London's Perfect Scoundrel

by Suzanne Enoch

  “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.”

  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 o
f 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, hidi
ng 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.

  Chapter 23

  She walks in beauty, like the night

  Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

  And all that’s best of dark and bright

  Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

  —Lord Byron, “She Walks in Beauty”

  Saint 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.