie answered, as they stepped out onto the cool balcony. “The only time he notices I have a mind of my own is when I’m doing something he doesn’t approve of.”

  Lucinda gazed at her with serious hazel
eyes. “This time I would be inclined to agree with him. Rebellion is one thing, but St. Aubyn?”

  “Did you know he’s on the board of trustees at the Heart of Hope Orphanage?”

  Her friend’s mouth opened and closed again. “No, I didn’t. The poor dears. But Evie, what does that have to do with the price of pudding?”

  “I want to begin some programs there,” Evelyn answered, wondering how she could convince Lucinda about the importance of her plans when she didn’t quite understand yet herself why it was becoming so significant.

  “That’s…admirable.”

  “You don’t think I can do it, do you?” she retorted, the evening’s frustrations making her voice harder than she intended.

  “It’s not that,” Lucinda said quickly. “It’s…If you’ve decided how you want to focus your energies, there are other places and in better areas that aren’t associated with the Marquis of St. Aubyn.”

  “Yes, I know. But I chose this place before I knew about him, and I think it would be cowardly of me to turn away from those in need simply because one board member has a poor reputation.” He was the chairman of the board, and “poor” didn’t begin to describe his reputation, actually, but that didn’t change the argument.

  “Even so,” her friend said, more slowly, “that doesn’t explain why you were waltzing with him.”

  “Oh. That was a trade: He agreed to have someone show me about the orphanage tomorrow if I would waltz with him.”

  From her expression, Lucinda remained unconvinced that Evie hadn’t lost her mind. Good friend that she was, though, Miss Barrett only nodded. “Please just remember, St. Aubyn never does anything without exacting a price, and what he does is never in anyone else’s best interest.”

  The memory of his lips brushing her ear made Evie shiver. “I do know that, Luce. Contrary to popular male opinion, I’m not a complete idiot.”

  “Even so, you may want to discuss St. Aubyn with Dare. They know one another.”

  “Oh, very well, if it’ll make you feel any better.”

  “How I feel doesn’t signify, Evie. Just be cautious.”

  “I will.” She sighed at Lucinda’s worried expression. “I promise.”

  Victor stood waiting for her just inside. “Evie.”

  Motioning for Lucinda to go, Evelyn wondered whether one had to be of a certain age before suffering an apoplexy, or if anyone could succumb. “Victor.”

  He grabbed her arm, the gesture seemingly affectionate, except that it would likely leave a bruise. “We are leaving,” he rumbled. “Of all the stupid, naive, empty-headed—”

  “One more word,” she said in a low voice, “and I will fall to the floor in a dead faint. That will make you look very, very mean.”

  With a baleful look, he released her. “We will continue this at home,” he growled.

  Wonderful. “Undoubtedly.” She glanced over his shoulder, seeing a dark-haired savior approaching. “Now, if you don’t mind, my partner for the quadrille is waiting.”

  Victor swung his head around. “Dare.”

  Tristan Carroway, Viscount Dare, nodded back at him, his solemn face at odds with the twinkle in his light blue eyes. “Ruddick.”

  Sending her a last, angry look, Victor strode off in the direction of his latest political allies. “Ogre,” she muttered.

  “I hope you realize I’d rather break my neck than dance a quadrille,” Dare said, taking her arm.

  “I know.”

  “I’ve been commanded to escort you to Georgiana,” he said amiably, guiding her around the fringes of the crowd. “She wants to chastise you.”

  Everyone seemed to, tonight. “And what do you think, my lord?”

  “I think that whatever game Saint is playing, you probably don’t want to be a part of it.”

  “I thought you were friends.”

  The viscount shrugged. “We used to be. Now we play cards together on occasion.”

  “Why does everyone call him Saint?”

  “Besides the obvious? He inherited the St. Aubyn title when he was six or seven. I would guess that ‘Saint’ seemed better suited to a youth than the mouthful of ‘Marquis of St. Aubyn.’ Now, though, I imagine he finds it…amusing, since he’s about the furthest thing from a saint there is without taking hell into account.”

  “Why?”

  “You’d have to ask him—not that I would, if I were you. Which I’m not, thank God, since I’d look dreadful in an evening gown.”

  Evie chuckled, though Dare’s comments were a little surprising. His own reputation as a rake had been well warranted, to say the least, though now that he’d married his heretofore harshest critic, most of the gossip had ceased. If he felt it necessary to caution her about St. Aubyn, his words were something she should take seriously.

  “Thank you for the warning,” she said, granting him a warm smile, “but Lord St. Aubyn is merely an obstacle to the commencement of a project of mine. In another few days I’ll have little or no reason even to set eyes on him.”

  “Well, until that time, just don’t turn your back on him, Evie.”

  That didn’t leave her feeling the least bit better about any of this. At the same time, all of the rumors and finally meeting St. Aubyn face-to-face made her nothing if not more curious. As things were, however, she’d be better off leaving her questions about him unanswered.

  She spent the next morning organizing questions and points to look for during her tour of the orphanage. Thankfully Victor stomped off to one of his meetings early, leaving her with one of his perturbed glares that wondered why she even breathed when he hadn’t instructed her to do so. The longer she could put off a confrontation over her waltz with St. Aubyn, the more likely he was to forget about it—especially if he needed her to go to a tea party or charm one of his fat, bald compatriots.

  If he discovered her plans, he would forbid her to have anything to do with the orphanage. And if that happened, she wasn’t certain what she would do. Best, then, if he didn’t find out.

  The only places she could go without a chaperone were Lucinda’s, Georgiana’s, or her Aunt Houton’s, so she told the butler that Victor would be able to find her at her aunt’s. That seemed the location least likely to raise his ire or his suspicions. It was ridiculous, to have to lie about doing good deeds, but she didn’t want her plans ruined before she even had a chance to begin them.

  When Phillip stopped the coach on Great Titchfield Road, she sat inside for a long moment, making certain she had her pencil and papers and notes so she wouldn’t look like a fool in front of her escort—or the children. “Please wait for me,” she said as she emerged. “I may be a short while.”

  The driver nodded. “It’s all that heavy traffic between Ruddick House and Lord and Lady Houton’s,” he said, shutting the door behind her and climbing back up to his perch.

  Evelyn smiled at him, more grateful than she could express. Since Victor’s return from India, all the servants had aided her escapes from his frequent political diatribes. They had to know that if he discovered their activities, any or all of them would be summarily dismissed.

  She hurried across the street. As she knocked at the orphanage doors, Evie frowned. St. Aubyn hadn’t said who would be leading her about the orphanage. She hoped it wouldn’t be that dreadful housekeeper. Evie couldn’t imagine she would be the least bit helpful or understanding.

  The door creaked open. “Yes?” the housekeeper asked, her broad shoulders filling the doorway.

  Drat. “I had an appointment this morn—”

  The housekeeper bobbed an awkward curtsy. “Oh,…you’re Miss Ruddick,” she stammered, bobbing again. “Please come in. You’re expected, miss.”

  Evie walked past her into the foyer, not certain whether to be alarmed or relieved at the housekeeper’s sudden politeness. Any further contemplation, though, halted as she caught sight of the figure leaning against the stair banister.

  Even in the middle of the morning on a pleasant summer’s day i
n London, the Marquis of St. Aubyn had about him the aura of a figure of the night. It was probably his reputation, but even without that, Evie would have known that he didn’t belong in a place of plain, graying white walls and tallow candles. Chandeliers and rich wall coverings and dim, curtained bedchambers seemed much more his natural habitat.

  “You’re staring, Miss Ruddick,” he said, straightening.

  She started. “I’m merely surprised to see you this morning,” she countered. “I mean, I appreciate your personally bringing word that I’m to have a tour, but you might have sent a note.”

  He nodded, coming toward her with that panther’s stalk of his. “I have to admit, usually when I see this side of morning it’s because I haven’t yet gone to bed.”

  Evie wasn’t quite certain how to answer that. “Ah. Well, if Mrs….” She trailed off, at a loss.

  Saint glanced at the housekeeper. “What the devil is your name, anyway?”

  “Mrs. Natham,” the housekeeper answered. From her tone, it wasn’t the first time she’d supplied him with the information.

  “Thank you,” Evie said, offering the woman a half smile. They’d simply gotten off to a poor start; there was no reason to assume they couldn’t deal together. “If you don’t mind, Mrs. Natham, I would like to begin the tour.”

  “I…but…ah…”

  “She isn’t conducting your tour,” the marquis said, cynical humor touching his voice. “I am.”

  “You?” Evie blurted, before she could stop herself.

  “Yes, I. Shall we?” He led the way to a door on the right side of the foyer and held it open for her.

  “But…don’t you have more important things to do?”

  “Not a one.” His mouth curved in that sensuous smile of his. “You asked for a tour. I am providing one. Decline, and you’re free to walk out the door. But you won’t be allowed back again.”

  So that was it. Another of St. Aubyn’s attempts at control through intimidation. This morning, however, she wasn’t in the mood to be intimidated. Today she could begin doing something useful, and no jaded, arrogant marquis was going to make her run away.