London's Perfect Scoundrel by Suzanne Enoch

suitable charity for you first thing tomorrow.”
    â€œNo, 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—”
    â€œOn 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.”
    â€œOnly 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 whatever 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.
    â€œEvie,” Lucinda whispered urgently.
    She shook herself. “Beg pardon?”
    â€œHe’s here.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œBut—”
    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.
    â€œGood evening, Miss Ruddick,” he drawled in his low baritone voice, the sound reverberating down her spine. “You came.”
    â€œDid you think I’d be hiding under my bed?” she returned. Her voice sounded composed and steady, thank goodness.
    â€œWhen 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