London's Perfect Scoundrel: Lessons in Love

Front Cover
Harper Collins, 2009 M10 13 - 384 pages

A determined young lady vows to give one of London's infamous rakes his comeuppance -- but when the rogue turns the tables, who truly learns a lesson in love?

Beloved Sinner

The ton gossips call him "Saint" -- but the Marquisof St. Aubyn has well earned his reputation as London's perfect scoundrel. Evelyn Ruddick knows she should avoid him at all costs -- but the strikingly beautiful lady wants to aid the children of the Heart of Hope Orphanage, and he heads the board of trustees. Evie is determined to teachthe charming, arrogant man a lesson in compassion, but it won't be so easy -- especially since his touch is setting her desire aflame, making Evie yearn to submit to his passionate instruction ... The idea of joining in her "project" is unthinkable, but this enchantress refuses to give up! So what else is there for a self-respecting rake to do but seduce the lady? Yet soon it is he who is beingseduced by Evie's tender heart and fiery blushes. Could the temptation of long, passionate nights in her arms bring about the impossible? Could the disreputable Saint at long last be reformed?

From inside the book

Contents

Section 1
1
Section 2
4
Section 3
10
Section 4
22
Section 5
41
Section 6
55
Section 7
71
Section 8
83
Section 14
165
Section 15
187
Section 16
206
Section 17
221
Section 18
237
Section 19
249
Section 20
265
Section 21
286

Section 9
97
Section 10
112
Section 11
132
Section 12
141
Section 13
151
Section 22
305
Section 23
316
Section 24
333
Section 25
355
Copyright

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Page 165 - He, who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him; nor below Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife, Cut to his heart again with the keen knife Of silent, sharp endurance : he can tell Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife With airy images, and shapes which dwell Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted cell.
Page 221 - THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee ; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming, And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep ; Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep : So the spirit bows before thee, To listen...
Page 55 - SAINT Peter sat by the celestial gate, His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, So little trouble had been given of late ; Not that the place by any means was full, But since the Gallic era " eighty-eight," The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull, And "a pull altogether," as they say At sea— which drew most souls another way.
Page 71 - Though the day of my destiny's over, And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, It shrunk not to share it with me, And the love which my spirit hath painted It never hath found but in thee.
Page 41 - brain them with their lady's fan ; " And sometimes ladies hit. exceeding hard, And fans turn into falchions in fair hands, And why and wherefore no one understands. XXII 'Tis pity learned virgins ever wed With persons of no sort of education, Or gentlemen, who, though well born and bred, Grow tired of scientific conversation : I don't choose to say much upon this head, I'ma plain man, and in a single station, But— Oh ! ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you...
Page 10 - Ah, me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; Few earthly things found favour in his sight Save concubines and carnal companie, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.
Page 187 - Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same. But his was not the love of living dame, Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, But of ideal beauty, which became In him existence, and o'erflowing teems Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems.
Page 141 - Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart The heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.

About the author (2009)

A native and current resident of Southern California, Suzanne Enoch loves movies almost as much as she loves books. When she is not busily working on her next novel, Suzanne likes to contemplate interesting phenomena, like how the three guppies in her aquarium became 161 guppies in five months.

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