A Taste for Scandal (22 page)

The shyness that had been strangely absent as they kissed washed over her, and she lowered her gaze. “It’s all right. We
both
got carried away.”

The shyness began to slide toward embarrassment. Apparently, she lost all sense of decency when Richard came near. She couldn’t seem to help herself. His charming words, his irrepressible smiles and ridiculously handsome face . . . all of it combined seemed to render her unable to maintain even an ounce of good sense in his presence. Worse still, even though embarrassment colored her cheeks and made her movements awkward, she somehow didn’t regret the kiss at all.

She snuck a glance at him. He busily adjusted his clothing before running a hand through his hair. He looked handsome, and disheveled, and nearly as stunned as she felt. And she was in trouble. All thoughts of responsibility and respectability had fled from her mind.

Already she wished she could kiss him again.

When Richard looked up after composing himself, he very nearly groaned out loud. If she kept looking at him like that, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions. Actions like throwing her over his shoulder and dashing abovestairs to the nearest bed chamber. Or perhaps just sweeping the contents of the worktable to the floor and taking her right there.

He eyed the counter. That particular idea might have merit . . .

He shook his head, doing his best to clear it. No, this was no light-skirts—this was Jane, for God’s sake. She deserved better than some quick tumble. He clenched his jaw—tumbling was
not
what he needed to be thinking about right now.

He cleared his throat and said, “I loved watching you work today. Thank you for indulging me. That pie is quite possibly the most sumptuous dessert I have ever tasted.” That was a lie.
She
was the most sumptuous dessert he had ever tasted, but he didn’t think she could handle that comment just yet. Baked goods, on the other hand, were always a safe bet.

She ducked her head a bit. “I’m so glad you think so.”

Bravo to her—she very nearly sounded composed. He liked that she wasn’t going to dissolve in hysterics, or kick him out on his arse. Yet.

She looked so damned adorable he wanted to capture her and kiss her all over again. She was just so damn beguiling. Captivating
without
the calculating nature of many of the ladies in his set who worked so hard for that exact effect. It seemed to be totally effortless, almost natural for Jane.

It was interesting, really. Standing there with slightly swollen lips, rosy cheeks, and luminous eyes, she looked the very portrait of a seductress. He sighed. God, he had to see her again. Soon. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing the wayward curls and giving him a moment to gather his thoughts.

“You know, you have spent the last three weeks showing me how to make the delicious delights you bake. I think this last lesson should be my chance to teach you something.” An unexpected surge of nerves assailed him. For some reason, he desperately wanted her to say yes. If she didn’t . . .

He resisted the urge to eye the countertop again.

She narrowed her eyes, not quite sure what to make of the suggestion. “What do you mean?”

He gestured around the kitchen, encompassing all the pots and pans and utensils and raw ingredients. “The art of preparing amazing food is your world, and I’m honored that you have allowed me access. But now it’s my turn. I want to show you my world, and how to properly
enjoy
food. After all, savoring life is my true talent.”

She scrunched her nose, already shaking her head no before he was even finished. “Don’t be silly. You are paying me to teach you, not the other way around.”

He knew her well enough not to contradict the point. She wouldn’t accept his money unless she earned it. “Then let us have a small hiatus. Next week, meet with me because you
want
to. Then the week after that, we can finish our last lesson. You did say,” he said, grinning encouragingly, “that you once dreamed of having a picnic in the park with a handsome man.”

He waggled his eyebrows and she chuckled. Still, she didn’t look convinced. “I don’t even want to think of the gossip that would take place if I was seen picnicking with you in the park. People in
both
our worlds would take exception.”

She had a point. The park would be full of people of his set, all looking for the latest
on dit
. “Perhaps before church, so we may have the park to ourselves? Around seven o’clock? We can have breakfast by the Serpentine.”

She was tempted, he could see it in her eyes. But still, a hint of doubt creased her forehead. Everything in him told him this outing—getting her away from her home to a place where she wouldn’t feel the weight of responsibility—was the perfect way to truly win her.

He took her hands in his, lacing their fingers together. “Twenty years from now, wouldn’t you love to look back on the memory of dining in the park with a man who adores you, back before he became a stodgy old marquis?” He bent his head to hers conspiratorially. “I need this memory, too, you know.”

She bit her lip, drew in a bracing breath, and finally nodded. “Sunday in the park it is.”

Chapter Seventeen

Would the evening never end?

Richard did his best both to ignore his anxiousness and to concentrate on the conversation at hand. Knowing his rendezvous, so to speak, with Jane was only hours away had him so on edge, that earlier in the evening his mother had asked him if he was feeling “quite the thing” before the family departed for Lady Primbly’s ball. Since he couldn’t very well have told her he was obsessing about a certain raven-haired baker, he had simply winked and thanked her for complimenting his looks so prettily. She had rolled her eyes and dropped the subject.

Now, hours later, he could no longer ignore the anticipation that seemed to have taken up permanent residence inside him. The past week had been torture, pretending to be interested in the normal things, all the while thinking of the delectable Miss Bunting, whose searing kiss and unschooled passion had nearly sent him over the edge.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Richard?”

His head snapped up. Blast, caught in the act of woolgathering. He offered his companion for the moment, the lovely Miss Charity Effington, his best
of-course-I-heard-what-you-just-said
expression. “Absolutely.”

She smiled wryly. “Good to know someone else agrees that the sky looked more green than blue today.”

Oh well, it had been worth a try. Clearly she knew his mind had been elsewhere. He smiled and said, “I must confess, I was so dazzled by your beauty, I could not concentrate on your words. Please do forgive me.”

She snapped open her fan and fluttered it rapidly, causing the auburn curls framing her face to dance in the created breeze. He eyed the contraption jealously. Why weren’t men permitted to have so practical an accessory? The sweltering ballroom teemed with far more bodies than was prudent, and though he and Charity stood close to the terrace doors, nary a hint of wind could be detected.

She regarded him over the top of the fan, her gray eyes dancing with amusement. “Unless my
beauty
has relocated to somewhere over my left shoulder, my lord, I sincerely doubt that is the case. But I shall forgive you, nonetheless, if you promise to make amends.”

He chuckled at her cheek. Charity was proving to be quite the good sport, surprisingly. She had all the makings of a perfectly dull companion, with her soft beauty, titled father, and her gift for music. Generally, when those sorts of traits combined, the young lady in question either bored him to tears or stretched his patience to the limit with self-satisfied blather. But much to the contrary, she had turned out to be a most agreeable companion.

Really, she was exactly the sort of young lady he
should
be taking an interest in. With her humor and endearing self-confidence, she would be a great match for him . . . in theory. As it was, he felt more brotherly toward her than anything resembling romance. He had introduced her to a number of his friends over the last few weeks, though she hadn’t made a match with any of them. He couldn’t wait for Evan to return from Northampton; Richard was still convinced the two would suit best, what with the music connection.

In the meantime, she served as a rather handy companion at these functions. Undemanding and amusing, she didn’t seem to mind his idiosyncrasies—particularly his tendency to become easily distracted these days, though thank goodness neither she nor anyone else—save perhaps Benedict—knew the cause of his distraction. What’s more, the ladies he normally kept company with—in more ways than one—largely let him be since he had begun spending more time with the girl.

It was strange to think he used to really enjoy the company of those women. A fresh wave of anticipation washed through him. The park would be nearly empty—with plenty of trees nearby, behind which he could steal a few kisses, and convince Jane to see him in a much more private setting. He gritted his teeth and pushed that particular thought away. He had to focus on the present if he were to stay out of trouble.

Richard offered an arm to Charity. “Perhaps a turn about the terrace would be repayment enough? Just think of the crisp, night air and the mind-blowing three square feet of space we will have to ourselves.”

Charity brightened. “Oh, yes. I would like that above all else, at this exact moment in time.” Smiling broadly at him, she laid her fingers on his elbow and they stepped toward the exit. “You know, I find it very interesting that with so much to do in London, I never seem to be doing anything.”

It was the most apt description of the Season yet. In years past, he had reveled in the parties, gambling, and various entertainments the city offered. This year, all he wanted to do was get away from it. “I imagine it’s very different from Durham.”

“Without doubt. Especially with my grandmother there. I always feel useful around her—she’s half blind and loves my music above all else.” She leaned in toward Richard, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “Would it be a mortal sin if I admitted I’d rather be doing something useful than being stuffed into these ball gowns and paraded from one pointless ball to the next?”

Richard regarded his companion with interest. He had no idea she felt that way. “Actually, I’ve rather grown to feel the same way these days. Do you know, I’m considering teaching boxing?”

Charity laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, I’m not as gullible as all that. I know full well that you live for these sorts of events. Boxing instructor, indeed.”

Richard hid his scowl behind a laugh. He shouldn’t have been surprised by her reaction—it was likely the same one he’d get from anyone who knew him. Well . . . everyone but one.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

“Did you just see that?”

Beatrice looked up from the pathetically warm lemonade she had been drinking at her mother’s whispered question. “Did I see what?”

Mama tipped her chin toward the doors leading to the terrace. “Richard has been conversing for almost ten minutes with our own little Charity, and he just escorted her outside.”

Our own little Charity?
Beatrice squinted through the door, trying to see out onto the firelit terrace. Was he interested in Charity? He hadn’t said a word to her, and more to the point, she hadn’t observed any overt interest from him. She rather prided herself on her powers of observation, even if her siblings did call it spying.

When it came to her brother, he seemed more animated during their lessons with Miss Bunting than in any of the social gatherings she had seem him attend. She had to admit, though, now that she thought about it, he did seem to be by Charity’s side quite a bit. “Really?”

A satisfied smile grew on her mother’s lips. “Indeed. He was distant at first, but he seems to be with her more often than not at these functions.”

Beatrice cut her eyes to her mother. Mama sounded
awfully
excited by this bit of gossip. Charity was clever and talented and quite nice-looking. Beatrice hadn’t thought Richard would be interested in their friend—she was young and available, two things that Richard tended to avoid. “I wouldn’t have thought it, but I suppose they could suit.”

“Yes,” Mama said quietly. “I think perhaps they would suit quite well, indeed.”

The look on her mother’s face could only be described as glowing. Beatrice was suddenly very glad Mama’s matchmaking eye was on Richard, and not herself.

Chapter Eighteen

She was an absolute fool. If she had any sense at all, Jane would have stayed at home today, especially with the gray light and low hanging clouds greeting her as she stepped outside, locked the door, and headed for the park. Each step through the clearing fog brought her equal parts dread and excitement.

She was a fool, but she couldn’t wait to see him again.

Even if she was breaking every rule her mother had ever established. She didn’t know why she had even read the latest letter. She should have saved it for a day when she wouldn’t be meeting a man at a scandalously early hour, unchaperoned, while using his first name, and desperately hoping for another kiss. At last she reached the park, and she saw him at once, sitting on a bench where they had agreed to meet. Even though he faced away from her, there was no question as to his identity. Richard sat leaning forward, his broad shoulders slightly tense despite his restful pose. His hat sat beside him on the painted wood, and those gorgeous curls looked sunny despite the chilly, dreary day.

As she walked up quietly behind him, he turned his head and grinned. “I’ve missed you.”

He had missed her? Warmth flooded her body, and she grinned back. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

He stood and waited for her to come around the bench before reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips. She thought she had romanticized him in the past week, but if anything he was even
better
than she remembered.

His smile seemed brighter, his voice smoother, his lips more inviting. His eyes could not have been more stunning with the backdrop of his rich blue jacket. As usual, his hair was rather mussed, and she had the sudden urge to run her fingers through it, putting it to rights.