London's Perfect Scoundrel (27 page)

Damn
. Saint stood as well. “Lord Haskell, you have sat in this House for twenty-eight years, contributing your knowledge and giving your time. Two weeks ago I insulted you for that. Today, I apologize. If I had a tenth of your wisdom, I would be a better man for it.”

The rumbling in the House of Lords was almost deafening, but Saint paid no attention. If he couldn’t even sit with his peers for an hour, he didn’t deserve much of anything.

“You expect me to believe you’re being sincere, boy?” the earl returned.

“No, my lord. I ask you to accept my apology. I am sorry for my behavior.” Holding his breath, Saint leaned down, extending his hand to the older man. This was for Evelyn, he reminded himself as the earl glared at him. He could do this for her. He would do anything for her.

“And if I don’t accept your apology?”

“Then tomorrow I’ll ask you again to do so.”

With a sigh, as though deflating, Haskell reached out and shook Saint’s hand. Their audience burst into applause, but this wasn’t over yet. They both knew Saint could still make a fool of him. The earl had trusted him, as few men ever had before. It was a…pleasant, unexpected feeling, to be trusted.

Saint nodded. “Thank you. You are kinder than I deserve.” With a slight smile, he resumed his seat. “I shall attempt not to make you regret your generosity.”

“You’ve done well with it so far,” the older man rumbled, sitting again.

“Gentlemen,” the speaker called, rapping on his podium, “if we might continue?”

“Well, flip my wig and call me Petunia,” Dare whispered. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” Saint muttered back.

He already knew, though. His mouth dry, he gestured one of the attendants for a glass of water. Abruptly, he knew precisely why he was attempting to make amends, and why he was going to remain in the House of Lords until the end of session today, and why he would attend again tomorrow and the next day and every session for the remainder of the Season. And he knew why he would do anything else necessary that would enable him to marry Evelyn Marie Ruddick. He loved her. Michael Edward Halboro, the man without a heart, loved a lady. And he would stop at nothing to win her.

Saint couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips. Good God. He hoped Evelyn would appreciate what she’d done to him. For her, he was going to become a gentleman. And the funny thing was, after five minutes of reform, he was enjoying it.

“Did you manage it?” Evelyn asked, pacing to the window and back.

“Yes, and it wasn’t easy, believe me. My father asks too many questions anyway, and convincing him that the Marquis of St. Aubyn should be invited on his picnic…” Lucinda sighed, flopping back on the couch.
“He’s probably still asking questions, and I’ll be called on to provide answers the next time I cross in front of his office door.”

“I would explain it to you if I could, Luce.” A horseman rode by the Barrett House front gate, and her breath caught until she realized the rider was too stocky to be Saint. She’d told him to leave her alone, though, so she couldn’t imagine why he would bother to track down where she’d gone.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. You’re my friend.” Rising again, Lucinda joined her at the window. “I assume this is another part of your lesson in behavior for your pupil. In fact, all I’m going to say at this point is that you’re taking a terrible risk. Your brother is so set on his path that if he thinks you’re attempting to place stones in his way, there’s no telling what he might do.”

“He’s already done it.”

“What?” Lucinda took her arm, pulling her around so they were eye to eye. “Now, this you have to tell me. What’s Victor done?”

“Even without knowing what I’m doing or thinking, my brother has the most remarkable ability to put bricks in front of me,” she said, a lone tear escaping to run down her cheek. “I can’t imagine anything worse than being married to Clarence Alvington. Can you?”

Lucinda stared at her, then strode to the liquor table at the far end of the room. As Evelyn watched, she poured two glasses of Madeira and returned, holding one of them out.

“Clarence Alvington?” she finally burst out. “Because of the properties his father owns in West Sussex, I presume. For heaven’s sake! Doesn’t your brother know how poorly you two match?”

Evie sipped her Madeira, wishing it were stronger.
“Clarence is an idiot, and Victor thinks I’m an idiot, so as far as he’s concerned, it’s perfect.” She sighed. “That’s not entirely true, I suppose. Clarence is bland and inoffensive, making me unlikely to balk at the match since I’ll barely know I’m married to him.”

“This is awful. What will you do?”

“I’m still formulating my plan, but it’s so difficult—whatever I do, I really don’t want to destroy Victor’s chances in Parliament.” She sighed. “Isn’t that stupid?”

Lucinda hugged her. “You’re a good sister. I hope he has occasion to realize that eventually. A high degree of blandness is hardly a quality one should look for in his sister’s fiancé.”

Friends were so wonderful. “Thank you. In the meantime, however, I think I’m going to put to use a few things I’ve learned from my acquaintance with St. Aubyn. If I’ve been unable to teach him to be a gentleman, at least he’s taught me a few things about being scandalous.”

“You can’t ruin yourself, Evie. Not even to evade Clarence Alvington.”

“No, but I can stray closer to the edge. Michael lives life in a much more…exhilarating fashion than I would have believed possible. Far too exciting for Mr. Alvington.”

Her friend returned to the couch, setting her glass on the end table. “Michael?” she repeated, her back turned.

Evelyn blushed.
Damnation
. Keeping the way she felt about Saint to herself was difficult enough without using his Christian name in front of other people. “St. Aubyn,” she corrected. “He asked—I sometimes call him—”

The morning room door burst open. Georgiana, still untying her bonnet, hurried into the room. “Evie, thank goodness.”

“What is it?”

Lucinda went to the door and closed it just as the butler appeared. “Yes, what’s happened?”

“You’ve succeeded—that’s what’s happened,” the viscountess said to Evie, dropping her hat onto a chair. “It’s a miracle. I went to your house looking for you, but Langley said you’d be here.”

Georgiana was in good spirits, and whatever her own woes were, Evie’s heart lifted a little. At least someone was happy. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Georgie.”

“I’m talking about St. Aubyn. Tristan just returned from the morning session at the House, and he told me the most extraordinary thing!”

As soon as Saint’s name came into the discussion, Evie began to feel light-headed. Sitting in the windowsill, she took a large swallow of Madeira. “What did St. Aubyn do now?”

“He attended Parliament today. And he actually apologized to Lord Haskell for some insult he’d handed him the last time he was there.”

Evie lifted an eyebrow. “He
apologized
to someone?”

“Like a gentleman, evidently. Tristan said St. Aubyn also stayed for the entire session, and that he volunteered to sit on a committee for child labor reform.”

Both of her friends were gazing at her expectantly. “Oh, my,” she offered after a moment.

It was all she could think of to say, when with all of her heart she wanted to run out and find Saint and ask him what he was up to, and then hug him and kiss him because it didn’t matter. He had learned something, and even if it couldn’t help her, he could do so much good elsewhere. Evelyn shook herself, realizing her friends were still conversing.

“…marry Clarence Alvington,” Lucinda was saying.

“No! Can’t he see how completely wrong that dandy is for you?” Georgiana asked, joining Evie at the window.

“Probably not. But he can see how right Clarence is for him. The match assures him a seat in the House of Commons.”

“Ha. It would be nice if he succeeded on his own merits, rather than on yours.”

Evie smiled. “I wish I’d thought to tell him that.”

“Feel free to borrow it any time.”

What she abruptly wanted to borrow was Georgiana’s life. She had a husband who adored her, an understanding aunt and a cousin with enough power and rank to ensure that no one could ruin them, and a penchant for causes that weren’t terribly unfitting for a female.

Evelyn had a scoundrel who by equal turns seemed to like her and to want to ruin her, a family who put their own wishes over hers and cared terribly for everyone else’s opinion, and a hopeless dream of running an orphanage for poor young children with wit and potential.

At the same time, Saint had made possible much of what she’d attained thus far. And once she’d proven to him that she wasn’t some feather-brain looking for attention, his assistance and advice, though cynical and with a price, had been invaluable.

“What will you do?” Georgiana asked.

“She’s going to utilize some of St. Aubyn’s methods,” Lucinda answered before Evie could open her mouth, “with the hope that a little bit of sin will frighten away Clarence, or at least his parents.”

“That’s very risky, Evie,” the countess said, a grim expression on her face. “Believe me.”

“I know. In fact”—Evie took a breath and sent up a quick prayer—“I may need your help.”

“In being scandalous?”

Both Georgie and Lucinda looked skeptical. They probably doubted she had the resolve to do anything effective. Well, she would show them. She had a very good teacher.

“No, not in being scandalous,” she returned, hiding her scowl. “In pretending as though nothing scandalous is going on.” Evie forced a laugh. “For heaven’s sake, if
you
frown at me for doing something, I’d be completely ruined.”

Lucinda sighed. “I would advise you simply to talk to your brother and tell him how unhappy a match with Clarence Alvington would make you, except that I’ve seen you try to reason with him before. You may rely on me not to notice anything scandalous you may do.”

“I shall do my duty, as well,” Georgie agreed. “I only wish you had time to celebrate your success with St. Aubyn instead of worrying about this stupidity.” She turned her attention to Lucinda. “However, I would like to point out that if St. Aubyn has truly become a gentleman, you, my dear, are the only one of us who hasn’t delivered her lesson.”

“Hm. He was only nice for five minutes. I would hardly declare that a definitive victory. Besides, we originally discussed giving a man lessons in how to treat a
female
correctly. Last I checked, there were no females in the House of Lords. Not since Queen Elizabeth, anyway.”

While Georgie and Luce continued to banter about whether she’d fulfilled her part of their agreement or not, Evelyn remained occupied with keeping her low,
growing excitement in check. Tomorrow she would be Saint’s companion for the day, as she’d promised. Tomorrow she would see him again, and she’d given herself permission to misbehave. Silly as it seemed to admit after all the time she’d spent trying to improve him, part of her very much liked that the Marquis of St. Aubyn was a scoundrel—and that from time to time he seemed to be
her
scoundrel.

S
aint turned his phaeton onto the meadow grass, joining the long line of horses and carriages rolling out of the city toward General Barrett’s traditional picnic site. He had to admit that the meadow the general had selected, on a gently sloping hill overlooking old London town, was picturesque. He also had to admit, as he returned Lord and Lady Milton’s astonished stares with a polite nod, that he felt like a fool.

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 re
minded 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.

“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 Hunt
leys 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.”