“Go away, Victor! I will not speak to you!”
“Evelyn Marie,” he called in the same low voice. “It’s me. It’s Saint.”
He heard a rustle of material approach the door. “Saint? What are you doing here?”
“There’s no key in the lock,” he whispered back. “Do you know where it is?”
“I’ve locked it from the inside. Go away, Saint. Now. You’ll only make things worse.”
Saint rattled the handle. “Open the door, Evelyn. I need to talk to you.”
“N…no.”
“I’ll break it down, and then everyone will know I’m here. Open it before someone sees me standing here.”
For a moment he thought she wouldn’t comply, but then the lock turned and she pulled open the door. He slipped inside her bedchamber, closing the door quietly behind him again.
Evelyn watched him straighten, turning to face her. She’d dreamed all the long, sleepless night of seeing him again. Now that he was here, she had no idea what he could possibly do to help her. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, willing her voice to be steady. “If Victor knew, he’d pack me off to West Sussex in an instant.”
The marquis looked at her for the space of a heartbeat, then closed the distance between them. Taking the sides of her face in his hands, he leaned down and kissed her, so softly, so gently, it made her want to weep.
“Your dear brother threw me out of the house a few moments ago,” he murmured, kissing her again, as though he hadn’t seen her in years, rather than just a day ago, “so I doubt he expects to find me anywhere in the vicinity.”
“Then how did you—”
“Victor could never be as underhanded as I am, even if he tried. Tell me what happened.”
She had to agree with that assessment. No one accomplished subterfuge like St. Aubyn. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, tell him all her troubles, and let him make everything right. This, though, couldn’t be made right. “Victor found out about my activities at the orphanage and something about you and I, and he decided he’d had enough. Clarence Alvington agreed to marry me, apparently for a very generous dowry, and Lord Alvington agreed to give his district’s votes to Victor.”
Saint paced away and back again, his face hard and set. “So it’s done. Signed and sealed, and you’ve been delivered. Did they ask you, Evelyn? Did anyone ask what you wanted?”
“Obviously not. But I stepped beyond the bounds of propriety. I knew what might happen.”
“So you accept this?”
Evelyn took a ragged breath. “I wish you hadn’t come here, Michael. Of course I don’t want to marry that idiot. But what else can I do?”
“Leave here. With me. Right now.”
Oh, God, she’d wanted to hear that so badly. “And what about my family?”
“They’ve sold you. Don’t you dare worry about them.”
“But Saint, they’re my family. I’ve tried so hard to make a positive difference. If I ruin Victor’s career, what does that say about me?”
His eyes narrowed. “That you got even.”
“But I don’t live by that philosophy.” She ran her fingers along his lapel, unable to resist touching him.
He captured her hand, pressing her palm flat against his chest. “I won’t let you marry Clarence Alvington,” he said in a low, black voice she’d never heard him use before. “That is my philosophy.” His heart under her fingers beat hard and fast.
“Believe me, if there’s a way to escape this mess, I will do it. But I won’t ruin my family name. My father was very proud of who he was, and so am I. And much as I want to hate him, Victor is a good man—if misguided about some things.”
“And what about your infants, then?” he retorted, yanking her still closer. “Would you leave them to me?”
“You’ll do right by them, Saint.” A tear ran down her cheek, the first she’d wept since everything had fallen to pieces. “I’ve seen your good heart.”
He released her so abruptly she staggered. “I don’t have a heart, Evelyn. That is why I…need…you. Leave with me right now. I’ll buy you anything you want, take you anywhere you want to go. We’ll open orphanages all over Europe, if you like. Just be with me.”
She heard the desperation in his voice, and the hurt. “Michael, I can’t,” she whispered. “Please understand.”
Saint faced the window for a long moment, the muscles across his back so taut she could see him shaking. “I understand,” he finally said. “Victor gets his seat in Parliament, you make certain the children are cared for, and you live a miserable, hopeless life.”
“That’s not—”
He whipped around to face her. “I’ll see to the first two, but I will never, never agree to the last.” Striding forward, he kissed her again, roughly. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Michael, I’m not—”
“Tonight.”
He reached for the door. Frantic that he might try something even more drastic than this, she pushed against it. She might as easily have stopped a charging bear, but he halted his retreat.
“Michael, look at me.”
With a shuddering breath, he faced her again.
“Promise me that you’ll continue on this path you’ve chosen. That you’ll be good.”
The Marquis of St. Aubyn shook his head. “No. You don’t get to feel as though you’ve made a sacrifice for the greater good where I’m concerned, Evelyn. I intend to get exactly what I want, even if you’ve given up.”
With that, he slipped out the door and softly closed it behind him. Evelyn leaned against the door, listening for a long time, but he didn’t return. Slowly she turned the key and the lock clicked shut. Even if he came back tonight, she wouldn’t let him in. If she did, she would never have the strength to let him go.
Saint rode past Lord and Lady Gladstone’s grand house on the way home. He didn’t even realize it, however, until he was two streets past there. If he needed an answer about how much he’d changed, that provided it. He didn’t want Fatima Hynes or any other nameless female with vacant eyes and an ample bosom. He didn’t want anyone else, ever. He wanted Evelyn Marie Ruddick—and he’d be damned if he was going to let Neckcloth Alvington have her without a fight.
And if there was one thing he knew how to do better than anyone else in London, it was how to fight dirty.
“I need a message delivered to Wellington immediately,” he said as he entered his home.
“I’ll fetch Thomason,” Jansen returned, hurrying down the side corridor as Saint made his way to his office. Several invitations lay stacked on the side table, and he flipped through them. Nearly a dozen, more than he used to receive. Whether anyone had begun to notice his more polite behavior or not, they had realized he was attending more of the Season’s events.
At the bottom of the pile he found the one he’d been looking for. Thankfully he’d already accepted the invitation to the Dorchester ball that evening. It wouldn’t give him much time, but he had little enough of that anyway.
He grabbed a paper and scrawled out a note to Wellington, offering the duke his last case of sherry if His Grace would join him at the Dorchester soiree and do him the very great favor of sending on a note informing Ruddick that the duke would like Victor and his family to be in attendance as well. When Thomason appeared, Saint dispatched him immediately, instructing the footman to wait for an answer.
For a moment he considered sending a similar note to Prinny, but he needed more than a notable appearance; he needed a Cabinet posting. A seat would take too long to ensure, and Alvington had that card in his hand already. And any appointment suggested by the Regent would bog down in committee for a year. If he couldn’t arrange faster results for Ruddick than Alvington could, he needn’t bother.
Thomason returned in less than thirty minutes. “That was fast,” Saint said, pausing in the pacing that was wearing a track in his office floor. “What was his answer?”
The footman actually backed away a step.
“The…His Grace was not at home, my lord.”
“Damnation. Did his butler say where I might find him?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Saint gazed at his footman as all remaining patience fled. Being polite and considerate could go hang itself. “Then where is he?” he hissed.
“Calais.”
Saint stopped. “Calais,” he repeated. “The Calais in France.”
“Yes, my lord. On his way to Paris. I’m very sorry. I could go after him, if you’d—”
“No. Go away. I need to think.”
“Yes, my lord.”
No Wellington. Prinny looked to be his only choice, though with the time and care the Regent spent in selecting his wardrobe, convincing him to attend a party on such short notice would be nearly impossible. And Prinny didn’t have a reason to invite Ruddick. Victor would see through the ruse in a heartbeat. He resumed pacing again, then stopped. “Thomason!”
Everyone seemed to be lurking close by today, because both the footman and Jansen galloped into the office. “Yes, my lord? Am I to go to Calais, then, after all?”
“No. When did Wellington leave?”
“Just this morning. He wanted to make the evening tide at Dover.”
Saint nodded. “Good. Nothing in the newspaper about his departure until tomorrow, then. Wait right there.” He returned to his desk and grabbed another sheet of paper.
“Is there anything I can do, my lord?” Jansen asked.
“No. Yes. I will need eight coaches or other conveyances this evening.” He glanced up, then went back to scrawling. “Make it ten. And I want them here by seven this evening.”
“I’ll see to it, my lord.”
It took two attempts to get the wording right, and then he sanded and folded the letter. The seal would be a problem; after a moment’s consideration he used his own, twisting the ring in the soft wax so the crest was unrecognizable.
Blowing on it, he stood, then realized Thomason was wearing the distinct black and red St. Aubyn livery. “Damn. Do you have another jacket?”
“My lord?”
“Never mind. See Pemberly before you go. Wellington’s servants are in plain black, are they not?”
“Yes.”
“I have something that should suffice in my wardrobe, I’m sure. You are now in Wellington’s service, and you are taking this note to Ruddick House. Don’t wait for an answer. Wellington’s man wouldn’t.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You have to understand, Thomason. You must convince them that you are in Wellington’s employ, that he’s in town, and that you’re actually too important to be delivering this note. If not, none of this will work.”
The footman nodded. “I understand, my lord.”
Saint took a deep breath. “Go see my valet, then.”
Once the footman was gone, he changed his coat to go out again: The day was passing quickly, and he had another errand to run. Three of them, actually.
For a moment when someone began pounding on her door, Evelyn thought Saint had returned to kidnap her. She wouldn’t have resisted. She shouldn’t have turned him down when he offered to take her away before. He was correct; it wasn’t fair that everyone got what they wanted but her.
“Evie, open this door!” Victor bellowed.
Hope fell to the floor again. “Never!”
“If I have to come in there—”
“Then you’ll break my door, and you’ll have to lock me in the cellar.”
She heard his muffled cursing behind the door. He probably had no idea what to do when she didn’t give in to him.
“Wellington has requested our presence at the Dorchester ball this evening,” he said after a moment.
“I’m not going.”
“He thinks you’re charming, and he wishes to dance with you, Evie. You are going. And you’ll dance with Clarence, as well, and we’ll begin spreading the rumor of your engagement.”
Jumping out the window was beginning to seem a sound alternative. Just as she started to yell her defiance once more, though, she remembered what Saint had said. He would see her tonight. Had he arranged this? He knew Wellington, certainly.
It was a chance. Not much of one, but at least if she went out, she could see her friends, and perhaps think of something to get herself out of this. And she could ask Lucinda to get a message to the children, so they would know that she hadn’t forgotten them.
“I’ll go,” she called. “If you’ll let me see my friends.”
“As long as I’m there beside you, you may see anyone you wish—except for St. Aubyn.”
She didn’t answer that; he wouldn’t believe anything she said, anyway.
As her own personal act of defiance, Evie wore the diamond heart pendant Saint had given her. No one would know its significance but the two of them, and if he was in attendance it would probably send him the wrong message—that she still hoped for his rescue—but somehow she felt stronger inside with it on.
“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 mis
erable 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.”
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