London's Perfect Scoundrel (2 page)

“L
angley, have you seen my brother?” Evelyn whispered as she accepted her shawl from the butler.

“He’s in the morning room, miss, finishing the newspaper,” the elderly servant answered in an equally hushed voice. “I’d judge you have another five minutes.”

“Splendid. I’ll be at Aunt Houton’s.”

The butler pulled opened the door, escorting her outside to help her into the Ruddick family coach. “Very good, Miss Ruddick.”

The butler softly closed the front door behind her, but Evie didn’t let out her breath until the coach had safely trundled down the short front drive. Thank goodness. It was bad enough listening to Victor complain about how she’d missed a chance to charm Lord and Lady Gladstone; if he sent her out to make another attempt, or tried to instruct her about whom she should or shouldn’t
chat with at their aunt’s, Evelyn was going to flee London and join the circus.

The coach rumbled down Chesterfield Hill and turned northeast, away from the center of Mayfair. The house her aunt and uncle occupied had been part of the Marquis of Houton’s property for so long that the fashionable part of London had moved on without it. Even so, it was magnificent, and if the neighbors tended to be merchants and solicitors now, then Aunt Houton just kept the curtains drawn.

Fifteen minutes later the coachman turned up Great Titchfield Road for his usual shortcut, and Evie sat forward. The Heart of Hope Orphanage, once an old troop barracks for the army of George II, loomed tall and long and gray along the left side of the street.

Most of her peers closed their coach curtains to it, as well, preferring to pretend that it simply didn’t exist. For Evie, though, it had lately become much more than an eyesore. A building that gloomy would, under most circumstances, have made her shudder and look away. Somewhere between the shivering and the eye-closing, however, she’d glimpsed the children in the windows, looking out at the street. Looking out at her.

And so a week ago, toting a satchel of candy and a hefty helping of good intentions, she had finally asked Phillip to stop the coach and had walked up to the heavy wooden doors to knock. The children had been excessively glad to see her—or rather, to see the sweets she handed out—and the whole experience had been…enlightening.

She had immediately volunteered to make another visit, but the head housekeeper had only shooed her out, eyeing her skeptically and informing her that all volunteers had
to be approved by the orphanage board of trustees.

Evelyn leaned out the coach window. “Phillip, stop here, if you please.”

The coach veered to one side of the street and rattled to a halt. It just so happened that the board of trustees was meeting today—at this hour, in fact. Evie stood as Phillip pulled open the carriage door.

“Please wait for me here,” she said over her shoulder, her attention on crossing the busy street to the tall, ominous building beyond. Here, at last, seemed a place, a cause, where she could contribute something meaningful.

The dour-faced housekeeper donned a surprised look as she opened the heavy door. “Yes, miss?”

“You said the board would be meeting this morning, did you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“I should like to discuss a matter with them.”

When the housekeeper continued to stare at her in disbelief, Evie borrowed one of her brother’s more haughty and effective gestures and lifted her eyebrow. With a nearly audible hesitation the woman turned to lead the way toward the winding staircase.

Behind her, Evelyn stifled as best she could a growing mix of anxiety and anticipation. She hated public speaking—it always left her stammering like a goose. On the other hand, the idea of sitting on her bottom or attending Victor’s endless parade of oh-so-proper soirees until he married someone more suited for the task left her shuddering with distaste. This, she could do for herself—and for the children abandoned inside the large gray barracks rooms.

“Wait here,” the housekeeper said.

With a last backward glance, as though to make certain Evelyn hadn’t changed her mind and fled, she
knocked on another of the heavy oak doors. At an answering murmur of male voices, the woman pushed open the door and vanished into the room beyond.

Evie glanced at the clock ticking against the far wall. Her aunt did expect her this morning, and if she didn’t arrive soon, someone would send word to Victor that she was missing a West Sussex Wives’ Political Tea—an absurdly self-important name for a group of females who did nothing but embroider handkerchiefs in political colors and gossip about absent members.

The door opened again. “This way, miss.”

Clasping her hands in front of her to minimize their trembling, Evie stepped past the housekeeper into a large, plush drawing room—no doubt part of the former barracks commander’s personal quarters. She’d seen greater splendor in the homes of Mayfair, and the most striking aspect of the room was how greatly it differed from the plain halls and gloomy rooms beyond.

As soon as she stepped through the doorway a half dozen men rose, waving at the smoky air as though motion would dispose of the odor of expensive cigars. Evie’s initial nervousness ebbed almost immediately—she knew all of them, thank goodness.

“Good morning, Miss Ruddick,” Sir Edward Willsley said, his thick brows arched in surprise. “Whatever brings you here on this fine day?”

Evie curtsied, though technically she outranked half the men present. Politeness and flattery always garnered more results than strict formality. “The Heart of Hope Orphanage brings me here this morning, Sir Edward. I was informed earlier this week that if I wished to contribute my time and…other assets to the establishment, I needed the approval of the board of trustees.” She smiled. “And that would be you, would it not?”

“Why, yes, it would, my young miss.”

Lord Talirand smiled back at her with the patronizing gaze one gave a half-witted invalid. Evie knew she appeared somewhat angelic, for lack of a better word, and that for some reason gentlemen, especially those who were marriage-minded, concluded that since she appeared pretty and innocent, she must also be an idiot. It had used to be amusing; lately, though, she had to fight the impulse to make drooling faces at the perpetrators.

“Then I ask your approval,” she said, favoring Timothy Rutledge, the only unmarried member of the group, with a flutter of eyelashes. Being thought stupid occasionally had its benefits. Men were so easy sometimes.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather spend your time in a more pleasant environment, Miss Ruddick? Some of these orphans are, I believe, quite uncivilized.”

“All the more reason for me to volunteer my time,” Evelyn replied. “And as I mentioned, I do have some funds at my discretion. With your kind permission, I would like to organize—”

“A tea party?” a low male voice interrupted from behind her.

Evie whipped around. Leaning against the doorjamb, a flask in one hand and his gloves in the other, the Marquis of St. Aubyn gazed at her. The expression in his green eyes stopped the retort she’d been about to make. Evelyn had seen cynicism before; in her circle its practice was so common it was nearly an affectation. In those light eyes, though, in that lean handsome face with its high cheekbones, angled jaw, and the mouth that again curved upward in the remains of a bemused smile, the jaded cynicism was so real she could almost taste it.

She saw something else there, as well. Evie swallowed. “My lord,” she said belatedly, her mind dashing
in a hundred directions. What in the world was
he
doing here? She hadn’t thought he went anywhere in the daylight hours.

“Or an orphan musical recital?” he continued, as though she hadn’t spoken.

The other men snickered. Evelyn felt her cheeks warm. “That is not—”

“Or a dress-up masquerade ball?” St. Aubyn pushed upright and strolled toward her. “If you’re bored, I can suggest a host of other activities to keep you occupied.”

His tone implied exactly what he was talking about. Lord Talirand cleared his throat. “There’s no need to be insulting, St. Aubyn. If anything, we should be grateful that Miss Ruddick is willing to donate her time and money to our c—”

“Money, you say?” the marquis repeated, his gaze still on Evelyn. “No wonder the lot of you are panting.”

“Look here, St. Aub—”

“What’s your plan, then, Miss Ruddick?” he asked, circling her like a stalking panther.

“I…haven’t quite—”

“Made up your mind?” he finished. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing here, or did you ride by and decide it would be an adventure to set foot in an orphanage?”

“I set foot here last week,” Evie returned, dismayed that her voice had begun shaking. It always did that when she was angry, blast it all, though in truth he was closer to having her quaking in trepidation. “I was told that I needed permission from the board of trustees to volunteer. So, if you don’t mind, I will continue this discussion with them.”

His smile quickened for a heartbeat, then faded again. “But I am the chairman of this happy little board,” he
told her. “And since you don’t seem to have an organized proposal of your intentions or any idea how to contribute, I think it would be best if you pranced your pretty bottom out of here and went on with whatever nonsense makes up your day.”

“St. Aubyn, really,” Mr. Rutledge sputtered.

No one
had ever spoken to Evie that way; even Victor generally couched his patronizing diatribes in more polite terms. Deciding that if she said another word it would compromise her reputation as a lady, she turned on her heel and stalked out the door. At the first-floor landing, though, she stopped.

Everyone knew St. Aubyn was a scoundrel. There were rumors, which she believed, that he’d fought in several duels, and that suspicious husbands didn’t challenge him any longer because he never lost. As for his reputation with women…

Evie shook herself. She had come here for a reason. Whatever St. Aubyn might say, that reason remained—and to her, at least, it seemed important. It
felt
important, when nothing else she’d done lately felt the least bit significant.

“Miss?”

She started, looking down the hallway beyond the landing. Three young girls, not one of them older than twelve, stood by the nearest of the tall, narrow windows. They had been playing with dolls, she realized, seeing two of the ragged things seated in the windowsill.

“Yes?” she answered, giving a warm smile.

“Are you the lady who came with the sweets last week?” the tallest of them, a thin girl with short red hair, asked.

“I am.”

“Do you have any more?”

Evie hid a frown. She had thought to be talking with the board today and then joining her aunt’s party. Bringing more candy hadn’t occurred to her. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. Not today.”

“Oh. Never mind, then.” The girls returned to their dolls as though she’d simply ceased to exist.

If all she had to offer was sugar, perhaps she did belong elsewhere. Evelyn walked toward them, careful to keep the friendly smile on her face. For goodness’s sake, she didn’t want to frighten the little ones. “If you could have any kind of food or treat, would it be candy?” she asked.

The redhead faced her again. “I would want bread pudding with apples and cinnamon.”

“Pudding. That’s wonderful. How about you?”

The youngest of the three girls frowned. “I don’t want to think about it. Are you a cook?”

“Heavens, no. I’m Evie. I wanted to come visit with you.”

The girls continued gazing at her, obviously unimpressed.

“What’re your names?” she ventured into the silence.

“Molly,” the redhead answered, then elbowed the middle girl. “This is Penny, and that’s Rose. Are you going to bring us pudding?”

“I think I could arrange that.”

“When?”

“I’m free for luncheon tomorrow,” Evie answered. “How do your schedules look?”

Rose giggled. “You’re coming back tomorrow?”

“If you’d like.”

Molly tugged on the youngest girl’s hand, pulling her
back down the hall. “If you bring bread pudding, you can come whenever you want.”

“I
may
come, you mean.”

“No, you may not.”

For a tall man, the Marquis of St. Aubyn moved very quietly. Taking a breath, Evie faced the staircase. Behind her, the girls continued their noisy flight down the hall. A moment later, a door slammed.

“Does anyone like you?” she asked, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Not to my knowledge. You were supposed to leave.”

“I wasn’t ready to go.”

He tilted his head, brief surprise touching his gaze. Undoubtedly few people stood up to him. If he hadn’t been so rude earlier, Evie wasn’t certain she would have had the courage to do so, herself. As Lady Gladstone had said last evening, his reputation was very, very bad.

“I assume you’re ready to go now?” He gestured toward the stairs, his expression informing her that she would be leaving whether she wanted to or not. Best to keep a little dignity if possible, she decided, giving him a wide berth as she returned to the stairs.

“Why don’t you want me to volunteer here?” she asked over her shoulder, hearing his boot steps close behind her. “It won’t cost you anything.”

“Until you grow tired of providing puddings and sweets—or until the orphanage has to begin paying for the removal of children’s rotten teeth.”

“The offer of sweets was only so they would talk to me. I imagine they have little reason to trust adults.”

“My heart weeps at your compassion.”

She faced him, stopping so suddenly on the stairs that he nearly ran into her. St. Aubyn towered over her, but
she refused to look away from the scoundrel’s arrogant, cynical expression. “I didn’t think you had a heart, my lord.”

He nodded. “I don’t. It was a figure of speech. Go home, Miss Ruddick.”

“No. I want to help.”

“First of all, I doubt you know the first thing about what the brats and this building might need.”

“How could—”

“And in the second place,” he continued in a quieter voice, moving one step down so that her face was level with his crotch, “I can think of a place where you’d be much more useful.”