London's Perfect Scoundrel (11 page)

Unable to draw a breath, Evelyn stared at Victor. Her brother was lying. That was the only explanation. “That is not true.”

“Of course it is. I heard it from Prinny himself. The Heart of Hope, or something like that. No doubt St. Aubyn’ll make a tidy profit in the deal, too. He’s not exactly known for his altruism.”

She yanked her arm free of his grasp. The pain of his grip was nothing compared to the aching, gaping hole his words had opened in her chest. Why would Saint do such a thing? On occasion, he almost seemed…nice. And those children were under his protection. If he in
tended to tear the building down, why had he allowed her to clean out the storerooms? And…

Evelyn scowled. Of course he’d let her empty the rooms downstairs. It would save him the trouble of having it done later. As for painting the walls, well, that would only be a minor inconvenience, and he hadn’t had to pay for it. And it had certainly kept her and the children from suspecting anything.

“Perhaps from now on you’ll listen to me when I attempt to advise you,” Victor said. “I do have your best interests at heart, you know.” He leaned closer. “Now go dance with someone and stop standing there with your mouth hanging open. You’ve done well tonight. Have a little fun.”

She snapped her jaw closed. Damn St. Aubyn. He was not going to destroy her only hope of contributing something worthwhile. She wouldn’t allow it.

S
he arrived early at the orphanage, entering the dining room just as the children were finishing their breakfast. In light of what she’d discovered, she could acknowledge that they were well fed, but that the fare was simple and prepared by the minimum necessary staff.

The walls, the roof, the building itself, all became pieces of the puzzle to which Victor had given her the key. Everything was adequate, and nothing more. Damn, damn, damn. How could she have been so blind? Everyone had warned her about St. Aubyn—she hadn’t listened, because the warnings had been about safeguarding her own reputation. They’d all said the same thing, though, that he did nothing without good reason, and that he never did anything for free.

“Miss Evie!” Rose squealed. She and Penny charged forward, hugging her about the waist. “I made a picture for you.”

“Did you? I can’t wait to see it!”

“It’s all of us dancing. I’m wearing a green dress, because green is my favorite color.”

Evie made a mental note to see that Rose received a green gown. They all needed new clothes, something more than the worn, nondescript clothing supplied by the orphanage. Unfortunately, she’d already used this month’s pin money for the paint and the instructors. Perhaps if she could convince Victor that she could aid him better in a new gown or two, he would advance her a bit more.

“Do we get to waltz again today?” Penny asked.

Even the more cynical Molly couldn’t quite keep the excited smile from her face. Evelyn smiled back, fighting the sudden urge for tears. The children were beginning to trust her, and the Marquis of St. Aubyn meant to ruin everything. Or at least he meant to try.

“We don’t have an orchestra, but I will show you the steps. Anyone who wants to learn to dance is welcome to join me in the ballroom.”

“Does that include me?” Saint’s low drawl came from the doorway.

She stiffened. Yesterday she’d found the marquis enigmatic and enticing, all at the same time. Today she wished she’d never met him at all. “Good morning, my lord,” she said through clenched teeth, not trusting herself to face him. “Say good morning, children.”

“Good morning, Lord St. Aubyn,” the chorus of younger ones sang.

“Good morning. Why don’t all of you head up to the ballroom? Miss Ruddick and I will join you in a moment.”

“Oh, nonsense,” she returned with a forced chuckle. “We’ll all go up together.”

To make sure that St. Aubyn wouldn’t intercept her, she joined hands with Rose and Penny. She needed—and wanted—to confront him about his treachery and his duplicity, but not until she decided what she wanted to say. And not until she could do it without bursting into tears or, as satisfying as it would be, punching him.

Saint fell in behind as the gaggle of orphans and their beloved Miss Evie climbed the stairs to the third floor. Apparently the orphanage’s entire populace wanted to practice the waltz.

Hanging back to watch suited him for the moment, anyway. Considering the heated dreams that had tortured his sleep for the few hours he’d managed to close his eyes, Evelyn’s greeting this morning had been like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head.

She’d probably heard about his confrontation with Dare and Wycliffe in Parliament and was attempting to punish him for his poor behavior. Since he hadn’t maimed anyone, however, he didn’t think he’d behaved all that badly.

Evelyn stopped in front of him, and he blinked. Her gown this morning was a soft rose muslin that somehow deepened the gray of her eyes. All she needed was a pair of wings to complete her angelic appearance. Him, lusting after an angel. No doubt both God and the devil were laughing at him.

“Will you partner with Molly?” she asked, her gaze somewhere past his shoulder.

“Which one is Molly?”

Gray eyes met his, then darted elsewhere again. “Don’t you know any of their names?”

Considering her mood, it probably wouldn’t be wise
to mention that he’d spent more time at the orphanage in the past two weeks than he had over the last entire year. “I know your name.”

“I’m not a resident of an establishment under your supervision. Molly is the green-eyed girl with the short red hair. She’s skittish around men, so be nice.”

She would have walked away, but Saint grabbed her arm. “Don’t give me orders, Evelyn,” he said in a low voice. “I’m here because I choose to be.”

Evelyn shrugged free. “Yes, well, the children aren’t.”

His sense of humor, already damaged from too much gin and not enough sleep, dwindled even further. “And do you think a few dancing lessons will improve their lot in life?”

A tear ran down her cheek. Evelyn swiped it away with an abrupt, impatient gesture. “And do you think tearing down their home will? Don’t you dare dictate your nonexistent moralities to me.”

Damnation
. “Who told you?”

“What does that matter?” she retorted, her face pale. “You are a despicable man. It makes me ill to look at you.”

Saint gazed at her. Anger swept along his muscles, anger and frustration, because now he would never have her. And if he couldn’t have what he wanted, neither could she. “Leave,” he snapped.

“You—What?”

“You heard me, Evelyn. You are no longer welcome here. Get out.”

Another tear ran down her cheek. “May I at least say good-bye?”

Her crying still bothered him. Whatever was wrong with him lately was her fault, he decided, but her
damned tears still troubled him—even when he was angry enough to strangle her. He nodded stiffly. “You have fifteen minutes. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

“Very well.”

Saint took one step closer. “And just remember, whatever you tell them, you’re not going to change anything. So I suggest you consider your little darlings’ feelings and keep your mouth shut,” he murmured.

“Bastard,” she muttered at his back.

Without a backward glance, he descended the stairs. When she looked around again, all of the children were staring at her. Whatever they knew, they had no power to change any of it. And she had no more control of this situation than they did. Only three or four people aside from St. Aubyn even knew she was here. So much for her supposed convictions about changing the world.

“What’s wrong, Miss Evie?”

She hurriedly wiped her eyes again. “I’m afraid that I…have to go,” she said. It was the most difficult sentence she’d ever uttered.

“That’s all right,” Penny said, skipping forward to take her hand. “You can waltz with us tomorrow.”

Oh, dear
. “No, Penny, I can’t. I’ve…I’ve…been asked to leave.”

“St. Aubyn don’t want you here anymore, do he?” Randall Baker scowled.

“No, that’s not…” Evie stopped. She was tired of defending everyone and standing up for everyone when they so obviously didn’t deserve it. She was not going to lie to these children—and certainly not on St. Aubyn’s behalf. “No,” she began again, “he doesn’t.”

“Why not?” Rose, tears in her own large brown eyes, grabbed Evie’s other hand.

“Because you wouldn’t let the bastard under your skirt, I’ll wager.” Matthew Radley pulled a cigar from his pocket.

She blushed. “You shouldn’t say such things, Matthew.”

“We all know it, Miss Evie.” This time it was Molly who stepped forward. “’E never used to spend much time here until you came.” Her lower lip quivered. “And now he’s making you leave.”

“We should lock St. Aubyn in the dungeon and let the rats eat ’im.”

Matthew’s suggestion met with cheers from the other children. Evie could understand the sentiment, but flights of imagination and plots of devilish revenge only took away from her remaining time with them. And she knew St. Aubyn would come to get her if she didn’t leave when he specified.

“Unfortunately, Matthew, you are children and I am a woman, and he is a marquis. And we don’t have a dungeon. Penny, why don’t you fetch a book, and I’ll read one last story to all of you?”

“We do have a dungeon,” young Thomas Kinnett insisted. “With chains and everything. And we have rats, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

Penny tugged her toward the back stairs. “Come on. We’ll show you.”

Whatever they thought they’d seen, it seemed important to them. And if St. Aubyn or any of the other board members had set up some nefarious chamber of horrors, she could alert the authorities and maybe even stop demolition of the place. Dark as St. Aubyn was, dungeons didn’t quite seem his style, but at the moment she was so angry that she wouldn’t put anything past him.

The children, unusually quiet for them, led her to the back of the building and down four flights of older, even more decrepit stairs to the large larder. The cellar was crowded with old boxes and bedding and new supplies for the orphans—sacks of flour, barrels of apples, and the like. In the musty, windowless dimness it did seem rather…dungeonlike, but she had to admit that she saw nothing horrific or remotely illegal.

“Yes, it’s very scary in here,” she agreed, so as not to hurt their feelings, “but unless we pelt the marquis with apples, I don’t see anything useful.”

“Not here, Miss Evie,” Randall said with a slight, superior grin. “Over there.”

Together he and Matthew and Adam Henson, another of the older boys, shoved aside a stack of old bedding. Once the dust settled, she made out the outline of a door in the wall the old mattresses had concealed. Randall elbowed it open while Molly produced a candle.

Inside, a short, narrow set of steps led to another door, this one slightly ajar. A small window inset with bars decorated the top portion of it. “Randall, let me go first,” she said, lifting the candle.

“But there’s spiders,” Rose whispered from behind her.

Spiders?
“All right, but be careful,” she said shakily, motioning the tall youth to precede her.

He grinned and pushed the heavy door open the rest of the way. “Right.”

As soon as she entered, she realized what the small room must be. “This is the old soldiers’ brig, I would imagine,” she whispered.

Two sets of shackles, two each for wrists and ankles, hung from the walls. A small stool and a bucket were the
only furniture, other than a pair of sconces for candles on either side of the door.

“You see?” Thomas asked, lifting one of the leg shackles and dragging it halfway across the room until the chain went taut, “we could lock Lord St. Aubyn in here and no one would know.”

“Well, it’s a very nice thought, my dears, and I do appreciate it, but kidnapping a nobleman is not a good idea.”

“But if we made him stay in here, you could keep visiting us every day.” A tear ran down Penny’s cheek.

Her brother, William, put a skinny arm around her shoulder. “Don’t cry, pretty Penny.”

“But I wanted to learn how to read.”

“Aye, so did I,” Randall said in a grimmer voice. “And I heard him tell Mrs. Natham once that he should just tear down this place and be done with us.”

“Oh, Randall, don’t—”

Matthew chuckled around the stub of his unlit cigar. “’E couldn’t tear it down if he was locked underneath it, now, could ’e?”

Evie stared at the towheaded boy. They were just bandying stories; they had no idea the marquis actually meant to reduce the orphanage—for some of them the only home they’d ever known—to a pile of rubble.

“You’re tempted, ain’t you, Miss Evie?” Randall said in a lower voice. “We’ll make you a bargain: You promise to come back in a few days, and we promise you won’t have to worry about St. Aubyn trying to stop you.”

Her heart began to race. Saint had warned her that some of the orphans here were already master criminals, but she had to wonder if he had any idea just how far
they would go if they felt threatened. Whatever she told them, once she left today they might very well attempt to lock the marquis in here, and someone would more than likely get hurt—or worse. And even if they did manage it, they could never let him out. Abducting a nobleman, even one with as scandalous a reputation as St. Aubyn’s—was still a hanging offense.

On the other hand, if Saint could be forced to become acquainted with them, to see how badly these children needed someone to care about them, and how desperately they needed this family they’d formed for themselves at the Heart of Hope Orphanage, maybe he would change his mind.

She blinked. And maybe he would learn what it was to be a gentleman, and a man in the best sense of the word.

Oh, this was insane. But if she turned her back or even attempted to warn St. Aubyn, the children would end up in a worse position than if she’d never come to the orphanage at all. If she kept control of the situation, though, made the rules and guided the plot, maybe, just maybe, she could save everyone. And even make a difference.

“All right,” she said slowly, sitting on the stool, “we all have to agree to this. And we all have to agree that I’m in charge. What I say, goes. Agreed?”

Matthew pulled the cigar from his mouth and saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Good. I have to tell you something first. And we must work quickly.”