London's Perfect Scoundrel (13 page)

He gazed at her levelly. “If you don’t give me those keys now, you’d best hope I never get out of here,” he said in a low, hard voice. “Because the first person I come after will be you.”

And she’d been worried he might want to see her arrested. Evie swallowed. “If you ever want to get out of here, you’d best not say such things,” she said grimly, and slipped out the door.

S
aint froze as Evelyn closed the door. A lock clicked, and through the narrow-spaced bars he heard the tap of her shoes as she climbed six, seven, eight steps. A second door squeaked open and then closed, leaving him in utter silence.

He stood there for another moment, listening. Nothing. Dust coated his jacket, trousers, and waistcoat. The inside of his mouth and his nails felt caked, as well. He spat into the dirt, then clanked back to the mattress in the corner and sat.

They’d—and he knew Evelyn hadn’t done this without assistance, whatever she might say—locked the shackle over his boot, just above his ankle. It was a snug fit, and the rust-coated iron was already doing a splendid job of ruining the leather of his expensive Hessians.

Experimentally he tugged at the clasp, then at the ring that joined the shackle to the chain. Nothing budged. Link by link he worked his way back to the iron
ring sunk and bolted into the wall. All the work was as solid as if it had been installed last week, rather than last century.

Sitting back again and crossing his legs as best as he could with the left one chained to the wall, he began going through his pockets. Some money, a handkerchief, his pocket watch, a button that didn’t belong to him—Fatima’s walking dress, he thought—but nothing remotely helpful in aiding his escape.

Saint fingered the cut on his temple again. He’d been an absolute idiot. Why had he thought Evelyn meant to spread her legs for him? Because he’d wanted to think that. She’d acted odd and distant all morning, then had lashed out at him in fury, and he’d accepted that she would twenty minutes later offer her body as a bribe because he wanted it to happen.

He’d underestimated her, which in an odd way pleased him. As dicey as were some of the situations in which he’d found himself, no angry husband or jealous lover had ever managed to lock him into a dungeon.

“Damnation.” He gave the chain another hard yank, but only succeeded in cutting his finger on a sharp-edged link.

Whatever lesson Evelyn thought she was teaching him, he wasn’t having any of it. No chit bested him at anything. All he needed was to discover what she thought she wanted from this, and then use that to free himself. And revenge where she was concerned was going to be very sweet, and it was going to take a very long time.

If not for his pocket watch he would have thought much more than thirty-seven minutes passed before the door at the top of the eight steps creaked open again.
Saint lurched to his feet, clutching at his head as another wave of dizziness hit him.

The key turned in his door, and he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Maybe she would forget how far his chain reached, and she’d wander into his grasp.

“Saint?” she said in a low voice, peeking her head around the door.

He didn’t answer, instead measuring the distance between the end of his reach and the door—a good six feet, by his guess. Whoever had built the brig had wanted to be sure no one got out until or unless they were supposed to.

“I’m glad to see you’ve calmed down a little,” she ventured, her color still high and her expression nervous. She’d dusted off her gown and put her hair back up, though she still looked as disheveled as he felt. “Will you listen to me now?”

“Yes. I’d love to hear how beating me over the skull and kidnapping me is—how did you put it?—‘for my own good.’”

Evelyn winced. “Lady Gladstone told me once that you were so bad you didn’t need to be good.”

Fatima had more intelligence than he’d given her credit for. “And you disagree, I take it?”

“Yes, I do.” She stepped back into the doorway and reemerged with a tray. “Water and a cloth, as I promised.”

Saint continued to observe, curious as to how she intended to give them to him without coming within reach. He tensed, ready to move at the hint of a mistake on her part.

She set the tray down, though, well beyond the reach
of his shackles. Reaching back through the door to her unseen helper, she returned with a broomstick, which she used to push the tray toward him.

“You haven’t by any chance done this before, have you?” he asked, not moving.

“Of course not.”

“When I said I intended to be your first, this wasn’t what I meant.”

Evelyn flushed, hurrying over to whisper something outside and close the door. “I understand why you’re angry,” she said, turning the stool back upright and sitting down again. “You’ve been injured, and someone has taken away your freedom, all against your will and your wishes.”

“Not someone,” he corrected. “You.”

“Well, someone had to.”

Saint narrowed his eyes. Normally he enjoyed the give and take of their conversations, but normally he wasn’t chained to a wall and forced to endure them. “Get on with your speech, Evelyn.”

“Very well. I took your freedom before you could take something from me.”

“Your virginity?” he suggested cynically. “You offered it to me.”

“No, I didn’t! That was a ruse.”

“Hoyden.”

“Stop it. You’re trying to take the home away from these children. And you’re trying to take away my ability to do something worthwhile. My chance to make a difference. You’re just like all of the other men in my life, you know.”

Whatever she meant by that, it sounded insulting. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Victor sends me to talk to disgusting
old men because they think I’m charming. He doesn’t care if I have to lie to them about how interesting I find them, or whether the stupid political teas he makes me attend are useless and worthless and make me very…nervous. And you—you’re worse.”

“Do tell.”

“You only let me into the orphanage because you thought it would give you the chance to lift my skirts. You’re handsome, and exciting, and…enticing, but I do have a mind, you know. You don’t know me, and you don’t know these children who depend on you for their lives. All you care is that it’s inconvenient.”

His angel certainly had a mouth on her. He would never have expected it, but at the moment he didn’t much appreciate it. “Are you finished?” he snapped.

“Not yet. As of this moment, nothing is inconvenient for you. You now have all the time in the world. And someone else gets to judge whether you should be let loose into Society again or not.” She stood. “And ponder this, Lord St. Aubyn. If you never reappear, will anyone even miss you?”

A cold chill went down his spine. “Evelyn, think about what you’re doing,” he said slowly, beginning to realize just how deep the hole he’d dug for himself was. “If you don’t let me go right now, do you think you’ll ever be able to do so?”

She stopped, one hand on the door handle. “I hope so. You’re a very intelligent man. I think you could also be a good man. It’s time for you to learn something.”

Evie closed and locked the door, then sagged against the heavy closure. She’d never spoken like that to anyone in her life, and it actually felt good to finally say those things aloud.

On the other hand, the situation terrified her; she could never allow harm to come to him, but neither could she allow him to swear out a statement against the children. “Please understand,” she whispered, a tear running down her cheek.

The encounter had actually gone better than she expected, considering that she hadn’t known precisely what she was going to say until she’d begun speaking. The dark, predatory speculation in his eyes bothered and excited her still, but she supposed a hard look was better than yelling and attempted attacks.

Eventually he might even appreciate the lengths to which she was going in her attempt to turn him into a true gentleman. Evie sniffed, wiping her cheeks. Kidnapping hadn’t been part of the lesson plans she and Lucinda and Georgiana had concocted. Straightening, she managed a grim smile. Last year they’d worried that Georgie’s maneuverings were going too far. Lord Dare had had it easy.

Upstairs she gave another lesson in the waltz, then ran through a few last-minute instructions for the older children as they were all called down for luncheon.

“Do we have to feed him?” Molly asked, scowling.

“Of course we do. And be nice to him. He doesn’t like being in there, and we need to show him how to care for people besides himself.”

“And if that don’t work?” Randall asked, squinting one eye.

“It will work,” Evie returned, with more confidence than she felt. Dangerous as it could be, her plan wouldn’t succeed unless St. Aubyn could be made to interact with the orphans under his care. “He’ll probably be mean at first. We’ll have to show him better manners.”

“I’ll show him some fine manners,” Alice Smythe cooed.

She’d been afraid of that; she knew firsthand how charming Saint could be. She would never fall for his kisses again, but these girls—these young ladies—could be very susceptible to him. “Just remember how important this is. He’s very devious, so no one is to go in to see him alone. And I’m keeping the key to his shackle with me. If he knows you don’t have it, there’s no reason for him to try to take it from you.”

“Seems like there’s an easier way to take care of this.” Randall pulled a small whittling knife from his pocket.

Oh, good heavens
. “No. Having Lord St. Aubyn as an ally is much better than having him…dead. Promise me that none of you will harm him.”

“You want a promise? From us?”

“Yes, I do. And I expect you to keep your word.”

Randall jabbed his knife into a bedpost. “All right. We promise.”

The rest of the children echoed him, and finally Evie could breathe again. They had lessons to learn, just as Saint did. And for some reason she seemed to have been chosen to deliver them. “I will see you first thing in the morning. Good luck.”

When Evelyn reached Barrett House she was only twenty minutes late, but she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she’d lost more time than that, and that somehow everyone could see right through her and know that she’d kidnapped St. Aubyn and was holding him captive in the cellar of the Heart of Hope Orphanage.

“Evie,” Lucinda said, rising to clasp her hands. “We were getting worried about you.”

Evelyn forced a careless laugh and went to the couch to kiss Georgiana on the cheek. “I’m not that late, am I?”

“No, but you’re usually never late at all.”

“I was playing with the children.”

“And your gown?” Lucinda asked.

Evie looked down. She’d tried to clean up, but patches of dirt still sullied her dress where she’d fallen to the floor. “Oh, dear,” she said, forcing a chuckle. “I suppose I should play less enthusiastically.”

“And your hair?” Georgie fingered one of the strands that had come loose from her haphazard bun.

Blast
. “Some of the girls and I were doing our hair. Is it too hideous?”

Lucinda chuckled. “I’ll have Helena make general repairs before you leave.”

They chatted about the week’s events, as they always did, and Georgiana regaled them with an anecdote about Dare’s youngest brother, Edward, who had just turned nine. Evie slowly began to relax, though she couldn’t escape the vision of Saint chained alone in a cellar while she nibbled at tea cakes and laughed with her friends.

“How goes your other lesson?” Lucinda asked, sipping her tea.

“Which other lesson?”

“You know—St. Aubyn. Or have you decided to take our advice and select a more reasonable student?”

“I haven’t seen him today,” Evie blurted before she could stop herself.
Blast it, she sounded like an idiot
. “And…I have to confess,” she went on, pretending not to notice the look her friends exchanged, “he’s more of a challenge than I expected.”

“So you’ll forget him, then, yes?” Georgiana took her hand. “It’s not that we doubt you, Evie. It’s just that he’s so…”

“Awful,” Lucinda finished. “And dangerous.”

“I thought the idea was to choose someone awful,” Evelyn countered. “You kept telling us that Dare was the worst man in England, Georgiana. I thought that was why you chose him.”

“I know.” The viscountess gave a small smile. “I had personal reasons for wanting to teach him a lesson. You both knew that. You have no such connection with St. Aubyn.”

She did now
. “Nevertheless,” Evie said aloud, “I am determined to teach him how to be a gentleman. Think of all the maidenly virtue I might be saving.”

Lucinda put an arm around her shoulder. “Just protect your own. Be careful. Promise us that, anyway.”

“I promise,” Evelyn repeated obediently, beginning to wonder whether Saint was having a greater influence on her than she was on him. She never used to be able to lie with any success at all. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good. And if you need a distraction tonight,” Luce went on with a smile, “I’ll even dance with your brother.”

Evie frowned. “Tonight?”

“The Sweeney ball, my dear. Even St. Aubyn’s been invited to the mayhem, from what I hear.”

Her insides turned to ice.

She’d hoped to have a few moments to go check on St. Aubyn before the ball, but by the time she returned home and changed, Victor was pacing in the foyer.

“Heavens,” she said, taking her wrap from Langley and pulling it on herself when Victor declined to offer his
assistance, “you don’t want us to be the first arrivals, do you?”

“Yes, I do, actually,” he returned, taking their mother’s arm and leading the way down the front steps. “I’ve been trying to have a word with Lord Sweeney for over a week. He’s spent time in India, as well. I won’t have a better chance to recruit him than this. He may even get me an audience with Wellington.”

She stifled a sigh. “And what are Mama and I to do while you’re recruiting, then?”

Victor glanced at her like she was a child’s porcelain doll who’d suddenly developed the power of speech. “You’re to chat with Lady Sweeney, of course.”

For a moment she considered mentioning that she had a rude, arrogant marquis locked in a cellar, and a second set of manacles ready for another occupant. Instead, she smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

Saint didn’t know what time it was, because he couldn’t see his pocket watch. He was fairly certain it was first thing in the morning, though he was mainly judging by the rumble of hunger in his stomach and the scratch of his whiskers.