Read Online London's Perfect Scoundrel by Suzanne Enoch - Free Book Online Page B

Evelyn, and she remembered his earlier warning about Saint. Well, she hadn’t turned her back on the marquis; he’d kissed her right on the mouth.
    “French fashions and jewelry,” the duchess answered without a pause.
    “Gak. I say we teach Lizzie to play billiards,” the viscount returned, grimacing.
    The duke nodded, motioning him out the door. “It’s suggestions like that which make me glad I encouraged you to marry my cousin.”
    “‘Encouraged’ me? As I recall, you threatened to shoot me if I didn’t.”
    The argument faded down the hallway, while Evelyn sat back, listening in wonderment. These two men had at one time been well known for their black reputations and bedchamber escapades. Now, however, one of them cradled an infant as though it were the most natural thing in the world, while the other would be in a similar situation within six months.
    “Evelyn?”
    She shook herself. “My apologies, Emma. What did you say?”
    The duchess smiled. “I just asked whether you needed any help in putting your organizational plan together.”
    “Thank you, but no. I would like to attempt to do it on my own.”
    It wasn’t that she couldn’t use the help, but Saint seemed to think she was an imbecile good for nothing but warming his bed. If she received help, he would know it, and he would undoubtedly say something about it—in front of the rest of the board of trustees. No, this was her project, and she would put it together herself.
    “Of course. But please remember, I’m available if you have any questions.”
    After some cursory chatting about French fashions and jewelry, Evelyn and Lucinda left Brakenridge House. She’d made a small beginning already, but now, with her stack of borrowed books beside her, she felt asthough she had half a chance of putting together something acceptable. The only problem was, acceptable wasn’t good enough. The plan needed to be perfect, and she needed to have it ready in two days.
    And the proposal wasn’t the only part of this that needed to be ready; she was determined that the Marquis of St. Aubyn would not send her fleeing again. Nor would she allow him to kiss her again. Whatever amusement he was after, she wouldn’t be the one to provide it.
     
    Saint narrowed his eyes. “I am not nearly drunk enough to approve funds for you to tally up the contents of the storage rooms, Rutledge.”
    Timothy Rutledge gave him a black look, his earnest posture taking on a distinctive defeated slouch. “There is sixty years’ worth of accumulated furniture, paintings, re—”
    “If you’re so curious,” Saint interrupted, “tally it yourself.” He sat forward. “But if I find you’ve sold one stick of it, I’ll be very…unhappy.”
    “I—”
    “Give it up, Rutledge,” Sir Edward Willsley said gruffly, downing the remains of his glass of port. “I would never have approved it, either.”
    “Your thefts will have to be more creative than that, if you wish them to get past me.” With a dismissive glance, Saint refilled his own glass, then Sir Edward’s. All this was a great deal of nonsense, anyway. The only merit to Rutledge’s prattling was that it kept Saint occupied while he waited to see whether Evelyn Marie would appear.
    He doubted it, but not enough to forgo the board meeting altogether. Waiting, however, didn’t sit well with him under most circumstances; here, he felt distinctlyterritorial and defensive of his inherited territory—no doubt to Rutledge’s dismay.
    “So do we have any other new business to discuss?” Lord Talirand asked around a puff of cigar smoke.
    Sir Edward cleared his throat. “The leftmost window in the older boys’ dormitory is coming loose from the casement again.”
    Saint offered a faint grin. “How else would they slip out at night?”
    “What?” The baronet sat forward. “You knew?”
    “I’m not blind, Willsley.”
    “Ha. You’d turn this establishment into a thieves’ rookery if it was up to