London's Perfect Scoundrel (30 page)

“Evie!” Lucinda called, sweeping out of the crowd to give her a tight hug as soon as they arrived at the soiree. “We were worried about you. Are you well?”

Evelyn smiled as Georgiana and Dare arrived on Luce’s heels. “I—”

“I’m afraid my sister is not feeling quite the thing,” Victor interrupted. He’d strayed no more than an elbow’s length from her since she’d opened her bedchamber door. “Too much excitement, I suppose,” he continued.

“Excitement?” Georgie repeated, taking Evie’s hand. “From what?”

“Well, we will announce it in the
Times
in the next day or so, but Clarence Alvington has proposed to Evie, and she has accepted.”

For a moment her friends just stared at her.

“I…congratulations, Evie,” Lucinda faltered first. “What a surprise.”

“Indeed,” Georgie echoed, her gaze searching Evie’s face. “You know, you…you should tell my aunt about this!” She favored Victor with a friendly smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “The Dowager Duchess of Wycliffe simply adores Evie.”

“Yes, yes!” Lucinda seconded, grabbing Evie’s other arm and pulling her forward. “Come, Evie, let’s tell her!”

As the ladies dragged her willingly forward, Dare stepped between them and her brother with his usual splendid timing, putting an arm around Victor’s shoulders. “Ruddick, my boy. Did I ever tell you—”

Victor shrugged free, intercepting Evie’s arm from Lucinda. “As I said, Evie isn’t feeling well. We only came by at Wellington’s request, and then we must get her right to bed.”

Georgiana’s eyebrows drew into a frown. “But—”

“I’m afraid I must insist.”

Evie could see her friends were growing upset, and she offered a quick smile before they began a shouting match with her brother that would hurt all of them. “It’s all right. As Victor says, I’m not feeling well.”

“Then…we must call on you tomorrow.”

Her brother shook his head. “She will be feeling better on Thursday. You may call on her then.”

Of course. The announcement would have run in the
London Times
by then, and news of her betrothal would be all over London. No one would be able to do anything for her after that. Not that they should have to. This was still her problem.

“Ah, there’s Clarence now,” Victor said, looking past
her friends. “You promised him this dance, didn’t you, Evie?”

She gave him a sideways glance. Did he expect her to knit the rope for her own hanging, as well? “I don’t know. Did I?”

“Yes, you did, if you’re feeling up to it.” He bowed to her friends. “If you’ll excuse us?”

As she reluctantly allowed him to guide her away, she finally followed his gaze to the far side of the ballroom. “That isn’t Clarence Alvington.”

“He’ll be along for the waltz. I wasn’t about to let you regale your friends with your tale of woe.”

Evie sighed bitterly. “You’ve already won, Victor. Do you have to see me miserable at
every
moment?”

“You’ve given me no reason to trust you.”

She could pay him the same compliment. “Please just find Wellington so you can put me on display with him and we can leave.”

“I don’t want to appear too eager.”

“Humph. If this is so important to you,
you
should dance with him.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.” He gazed at her for another moment, then placed her hand over his arm. “I don’t suppose I can rely on you to behave for much longer. We’ll find Wellington.”

After fifteen minutes of searching and discreet inquiry, it became obvious that the duke wasn’t in attendance. And Evelyn could be equally certain that Saint was absent, as well. Her heart sank even further. She hadn’t expected a rescue, but seeing him would have meant…something.

“Damnation,” Victor muttered under his breath as they returned to the crowded ballroom.

“Yes, it seems you’ve been jilted,” she offered. “I can only wish the same fate for myself.”

“That’s enough. We’ll stay through the waltz, and then we’re going home, and you’re going back to your bedchamber until Thursday.”

She stopped, forcing him to a halt beside her. “And you’re welcome.”

He scowled. “What?”

“Hasn’t it even occurred to you that I might say no, or that I might throw a tantrum in the middle of the ballroom here, or announce to all and sundry that…that St. Aubyn and I are lovers? What do you think that would do to your career?”

“It would ruin you,” he hissed, his gaze hardening.

“Yes, it would. And believe it or not, I would actually prefer that to marriage with Clarence. However, despite what you’ve done to me, I truly believe that you will make a fine member of Parliament and do some good for the people of England. That,” and she jabbed a finger into his chest, “is why I’ve kept my silence. And you are welcome.”

“You may be as gracious as you want, now that you’ve been caught. I’m not the one who was carousing with St. Aubyn or going unchaperoned to visit filthy orphanages in Covent Garden.”

Evie started to snap a reply, but as she looked at her brother’s calm implacable face, she realized she would never win. He would never see that he’d done anything wrong toward her, much less admit it. But she couldn’t leave one thing unsaid. “The Marquis of St. Aubyn,” she returned quietly, “is more of a gentleman than Clarence Alvington could ever hope to be. You’ve made a poor choice all the way around.”

Her brother smiled grimly. “Now you’re going to attempt to convince me that you’ve gone mad, aren’t you? Look, there’s Clarence. Waltz with him, smile, and we’ll leave.”

Evelyn lifted her chin. “It so happens that right now I’d rather spend time with Neckcloth Alvington than you, anyway.”

She met Clarence halfway, watching with a kind of detached hopelessness as he took her hand and practically licked it. Thank goodness for gloves. “My lovely, lovely Evie,” he cooed, squeezing her fingers.

“Mister Alvington. I believe we are to waltz.”

“You must call me Clarence.”

“I’d really prefer not to,” she returned, almost amused as he looked at her uncertainly. He was probably the most unlucky of the lot of conspirators. The others reaped the benefit of her sale to the Alvington family, but he would have to live with her.

The waltz began, and he slipped a hand about her waist. The sensation made her want to gag; it reminded her of what he would expect of her after they were married. The idea of lying with him as she had with Saint…She closed her eyes, shuddering.
Where was Michael? Didn’t he know how much she wanted to see him? To at least be near him?

The ballroom doors burst open. As Evelyn watched in openmouthed amazement, children poured into the ballroom. Ten, twenty, then more ragged children. Orphans.
Her
orphans.

The guests nearest the entrance began shrieking, moving back and to the sides of the room as if faced with a stampede of wild cattle. The orchestra squeaked to a halt, leaving the dancers stranded arm in arm in the middle of the ballroom.

“For God’s sake,” Clarence gasped, his face going white. “It’s a revolt!”

He wasn’t the only one to think the lower classes were staging a revolution. Lady Halengrove fainted, and most everyone else was stampeding over footmen for the far exits into the garden.

Evelyn, though, was looking at the tall, dark figure in the center of the chaos. Saint. He held young Rose in his arms, his expression as calm as if he were shopping for gloves on Bond Street.

As the orphans fanned out, she noticed him giving them signals. Immediately things began to make sense. Lord Alvington became boxed up against the refreshment table, while her brother suddenly became acquainted with Randall, Matthew, and two of the other older boys.

What are you doing?
she mouthed at Saint, not certain whether to be embarrassed or amused.

He ignored her, instead strolling over to her brother. “Good evening, Ruddick,” he said in a carrying voice.

The remainder of the crowd quieted, obviously beginning to realize that they were not in immediate danger. Evelyn edged closer, having to drag Clarence with her when he refused to relinquish his grip on her hand.

“What the devil is the meaning of this, St. Aubyn?” her brother growled over Randall’s head. “You have been warned to—”

Saint dug something out of his pocket. “Here. You are now the assistant chancellor of the Exchecquer.” He slapped a parchment against Victor’s chest. “Congratulations.”

“I—”

The marquis turned his back, strolling now straight for Evie. Her heart began to pound. He’d done it. He’d
beaten Alvington in the race to get Victor into the government.

“Here,” Saint said, handing Rose into Clarence’s arms.

“Are you my papa?” the girl said, with such precision that Saint must have coached her on her delivery.

“I—oh, good heavens, I—”

Saint stopped before Evie. “Hello,” he said quietly.

She couldn’t breathe. “Hello.”

“May I?” Reaching out, he took both of her hands in his. “I’ve brought your infants.”

“I see that.”

“They need you.”

In the back of her mind Evie realized that the room had gone dead silent. Everyone could hear every word they said to one another, but she didn’t care. Saint had come, and he was holding her hands.

“I need you, as well,” he continued.

“Saint—”

“Michael,” he breathed.

“Michael, how did you do this?”

He smiled, that crooked, wicked smile that made her legs weak. “You provided me with inspiration, and a source. Your literary Lady Bethson. I would do anything, you know, to give you a free choice.”

A tear she hadn’t felt forming ran down one cheek. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Saint—Michael—took a shallow breath, and then, to her surprise, went down on one knee. “I lied to you earlier,” he said in the same low voice.

“What?” She was going to faint. If he said he was finished with her, she was going to wither and die right there in the middle of the ballroom.

“I told you that I didn’t have a heart,” he continued
as he gazed up at her, his voice shaking just a little. “I do have one. I just didn’t know it until I met you. You are my light. My soul craves you, and I love you with every ounce of the heart you’ve awakened in me. I…I could live without you, but I wouldn’t want to. Will you marry me, Evelyn Marie?”

Her legs gave way. Evelyn sank into his arms, reaching around his shoulders to grip him so he couldn’t vanish. “I love you,” she whispered against his cheek. “I love you so much. You’ve given me everything.”

“Only because you showed me how.” He took her arms, holding her away a little so he could see her face. “Marry me.”

“Yes. I will marry you, Michael.”

Saint smiled again, reaching back into his pocket. He pulled out a small velvet box and opened it to her. Inside lay a ring with a diamond center, surrounded by a silver heart, winking at her. Saint pulled it free and slipped it onto her finger, then leaned in and kissed her. Dimly she heard children cheering, and she chuckled against his mouth.

“I tried very hard to reform you,” she said, allowing him to help her to her feet. “But I have to admit that lately I’ve developed a new appreciation for scoundrels.”

Standing himself, he kept hold of her hand, as though he couldn’t make himself let go of her. “Good. Because I’m not certain how proper I can be where you’re concerned, my dear.”

Across the floor she saw Georgiana, Dare, and Lucinda cheering, and she laughed, leaning against Saint’s strong shoulder.
You’re next
, she mouthed at Lucinda.

“Orchestra!” Saint bellowed. “Play us a waltz!”

Lady Dorchester, white-faced and with several children hanging on to her arms and trying to head her off,
stormed onto the dance floor. “What is the meaning of this?” she screeched. “A marriage proposal is well and good, but these filthy children cannot be here!”

“Why not?” Saint asked, swinging Evelyn into the dance and holding her much too close for propriety. “They know how to waltz.”

THE END