London's Perfect Scoundrel (26 page)

“Don’t tell me that,” Saint protested. “Tell me whether you can imagine me as a married man or not.”

To his surprise, the butler set aside his brandy snifter and sat forward. “My lord, I do not wish to overstep my bounds, but I have noticed a…change in your demeanor, of late. The question of whether anyone can imagine you married or not, however, is one I believe must be answered by you. And the lady, of course.”

Saint frowned. “Coward.”

“There is that, as well.”

The clock on the landing chimed once. “Go to bed, Jansen. A bloody lot of help you’ve been.”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler padded to the doorway, then paused. “If I may, perhaps the question you should ask yourself is whether you would be happier with a wife or without one.”

Jansen vanished into the darkness of the hallway, but Saint sat where he was, sipping at his brandy in the dim, flickering candlelight. At issue wasn’t marriage to
a
woman, but marriage to
the
woman. Would he be happier possessing Evelyn, or seeing Clarence Alvington do so? The answer wasn’t a simple yes or no, or a
resolve to behave or to carry on as he had since before he’d been seventeen, because the question wasn’t whether he’d be happy with her, but whether he’d survive without her.

A
s soon as Evie saw the fresh strawberries on the sideboard, she knew what Victor intended. Her brother was already seated at the table, partway through his usual breakfast of toasted bread with honey, and sliced ham. The ever-present morning edition of the
London Times
lay at his elbow, for once unopened and unread.

“Good morning, Evie,” he said.

She selected a few strawberries and a slice of fresh bread. “Good morning.”

“I trust your evening went well?”

Considering that he generally referred to her twice-monthly literary sojourn as the “bluestocking gossip circle,” she felt justified in her suspicions. And considering that all she could remember of last night was Saint sitting beside her and being naughty and pleasant all at the same time, she had no complaints about the evening at all.

“Evie?”

She shook visions of Saint from her mind, though he never went far. “Oh. Yes, it went well. Thank you.”

“What did you discuss?”

Evie took her plate to the table and sat. “Where’s Mama?”

“She’ll be down in a moment. How are the strawberries?”

Evie wanted to throw one at him. He was so obvious, pretending to be polite and concerned so she wouldn’t argue when he demanded that she marry stupid Clarence Alvington. And of course she would argue anyway, and storm out of the room, and end up doing exactly as he wanted, because that’s what she always did. Well, she’d learned some new games recently, and from a very practiced player. And she had better reasons these days for carrying through with her own plans rather than her brother’s. Fifty-three reasons, to be exact, ranging in age from seven to seventeen. “The strawberries are lovely. Thank you for requesting them.”

He glanced at her for a moment, suspicion crossing his face, then went back to eating. “You’re welcome.”

Their mother arrived, sweeping into the room and placing a delicate kiss on Victor’s cheek, then Evie’s. “Good morning, my darlings. It’s so nice when we all breakfast together. We should do it more often.”

Don’t yell
, Evie told herself.
Whatever they say, don’t yell
. “Yes, we should. What was it you wanted to tell me, Victor?”

Her brother wiped the corner of his mouth on his napkin. “Firstly, I wanted to thank you for your assistance this Season. You’ve helped me make some very lucrative connections.”

“Yes, I know I have. You’re welcome.”

Her mother sighed. “Evie, don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult. I’m agreeing that I’ve been helpful.”

Victor frowned. “If you’ll let me finish? Thank you. You’ve also made your share of mischief.”

She nodded, knowing precisely to what he was referring. “Yes, and St. Aubyn introduced you to Wellington.”

Langley stirred in the corner, and for a brief moment Evelyn thought she saw a smile twitch across his stern, professional countenance. At least someone was on her side.

“That isn’t the point.”

“May I ask what the point is, then? Yesterday we were simply discussing alternatives, or so you said.”

He eyed her over the rim of his coffee cup. “The point is, an alliance with Lord Alvington will secure me enough votes to assume Plimpton’s seat in the House of Commons. And, as you know, I have been looking for a proper match for you for some time, someone who will nurture your better qualities and who won’t stifle your…lighthearted manner. I am fond of you, Evie, and I haven’t come to this conclusion lightly. If Clarence Alvington hadn’t satisfied my requirements, I wouldn’t have chosen him for you. And yes, please note that I have not tried to conceal the fact that the decision has benefit for me, as well.” He sat forward. “Before you begin screaming about it, hear me out.”

Evie clenched her hands together very tightly in her lap. “I’m listening.”

“You—All right.”

He was too much of a politician to show more surprise than that, but Evie also knew him better than any of his political acquaintances and allies. She’d set him off balance.

Victor cleared his throat. “Mister Alvington has confided in me several times how much he adores you, and what an asset you’ll be when he takes his father’s place as the viscount.”

“And what does he think of my friendship with Lord St. Aubyn?” It was the most defiant question she could think to ask. Saint’s lack of restraint in expressing his opinion might be refreshing, but she didn’t have the same freedom he did.

“
I
don’t think much of it,” Victor said in a harder voice, “which is what should matter. You’d do best to be more concerned with maintaining your reputation for propriety. It’s not only Clarence and myself who have to approve the match. The Alvingtons’ sense of humor is nonexistent when it comes to their reputation and good name.”

Oh, really?
She’d suspected as much, but hearing Victor say it gave her the inkling of a plan. “So it’s all decided,” she said in as cool a voice as she could manage, “between you and the Alvingtons?”

“You need to marry anyway,” her mother said. “It might as well be to someone useful and inoffensive.”

Evie wasn’t certain she agreed with that assessment of Clarence Alvington’s character, but arguing seemed utterly useless. They’d already decided her fate. She swallowed down a cold lump of stone that had risen in her throat. She wasn’t married yet, but with the next word she spoke, she needed either to agree to their interpretation of her life or to deliberately begin working against them toward her own. “All right.”

Victor blinked. “What did you say?”

Breathe
. “Who am I to argue with my brother and my own mother? If you don’t have my best interests in mind, no one does.”

Her brother’s eyes narrowed. “Be serious.”

“I am perfectly serious.”

“You’ll marry Clarence Alvington. Without kicking up a tantrum.”

“If he’ll have me.” But before it came to that, she needed some time to put a plan into motion. “I would like to be asked, though. And if he wooed me, rather than just signing a piece of paper, that would be nice.”

“I’ll see to it.” Victor pushed to his feet. “I have a meeting. I’m taking you at your word, Evie, that you won’t refuse this match.”

Any response she made would only make him even more suspicious, so she settled for nodding as he picked up the newspaper and left the room.
Ha
. If the Alvingtons were so concerned with propriety, she knew exactly what she needed to do. Clarence Alvington would never ask her to marry him if she didn’t measure up to his family’s strict standards. Therefore, all she needed to do was utilize a few of the lessons Saint had given her. A little naughtiness should keep Clarence away.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mrs. Ruddick said, reaching over to squeeze Evie’s hand. “I knew Victor would find you a good match.”

“Yes, I’ll be so happy, marrying for love like this.” Evie finished her last strawberry and stood. “If you don’t mind, I’m going walking with Lucinda and Georgie.”

“I understand sarcasm, my dear,” Genevieve said in a low voice. “I urged you to find someone before your brother returned from India, but you insisted on playing about with your friends. Now you have no choice.”

“I might have had a choice if you had stood with me for a change, instead of with Victor. You never asked me if I had any dreams, or ambitions, or wishes. You just assumed that I didn’t. I don’t mind helping Victor, but I
don’t understand why I have to be the only one to make a sacrifice.”

“Evie—”

“I’ll see you for tea with Lady Humphreys, Mama.”

Gathering her bonnet and shawl, she escaped out the front door, Sally on her heels. Evie frowned at her maid as they turned up the street. “I’m just going to see Lucinda. You don’t need to come.”

“Mister Ruddick says I’m to accompany you everywhere,” Sally replied with an apologetic smile.

“Did he say why?”

“He only told me to make certain you behave, and to tell him if you don’t.” The maid dropped a slight, nervous curtsy. “I would never do that, Miss Ruddick, but Mr. Ruddick would dismiss me if he knew.”

“Then he will never know. We’ll invent something for you to tell him, so you won’t get into trouble, and so he won’t be suspicious.” Feeling more optimistic than she had all morning, Evie patted Sally on the arm. “And thank you.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, Miss Ruddick. Thank goodness. I didn’t know what I should do.”

A horse drew up alongside them, matching their pace. “I seem to always come across you in the wrong conveyance,” Saint’s deep voice said. “I can’t very well offer you and your maid a ride on Cassius.”

Taking a slow, delicious breath, Evelyn looked up at him. With his blue beaver hat perched at a jaunty angle on his dark, curling hair and his easy seat in the saddle, he looked the image of a perfect, if slightly rakish, gentleman. Sometimes she thought she’d be content just to sit and look at him all day. “Good morning,” she said, when she realized she was staring.

He swung down from the saddle, taking the reins in
his left hand, and fell into step beside her. “Good morning. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. What makes you ask?”

“Don’t ever lie to me, Evelyn,” he said in a lower voice, though his expression when she glanced over at him was more thoughtful than angry. “Your honesty seems to be the one reliable thing in the world.”

“Heavens. I had no idea I was so important,” she returned, forcing a smile. Damnation, she needed to plan her strategy for avoiding marriage with Clarence. Saint was so distracting she could barely remember her own name when he was present.

He shrugged. “Only to those who know the value of such things. Are you going to tell me what’s troubling you, or shall I pull you behind that house there and renew our acquaintance?”

“Saint, hush,” she muttered, indicating Sally following a few feet behind them.

The marquis only leaned closer. “I haven’t been inside you for nearly a week, Evelyn,” he whispered in her ear. “I only have so much self-control.”

“You practically had your hand up my skirt last night,” she murmured back, warmth creeping up her legs.

“And thank God for the book across my lap, or everyone would have known how much I wanted you.”

A pair of young ladies passed them in a curricle, and Evie winced. If Saint didn’t leave soon, someone would take the tale back to Victor. Which would be all right, except that she didn’t have a plan put together yet. She had no wish to be yelled at for no good reason. “You need to stop saying such things,” she hissed. “I’m…I’m to be married.”

Saint stopped so suddenly, she was six feet in front of
him before she realized he wasn’t beside her. When she turned around to face him, his expression turned her heart cold.

“Saint?”

“You’ve…someone’s asked—you agreed to marry Clarence Alvington?” he growled, hard green eyes daring her to respond.

“My brother informed me that I would be asked and that I was to say yes. With Alvington’s support, he is assured of a seat in the House.” She shouldn’t have said so much; her family’s private reasons were not for public consumption, but Saint would know, anyway. He’d known before she did.

“And you agreed.”

“He hasn’t asked me yet,” she hedged, “but yes, I agreed.”

“How dutiful of you. And your brother expressed his gratitude, I assume?”

“Stop being so cynical, Saint. They trapped me.”

“They treat you like their pet dog,” he snapped.

“How dare you?” she said, fighting the sudden wish for tears. “You’re only angry because you know once I’m married we won’t be…friends any longer. Go away, Saint. I thought…Go away. You’re certainly not helping anything, yelling at me for doing the right thing.”

“The right thing?” he repeated blackly.

“Please, just go.”

Saint wanted to say more, to demand to know why she hadn’t resisted, but neither did he want her to end up hating him. Unless he gave her a good reason not to, she would never deny Clarence’s petition, much less marry someone who could damage her precious family’s political standing.

“Then I bid you good day,” he grunted. Swinging back up on Cassius, he sent the bay up the street at a full gallop.

The idea of never touching her again, of standing in the shadows at soirees and watching other men dance with her, of seeing her and knowing that Clarence Alvington had bedded her and could do so anytime he wished—no one could be expected to tolerate that kind of torture.

“Damn, damn, damn.” His first impulse was to find Clarence Alvington, challenge him to a duel, and kill him. Satisfying as that would be, however, it wouldn’t get him Evelyn—and it would probably force him to flee England, which would mean he wouldn’t even be able to look at her.

He slowed as he neared his destination, forcing himself to think logically again. Evelyn had worded things in a peculiar way, for her. Not that the marriage was set, but that
when
the Neckcloth asked, she would agree. Not that she’d made the decision to marry, but that she’d been
trapped
into it. Not that she wanted Saint to go away, but that he
wasn’t helping
by staying there.

He stopped again, swinging down from Cassius and handing the reins to a waiting footman. She obviously didn’t love the buffoon, and even worse for her, when she married that idiotic, self-righteous swag, she wouldn’t be permitted to continue with the orphanage. The question was, what could he do to make it right?

The tapping of his Hessians echoed down the long corridor. He was late again, but at least he was there. It was all he could think to do, and overall it still seemed the best, most likely plan. Victor Ruddick had made a political match for his sister. If a better one presented itself, he would be a fool and a poor politician to pass it up.

“Saint?” Lord Dare whispered as he made his way up the steps to take his seat. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“My duty,” Saint returned, nodding at the Duke of Wycliffe seated beyond. That was it; all he needed to do was make himself the better candidate.

Several rows beneath him, Earl Haskell stood, his face deepening to an alarming shade of red. “I will not tolerate this,” he spat. “If you are going to be here, St. Aubyn, I am leaving.”