Free London's Perfect Scoundrel by Suzanne Enoch

you.”
    Lord Talirand exhaled another cloud of smoke. “At least then we’d be making a profit.”
    Saint only sipped his port, reflecting that the only thing worse than being on the Heart of Hope Orphanage board of trustees was having to attend the meetings.
    Someone scratched at the door, and he was on his feet before he registered the wish to remain seated. A slow heat ran under his skin. Damnation, that had best be her.
    “Expecting someone?” Talirand drawled, eyeing him.
    “Eager to escape,” he countered, strolling to the door and pulling it open. “What is it?”
    The housekeeper jumped backward. “My…you said…it’s Miss Ruddick.”
    “Show her in, Mrs. Housekeeper.”
    “Natham, my lord.”
    He ignored her squawking as Evelyn came forward, and ignored the shuffle of feet as the board stood behind him. She wore a pale green muslin, high in the neck and very plain for one of the diamonds of Mayfair. Her auburn hair, coiled severely at the back of her head, gaveher the appearance of a governess; no doubt she intended to look demure and businesslike.
    She curtsied. “Good afternoon, Lord St. Aubyn, Lord Talirand, gentlemen,” she said, passing by Saint and keeping her gaze turned away from him.
    “How brave of you,” he murmured, motioning her toward his vacated chair. “And you’ve brought gifts.” Wanting to touch her, he settled for tapping his fingers against the stack of papers she held in her arms.
    “Supporting documents,” she returned, setting them on the chair.
    “What brings you here today?” Rutledge asked, coming forward to take her hand and draw it to her lips.
    Saint felt her glance, but ignored it, making his way over to lean against the writing desk. He wanted a vantage point from which to observe her, where the others couldn’t see him doing so. Informing anyone of her anticipated arrival smacked of servitude, and he hadn’t been keen on giving any of the other males in the room advance notice, anyway.
    “I…am here to present a proposal for improvements to the orphanage,” she said, her voice only a little unsteady. “Lord St. Aubyn seemed to feel that I should be allowed to donate my time and money only if I could account for the wheres and hows.”
    Talirand favored her with a smile as the board seated themselves once more. “How delightful. Please tell us your plans, Miss Ruddick.”
    At that she launched into a presentation concerning education, clothing, food, building improvements, and several vast social issues. Saint didn’t note much of it. Instead, he caught himself studying the way her hands moved, the turn of her head, and the earnest, enthusiasticexpression on her mobile face. Whatever she was after, she seemed to think this was how she would achieve it.
    He didn’t doubt that he could wear her down, bring her to the point where she would beg for his caress, for his kiss, for his hands on her bare skin. The question was why he seemed to be obsessed with her. Fatima, among others of his former lovers, would laugh if she knew he was hard for a virginal chit.
    At the sound of polite applause, he shook himself. Whatever she’d said, his fellow board members had liked it—though they’d probably decided to give over their support as soon as she’d mentioned donating money.
    “I find your enthusiasm quite admirable,” Willsley said. “If you need any assistance or advice in managing your project, I hope you’ll feel free to come to me.”
    Rutledge nodded, as well. “You’ll no doubt find this management business far too dull and complicated for someone of your tender sensibilities. I am at your service.”
    Scavengers , Saint thought. Let them have the remains; he wanted the main course.
    Evelyn smiled with the smooth expression he’d often seen her use to charm her dance partners, angelic and a little aloof. “Thank you very much, gentlemen. Does this mean I have your approval?”
    Even Talirand was standing now, the scent of a weak-witted female