London's Perfect Scoundrel (6 page)

With another blurbled word, Elizabeth wrapped her fists into her father’s jacket and giggled again.

“Did you hear that?” the duke asked with a wide grin, turning to Dare. “She said ‘papa.’”

The viscount returned the candy dish and tea tray to the relocated end table. “I distinctly heard ‘baboon.’”

“Hm, well, you’re distinctly deaf.”

“I heard that.”

Laughing, Emma shooed the two tall men toward the door. “Go away. We’re chatting.”

Immediately Dare came to a stop. “About what?” His glance took in Evelyn, and she remembered his earlier warning about Saint. Well, she hadn’t turned her back on the marquis; he’d kissed her right on the mouth.

“French fashions and jewelry,” the duchess answered without a pause.

“Gak. I say we teach Lizzie to play billiards,” the viscount returned, grimacing.

The duke nodded, motioning him out the door. “It’s suggestions like that which make me glad I encouraged you to marry my cousin.”

“‘Encouraged’ me? As I recall, you threatened to shoot me if I didn’t.”

The argument faded down the hallway, while Evelyn sat back, listening in wonderment. These two men had at one time been well known for their black reputations and bedchamber escapades. Now, however, one of them cradled an infant as though it were the most natural thing in the world, while the other would be in a similar situation within six months.

“Evelyn?”

She shook herself. “My apologies, Emma. What did you say?”

The duchess smiled. “I just asked whether you needed any help in putting your organizational plan together.”

“Thank you, but no. I would like to attempt to do it on my own.”

It wasn’t that she couldn’t use the help, but Saint seemed to think she was an imbecile good for nothing but warming his bed. If she received help, he would know it, and he would undoubtedly say something about it—in front of the rest of the board of trustees. No, this was her project, and she would put it together herself.

“Of course. But please remember, I’m available if you have any questions.”

After some cursory chatting about French fashions and jewelry, Evelyn and Lucinda left Brakenridge House. She’d made a small beginning already, but now, with her stack of borrowed books beside her, she felt as
though she had half a chance of putting together something acceptable. The only problem was, acceptable wasn’t good enough. The plan needed to be perfect, and she needed to have it ready in two days.

And the proposal wasn’t the only part of this that needed to be ready; she was determined that the Marquis of St. Aubyn would not send her fleeing again. Nor would she allow him to kiss her again. Whatever amusement he was after, she wouldn’t be the one to provide it.

Saint narrowed his eyes. “I am not nearly drunk enough to approve funds for you to tally up the contents of the storage rooms, Rutledge.”

Timothy Rutledge gave him a black look, his earnest posture taking on a distinctive defeated slouch. “There is sixty years’ worth of accumulated furniture, paintings, re—”

“If you’re so curious,” Saint interrupted, “tally it yourself.” He sat forward. “But if I find you’ve sold one stick of it, I’ll be very…unhappy.”

“I—”

“Give it up, Rutledge,” Sir Edward Willsley said gruffly, downing the remains of his glass of port. “I would never have approved it, either.”

“Your thefts will have to be more creative than that, if you wish them to get past me.” With a dismissive glance, Saint refilled his own glass, then Sir Edward’s. All this was a great deal of nonsense, anyway. The only merit to Rutledge’s prattling was that it kept Saint occupied while he waited to see whether Evelyn Marie would appear.

He doubted it, but not enough to forgo the board meeting altogether. Waiting, however, didn’t sit well with him under most circumstances; here, he felt distinctly
territorial and defensive of his inherited territory—no doubt to Rutledge’s dismay.

“So do we have any other new business to discuss?” Lord Talirand asked around a puff of cigar smoke.

Sir Edward cleared his throat. “The leftmost window in the older boys’ dormitory is coming loose from the casement again.”

Saint offered a faint grin. “How else would they slip out at night?”

“What?” The baronet sat forward. “You knew?”

“I’m not blind, Willsley.”

“Ha. You’d turn this establishment into a thieves’ rookery if it was up to you.”

Lord Talirand exhaled another cloud of smoke. “At least then we’d be making a profit.”

Saint only sipped his port, reflecting that the only thing worse than being on the Heart of Hope Orphanage board of trustees was having to attend the meetings.

Someone scratched at the door, and he was on his feet before he registered the wish to remain seated. A slow heat ran under his skin. Damnation, that had best be her.

“Expecting someone?” Talirand drawled, eyeing him.

“Eager to escape,” he countered, strolling to the door and pulling it open. “What is it?”

The housekeeper jumped backward. “My…you said…it’s Miss Ruddick.”

“Show her in, Mrs. Housekeeper.”

“Natham, my lord.”

He ignored her squawking as Evelyn came forward, and ignored the shuffle of feet as the board stood behind him. She wore a pale green muslin, high in the neck and very plain for one of the diamonds of Mayfair. Her auburn hair, coiled severely at the back of her head, gave
her the appearance of a governess; no doubt she intended to look demure and businesslike.

She curtsied. “Good afternoon, Lord St. Aubyn, Lord Talirand, gentlemen,” she said, passing by Saint and keeping her gaze turned away from him.

“How brave of you,” he murmured, motioning her toward his vacated chair. “And you’ve brought gifts.” Wanting to touch her, he settled for tapping his fingers against the stack of papers she held in her arms.

“Supporting documents,” she returned, setting them on the chair.

“What brings you here today?” Rutledge asked, coming forward to take her hand and draw it to her lips.

Saint felt her glance, but ignored it, making his way over to lean against the writing desk. He wanted a vantage point from which to observe her, where the others couldn’t see him doing so. Informing anyone of her anticipated arrival smacked of servitude, and he hadn’t been keen on giving any of the other males in the room advance notice, anyway.

“I…am here to present a proposal for improvements to the orphanage,” she said, her voice only a little unsteady. “Lord St. Aubyn seemed to feel that I should be allowed to donate my time and money only if I could account for the wheres and hows.”

Talirand favored her with a smile as the board seated themselves once more. “How delightful. Please tell us your plans, Miss Ruddick.”

At that she launched into a presentation concerning education, clothing, food, building improvements, and several vast social issues. Saint didn’t note much of it. Instead, he caught himself studying the way her hands moved, the turn of her head, and the earnest, enthusiastic
expression on her mobile face. Whatever she was after, she seemed to think this was how she would achieve it.

He didn’t doubt that he could wear her down, bring her to the point where she would beg for his caress, for his kiss, for his hands on her bare skin. The question was why he seemed to be obsessed with her. Fatima, among others of his former lovers, would laugh if she knew he was hard for a virginal chit.

At the sound of polite applause, he shook himself. Whatever she’d said, his fellow board members had liked it—though they’d probably decided to give over their support as soon as she’d mentioned donating money.

“I find your enthusiasm quite admirable,” Willsley said. “If you need any assistance or advice in managing your project, I hope you’ll feel free to come to me.”

Rutledge nodded, as well. “You’ll no doubt find this management business far too dull and complicated for someone of your tender sensibilities. I am at your service.”

Scavengers
, Saint thought. Let them have the remains; he wanted the main course.

Evelyn smiled with the smooth expression he’d often seen her use to charm her dance partners, angelic and a little aloof. “Thank you very much, gentlemen. Does this mean I have your approval?”

Even Talirand was standing now, the scent of a weak-witted female with funds practically making him salivate. “Shall we take a vote? All in favor say aye.”

The eager chorus of ayes was nauseating.

“Well, St. Aubyn, what about you?” Rutledge asked. “Surely you have no objection to Miss Ruddick’s proposal. Aye or nay?”

Saint remained in his relaxed slouch, deciding his own position. He could refuse; he didn’t need her meddling while he was trying to dispose of the place. Evelyn would be angry and stomp home and slight him at soirees for the remainder of his life. That was well and good, except for one thing—he’d never have her spread beneath him, moaning his name.

He pursed his lips, gazing at the object of his interest. “I assume this little experiment will remain under my supervision?”

Evelyn’s confident smile faltered just a little. No doubt she didn’t know what to do with a male who didn’t fall to his knees at the sight of her smile. “If you insist,” she hedged.

“I do insist.”

She lifted her chin, the fine blush of her cheeks deepening. “Then yes, my project may be placed under your supervision.”

He gave her a slow smile. “Then my answer is aye.”

“E
velyn!”

Evie froze halfway out the front door of Ruddick House. Before she could decide whether to risk a dash out to the waiting coach or not, Victor stomped down the last flight of stairs. Crossing his arms and glowering, he came to a stop in front of her.

“Good morning,” she said, favoring him with a bright smile.

“I stopped by Aunt Houton’s yesterday,” he snapped. “She hasn’t seen you in over a week.”

“That’s where—”

“You missed the Tuesday West Sussex Ladies’ Tea.”

“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 admired 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.”