London's Perfect Scoundrel by Suzanne Enoch Page B

countenance. “An impulsive one, anyway.”
    Evelyn held her breath, waiting for the marquis to turn her mother’s comment with some insinuating remark of his own. Instead, though, he only offered a brief, enigmatic smile. “Indeed.”
    Well, that was good. It might very well have been his first attempt, but he’d managed to be polite for nearly three minutes. And that was probably pushing her luck far enough for one evening. “Oh, is that the quadrille?” she asked brightly. “I promised this dance to Francis Henning. Excuse me, Mama. Would you care to escort me, Lord St. Aubyn?”
    He didn’t say anything further, so Evie decided it would be more prudent to leave and hope that he followed. She’d barely made it through the door when a hand clamped down on her shoulder and nudged her into the nearest alcove.
    â€œWhat was that all about?” Saint asked, regarding her darkly.
    â€œNothing. I only wanted to see if you would do it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a—”
    Saint put out an arm, blocking her escape. Very aware that only part of a curtain screened them from the hallway and the ballroom beyond, Evelyn swallowed. Her friends had warned her how dangerous teaching St. Aubyn a lesson would be, but she was well aware of that anyway. In an odd way, though, it only seemed fair that if he meant to try to ruin her, she should attempt to improve him.
    â€œPlease move.”
    â€œKiss me.”
    â€œNow?”
    With one step he closed the small distance that remained between them, so that she had to lift her chin to meet his gaze. “Yes, now.”
    Evie sighed to cover the sudden speeding of her pulse. “Very well.”
    He stayed where he was, gazing at her. She wondered what he saw that made him keep teasing her like this. A petite female with reddish brown hair and gray eyes, her face darkened by yet another blush. Anything else? Did he think her as naive and useless as her friends did?
    â€œWell?” she whispered after a moment. “Get it over with.”
    Saint shook his head. “You will kiss me.” His eyes half closed, he ran a finger across her skin, just above the low neckline of her gown. “Kiss me, Evelyn, or I’ll find something more intimate for us to do.”
    Her skin where he’d touched her felt hot. Abruptly she realized what the problem was—she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel the sensation again that she’d experienced when he’d kissed her at the orphanage.
    He slowly slipped her gown from one shoulder, his caress soft and warm as he slid his fingers beneath the material. “Kiss me, Evelyn Marie,” he repeated in an even softer voice.
    Trembling and scarcely able to breathe, she raised up on her toes and touched her lips to his. Heat blazed through her as his mouth responded to her soft touch, deepening the embrace with a thoroughness that left her floating. No one’s kiss had ever made her feel like this, humming and shivering inside.
    â€œHow in the devil am I supposed to watch her every damned minute?” her brother’s angry voice snapped from very close by.
    She gasped, and Saint flattened himself against her,pressing her back against the wall. Hiding the two of them behind the curtain’s scant shelter was her only hope; if anyone saw her there, alone with St. Aubyn and even with space separating them, she would be ruined.
    â€œI don’t expect you to,” her mother’s voice, equally sharp, returned. “But you escorted her here, Victor. I think she’s lost her mind, introducing me to St. Aubyn.”
    â€œI half think she’s trying to ruin my political career so I’ll go back to India. There’s Lady Dare. Ask her if she’s seen Evie. I’ll go look for St. Aubyn.”
    The voices faded, but Evie couldn’t relax—not with Saint’s lean, hard body pressed against hers. She should be grateful, she