London's Perfect Scoundrel (7 page)

Evelyn continued to gaze at him. “This makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Talking about your family, I mean.” She wasn’t certain what made her ask the question; he had been nothing less than arrogant and dismissive and cynical toward her, but for some reason it seemed important.

“Nothing makes me uncomfortable, Evelyn,” he murmured, taking a slow step closer. “I have no conscience, or so I’ve been told.”

Evie took a step backward, both because of his advance and because of the predatory gleam lighting his green eyes. The workers she’d hired for the day could no doubt hear every word of their conversation, and Lord Dare had only vouched for their willingness to work. He hadn’t said anything about their willingness to keep
from gossiping if they happened to witness St. Aubyn kissing her. “You’re just baiting me,” she replied, trying to sound amused in a jaded sort of way.

He shook his head. “I’m warning you. As I said before, I don’t do any good deed for free. I will expect payment for my work today.”

“I didn’t ask you to help,” she retorted before she could stop herself. Good heavens, she knew better than to throw challenges at him. St. Aubyn hadn’t backed down from anything so far, and making pronouncements had only gotten her kissed or ridiculed, depending on his mood.

“No, what you’ve asked for, my dear, is my indulgence. And for the devil knows what reason, I’ve been willing to indulge you.” A slow, sensuous smile curved his lips. “But the devil and I are good friends, Evelyn Marie. You shouldn’t tempt either of us too far.”

Still moving with that deceptive ease of his, he reached toward her cheek again, his gaze lowering to her mouth. Evelyn swallowed, but before she could protest his impropriety and inform him that he was
not
going to kiss her again, his fingers flicked in a feather-light caress against the base of her throat, trailed up to the back of her neck—and came away with her favorite pearl pendant necklace.

She hadn’t even felt him open the clasp. “You…how—”

“You should see me unfasten a gown,” he murmured, lifting the single suspended pearl to examine it. “My payment for today’s work. If you want it back, you may ask me for it at the Dundredge soiree this evening. I assume you’re attending?”

“I…am.”

“Then so am I, apparently. Good day, Miss Ruddick.
Inform Mrs. Housekeeper when you’re finished playing.”

“I am not playing,” she snapped, her voice annoyingly unsteady, as he vanished around the near corner.

Even if he’d heard her, he probably didn’t care. Outrage was difficult, anyway, when her mind was still stuck on his gown comment. Once he said it, she couldn’t help but imagine his fingers gliding down her back, her gown falling loose beneath his skilled touch. And then his hands would…“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, pushing the vision from her mind. As if she would ever succumb to his seductions. He was only trying to shock her and to amuse himself, after all. He’d as much as said so.

Devilish and charming as she sensed he could be when the whimsy possessed him, he was also dangerous, and as Lady Gladstone had said, very, very bad. And if she ever wanted to see her necklace again, she was going to have to approach him at the ball tonight. No doubt he would ask her for a dance, and no doubt he would see to it that she couldn’t refuse.

Evelyn frowned. Victor was absolutely going to kill her. If the Marquis of St. Aubyn didn’t ruin her first.

“I
f he stole your necklace, you should inform the authorities and have him arrested,” Lucinda said in a hushed voice, her indignant gaze searching the Dundredge crowd, no doubt for any sign of St. Aubyn.

Evelyn had been looking for him, too, and with no more success than her friend. “Having him arrested would kill two birds with one stone, I suppose,” she whispered back, pretending to nibble on a sugared orange peel. “Rid me of St. Aubyn, and do in Victor with the apoplexy the gossip would give him. Really, Luce.”

Lucinda chuckled. “Just trying to help.”

“Then be more helpful. What am I going to do? Simply walk up and ask him to give it back? What if he’s with that awful Lady Gladstone?”

“Then you could tell Victor you were recruiting her for his election campaign.”

Evie started to reply, then closed her mouth again. “You know, that might work.” As she contemplated the
idea, though, reality crashed down again, as it had been doing all evening. “No, because then Lady Gladstone would demand to know why Saint had my necklace, and she’d claw my eyes out before I could answer.”

“Whose eyes are getting clawed out?” another female voice asked from behind her.

Her abrupt breath left in a relieved sigh. “Georgie,” she said, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing it, “you frightened me half to death.”

Georgiana’s tall husband nodded sympathetically. “Happens to me all the time.” Snatching a handful of chocolate balls, he gave one to Georgie and popped the rest into his mouth. “How were the slaves I sent you?”

“Shh,” Evie said, though likely no one but she and Georgie could interpret Dare’s chocolate-mangled question. “It’s secret.”

The viscount swallowed. “Yes, so I gathered. And why was I secretly sending stock boys to an orphanage?”

His wife scowled at him. “None of your affair, Tristan. Go bother Emma and Greydon now.”

“Yes, my love.” With a grin and a swift kiss on the cheek, Lord Dare strolled off into the crowd.

As soon as he was gone, Georgie lowered her voice to the conspiratorial whisper Evie and Lucinda had been using. “All right, whose eyes are getting clawed out?”

“Mine,” Evie returned, unable to help a grin. Georgie and Lucinda were quite simply the most marvelous friends she could ever have hoped for. Whatever she told them would remain a secret, and she could tell them anything. That, though, didn’t serve to explain why neither of them knew yet that St. Aubyn had kissed her. Nothing, however, could explain that—or why she continued to think about it so often.

“And why is that?”

“The Marquis of St. Aubyn stole Evie’s necklace this afternoon,” Lucinda explained, “and we’re trying to form a strategy to get it back that won’t involve bloodshed.”

“You’re certain he stole it?” The amusement in the viscountess’ eyes vanished.

“He took it off my neck,” Evie said, “and told me that if I wanted it back I could ask him for it tonight.”

“Well, he’s obviously trying to make trouble for you. From what I’ve heard, he delights in that sort of thing.” Georgiana joined Lucinda and herself in searching the crowd for the marquis. “You know, Evie, this may have passed the point where you can safely participate.”

It had passed that point the moment she’d learned of St. Aubyn’s involvement with the orphanage. “I will not be cowed by someone else’s poor behavior,” she stated. “And especially not that scoundrel’s.”

“Poor behavior, hm?” Luce repeated in a thoughtful tone. “And here you are, Evie, without a student for a lesson in—”

Georgiana blanched. “No, no, no! We could never send our Evie after St. Aubyn. He’d ruin her in a second if he realized what she was doing. We’ll find someone more malleable to whom she can deliver her lessons.”

“I—” Evie began, her heart skipping a beat.

“Yes, you’re right,” Lucinda interrupted, sparing a sympathetic glance for Evelyn. “A subject must at least have the remnants of a soul. I’m afraid, Evie, that Georgiana’s correct; this orphanage plan of yours has become too risky. I’m sure we can find somewhere safer for you to volunteer your time.”

“And a safer student for you to instruct,” Georgie added.

Evelyn looked from one of them to the other, the
noise of the ballroom dimming to a dull background roar. Her friends, her dearest friends, expected her to fail before she’d barely begun, and to make a muck of her reputation at the same time. More than likely they’d thought her orphanage plan a disaster as soon as they’d heard about it, and the marquis with his awful reputation had merely provided a convenient excuse enabling them to spare her feelings. Well, just for once if she was going to be considered inadequate, she would like to make an attempt to succeed first.

“You’re right, Luce,” she said quietly, wondering if they could hear the fast thudding of her heart.

“Don’t fret, Evie. We’ll begin looking for a more suitable charity for you first thing tomorrow.”

“No, I mean you’re right that St. Aubyn is the perfect candidate for a lesson in polite behavior toward females. And that I happen to be in the perfect position to deliver it.”

Lucinda’s eyes widened. “No, Evie, I was very,
very
wrong. If you take this on, you wouldn’t just be working at improving a questionable orphanage, you would be working on—”

“On improving St. Aubyn. I know. I don’t think I could ask for a grander challenge than that. Do you?”

Georgiana took her hand again. “Are you certain? You don’t have to prove anything.”

“Only to myself,” she returned, though that wasn’t quite true. “And yes, I’m certain. I’ll be either a spectacular success on both fronts, or a catastrophic failure.”

Her friends continued to argue with her, trying to convince her that she was taking an unnecessary risk and that both the orphanage and St. Aubyn were simply beyond her depth. They were wrong, however, and what
ever they were saying ceased to make any sense, anyway, as Saint strolled into the crowded room.

For the first time, she noticed how many women gazed at him from behind their husbands’ backs and from the fluttering shelter of their ivory-ribbed fans. He couldn’t possibly have that many clandestine lovers; there weren’t that many nights in a lifetime, when one added in the single, less reputable females also known to consort with him. Even so, the looks reminded her of what Lady Gladstone had said, that Saint didn’t have to be good because he was so bad.

They all seemed to want him, or at least to want to watch him. His smooth panther’s stalk was magnetic even when he wasn’t hunting. With an entire room full of willing game, then, why was he after her? Or was he just amusing himself, as he’d claimed? Perhaps he had a pocketful of necklaces waiting to be reclaimed by damsels he’d accosted during the day.

“Evie,” Lucinda whispered urgently.

She shook herself. “Beg pardon?”

“He’s here.”

“I know. I saw.”

Her friends exchanged glances, which she pretended not to notice. “What are you going to do?” Georgiana asked.

Evelyn took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “Ask for my necklace back.”

“But—”

Before she could lose her nerve, Evelyn walked away toward the refreshment table. Saint looked to be heading in that direction, and a chance meeting there would raise fewer questions than if she stalked up to him, hand outstretched.

When she reached the rendezvous point, however, Saint was still several yards away, requesting a drink from a footman. She studied him from behind the shelter of an ice sculpture, the glassy swan wings twisting and elongating his broad chest in his stark black jacket, but leaving his lean face unobscured.

Michael Halboro. She wondered what his middle name might be. Knowing so little about him made every possible bit of information more…significant than it probably was. Dark hair obscured one eye, giving him a vulnerable, raffish expression. Then his gaze flicked up to meet hers, as though he’d known where she was all along, and her heart stopped.

Whatever game or amusement he had in mind, it was aimed at her. With a slow smile, he dismissed the footman and made his way past a half dozen other young females, not even sparing them a glance.

“Good evening, Miss Ruddick,” he drawled in his low baritone voice, the sound reverberating down her spine. “You came.”

“Did you think I’d be hiding under my bed?” she returned. Her voice sounded composed and steady, thank goodness.

“When I think of you, it’s not
under
a bed. Ask your question.”

Heavens
. Standing in the middle of the ballroom as they were, no doubt dozens of guests could overhear every breath of their conversation. And she could think of no way to phrase her question without it sounding as though she’d done something tawdry or improper. No doubt he counted on precisely that. Whatever she said next, he could use it to ruin her. She
should
have hidden under her bed tonight.

Best to get it over with, then. “Lord Dare mentioned
that you’d found a necklace at the Hanson soiree. I think it might be mine. May I see it?”

His lips twitched. “Yes, I discovered it in the punch bowl,” he said smoothly, and reached into his pocket. “Would this be it?”

Evie felt faint with relief. “Oh, thank you so much, my lord,” she gushed, before he could even produce the thing for her inspection. “It’s my favorite piece, and I thought I’d never find it.” She held out her hand.

Saint stepped behind her. “Allow me.”

Before she could do more than gulp and flush bright red, the marquis slid the cool chain around her throat and fastened it. His fingers brushed the hairs at the back of her neck as he leaned closer. “Well done, Evelyn Marie,” he murmured into her hair. “Now smile and say ‘thank you, Saint,’ or I’ll kiss your ear.”

If her heart beat any faster, it would burst from her chest. She gave a friendly smile to the air. “Thank you again, Saint. That was quite thoughtful of you.”

“You arouse me,” he whispered, “and you’ll pay for that.” Then he released her and stepped back.

The lesson
, she reminded herself frantically, closing her eyes for just a moment to steady herself. “Lord St. Aubyn, have you met my mother?” she asked, turning. “I’m certain she’d like to thank you for your good deed, as well.”

He froze for a heartbeat, then faced her. “You want me to meet your mother?” he repeated, surprise touching his eyes.

It was the first time she’d ever seen him off balance. “Yes. Why not?”

“I can name a thousand or so reasons,” he returned, then shrugged. “But why not, indeed? The evening’s been fairly uneventful so far.”

Yes, except for her near ruination and nearer fainting spell
. “This way, then, my lord.”

“Saint,” he reminded her softly, falling into step beside her and, to her horror, offering his arm.

“But—”

“If I’m being civilized, then so must you be.” Not waiting for her response, he took her hand and draped it over his black sleeve.

As they left the ballroom for the salon where most of the matrons had gathered to gossip and nibble on sweets, Evie realized what a mistake she’d just made. “Saint,” she whispered, as her mother came into view, “she doesn’t know I’m working at the orphanage.
Please
don’t say anything.”

For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her, that he was occupied with noting the shocked expressions and gasps of the matrons as they realized who’d wandered into their midst. Then he glanced at her, green eyes amused and cynical. “For a kiss,” he murmured.

“B…beg pardon?”

“You heard me. Yes or no?”

With the rest of the matrons edging away from her, Genevieve Ruddick pasted a mortified smile on her thin face. “Evie! What in the world are you—”

“Mama, I would like to introduce the Marquis of St. Aubyn to you. He found my missing necklace in a punch bowl at the Hanson ball, of all places. My lord, my mother, Mrs. Ruddick.”

“Mrs. Ruddick,” he said amiably, taking her hand. “I should have introduced myself days ago, I suppose, since your daughter and I—”

Oh, no
. “Yes,” Evie hissed.

“—waltzed at the Hanson soiree,” he finished smoothly. “She’s a brave young lady.”

Her mother’s expression darkened into a frown, which looked much more natural on her pale countenance. “An impulsive one, anyway.”

Evelyn held her breath, waiting for the marquis to turn her mother’s comment with some insinuating remark of his own. Instead, though, he only offered a brief, enigmatic smile. “Indeed.”

Well, that was good. It might very well have been his first attempt, but he’d managed to be polite for nearly three minutes. And that was probably pushing her luck far enough for one evening. “Oh, is that the quadrille?” she asked brightly. “I promised this dance to Francis Henning. Excuse me, Mama. Would you care to escort me, Lord St. Aubyn?”

He didn’t say anything further, so Evie decided it would be more prudent to leave and hope that he followed. She’d barely made it through the door when a hand clamped down on her shoulder and nudged her into the nearest alcove.

“What was that all about?” Saint asked, regarding her darkly.

“Nothing. I only wanted to see if you would do it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a—”

Saint put out an arm, blocking her escape. Very aware that only part of a curtain screened them from the hallway and the ballroom beyond, Evelyn swallowed. Her friends had warned her how dangerous teaching St. Aubyn a lesson would be, but she was well aware of that anyway. In an odd way, though, it only seemed fair that if he meant to try to ruin her, she should attempt to improve him.

“Please move.”

“Kiss me.”

“Now?”

With one step he closed the small distance that remained between them, so that she had to lift her chin to meet his gaze. “Yes, now.”

Evie sighed to cover the sudden speeding of her pulse. “Very well.”

He stayed where he was, gazing at her. She wondered what he saw that made him keep teasing her like this. A petite female with reddish brown hair and gray eyes, her face darkened by yet another blush. Anything else? Did he think her as naive and useless as her friends did?