A Taste for Scandal (6 page)

Jane looked like nothing so much as a confused sheep, her skin pale and her eyes wide as Evie moved a hand to her shoulder and herded her toward the basket on the floor. She wasn’t so brassy now, was she? The finger she had pointed at him so accusingly only hours earlier was now dangling limply at her side, innocent as could be.

The two of them together were a study in contrasts, with his sister’s magnificent gown, intricate hair, and dazzling jewels highlighting Jane’s plainness. She had changed out of the lavender gown she wore when he saw her earlier, and now donned a simple white dress with a light purple ribbon beneath her bosom.

He blinked. Good Lord, how had he missed what a generous bosom she had? The very tops of her breasts rose enticingly above the confines of her dress with every rapid breath she drew. Was she purposely drawing attention to her splendid assets? She must know how distracting they were. Dragging his gaze away, he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at her.

It was time to discover what the girl wanted. He didn’t believe her Little Miss Meek act one bit. Had she discovered his family’s wealth and decided to try to get a piece of the pie, so to speak? It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to take advantage of his family. Richard cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Yes, what brings you to our home, Miss Bunting?”

She glanced up from the basket she had lifted from the floor and set on a side table. “A guilty conscience, my lord.”

He might have been encouraged had it not been for the clear reluctance coloring her tone. One would have thought someone held a pistol to her back, for heaven’s sake. He already knew how she truly felt about him; there was no call for her to come to his home and further demonstrate the fact. “Is that so? I can’t imagine what you would have to feel guilty about. Surely you are not referring to the small matter of attempting to have a well-intentioned, innocent man arrested and thrown in gaol.”

Evie pressed her lips together and glared icy blue daggers at him, but Jane simply lifted her chin and replied briskly, “Actually, I believe that is precisely the cause. Despite the utter havoc you wreaked in my shop and the pain you caused my cousin, I realize now it was your intention to help. I apologize for misconstruing your intentions.”

If this was her apology, he’d hate to see her insults. “I can’t imagine why it would be hard to believe someone would try to help you, what with your sunny disposition and forgiving nature. Your mother must be very proud, I’m sure.”

Fire flashed in her eyes, fierce and nearly instantaneous. Her nostrils flared like a riled stallion’s, and she pinned him with her almost emerald glare. “How dare you? You can hardly attest to my disposition, as at the very moment we first met, you were destroying my entire morning’s work, not to mention all the broken dishes and damaged cabinetry—none of which, I should point out, you have apologized for.”

He had no doubt “apologizing” in her mind meant offering compensation. It may not have been spoken, but it hung in the air between them. “Perhaps I would have been more inclined to apologize for the mess in your store if you had been less inclined to call me a lunatic and besmirch my character.”

“Perhaps if I had not been so shocked at the violent intrusion, I would have been in a more reasonable state of mind. As it was, you can hardly blame me for becoming upset.”

How was it she possessed the unique ability to look at him as though he were a steaming pile of horse dung on the street? Benedict and Evie, who had observed the exchange much as one observed a tennis match, stood with identical looks of wide-eyed, surprised interest. This was not the time or place for any of this—they had a ball to prepare for, for God’s sake. “Did you really come all the way to St. James’s merely to argue with me, Miss Bunting?”

She pressed her eyes closed and breathed out a long breath. Setting her flashing green gaze on him once more, she lifted the top of the basket, pulled out a napkin-wrapped bundle, and shoved it toward him. “These are for you. Please accept my sincere apology for the misunderstanding this morning.”

Sincere apology his arse. If not for the sweet, rich aroma of chocolate making his mouth water, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the bundle contained a coiled snake. “Arsenic laced biscuits, I presume?”

“A baker never reveals her secret ingredients,” she replied with a straight face, looking him right in the eye. “However, I would never ruin a perfectly delicious chocolate biscuit.”

Richard was caught off guard by her response and surprised himself by almost laughing. He had not expected a sense of humor from the shrew. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Finally, Benedict chuckled. “Miss Bunting, I daresay you just redeemed yourself, if redemption was necessary.”

Jane offered a brief smile to him before turning her attention back to Richard. “Please, my lord, you must realize it was all quite a shock for me this morning. I regret my thoughtless words, and I do hope you will forgive me. After all, your good opinion is
so
important to me.”

Evie snorted and began to chuckle, putting her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter when Richard glared at her. “Oh, I do believe I like you, Miss Bunting.” She glanced to the standing clock against the far wall and groaned, dropping her hands to her side. “I so wish we could have a chat, you and I, but I am afraid we haven’t the time just now. My mother’s ball is set to begin within the hour.”

Jane’s cheeks bloomed with color, and she backed up a few steps toward the door. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. It was very nice to meet you, Lady Evelyn and Mr. Hastings.” Her tone was so sweet when she spoke to his sister; she was like a completely different person. Then her eyes moved to Richard and she gave her head a perfunctory little dip. “Lord Raleigh.” Metal grinding against metal produced a more pleasing sound than the way she said his name.

With that, she pulled open the door and escaped into the evening gloom. There was a moment of silence as all three of them stared at the door. Then Evie turned to him, placing her hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes. “Laced with
arsenic
?”

Richard couldn’t stop the devilish grin that came to his lips. “She had very pretty manners just now, but you did not see her shrieking like a savage to have me taken away. It was no more than she deserved.” And clearly she could handle herself. Perhaps he had been wrong about the little baker’s motives in coming here. She was rather . . . intriguing.

“Since when has an apology issued in earnest ‘deserved’ a scathing comeback?”

Richard headed for the stairs, motioning for them to follow. “It was but a prick to her pride, nothing more.” What was it about that woman that so thoroughly got beneath his skin? He never lost his composure around women like that. Hell, he was
known
for his ability to charm even the most disagreeable of females. One might even call it his one true talent.

“I daresay Mama would beg to differ,” Evie replied, lifting her skirts as she started up the stairs.

“I hardly think Mother would notice. She is but a shopkeeper, after all.” So why did it irk him so much that she didn’t like him?

Evie stopped in her tracks, and Richard turned to see what was the matter. The look on Benedict’s face was a cross between amusement and horror, and he shook his head. “Now you’ve gone and done it. If you’ll excuse me, I think I will escape while the possibility still exists. I’ll see you upstairs, love,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to Evie’s lips before heading up the stairs two at a time. He paused only long enough to slap Richard on the back. “Good luck, my friend, you’re going to need it.”

“But a shopkeeper?”
Evie said slowly, enunciating each syllable.

Ah, yes, he had momentarily forgotten her bluestocking tendencies, what with her confinement and the recent birth of her daughter. She had worked by Father’s side for half her life in the family’s horse breeding venture, and took quite a lot of pride in her work. Truthfully, he’d always been rather grateful for her involvement; he himself was no good at all the things Evie excelled at.

He gave her his most winning smile. She rolled her eyes and brushed passed him, stomping up the rest of the stairs. Though she wore delicate silk slippers with soft soles, she still managed to make her footsteps sound angry.

He sighed and followed up behind her. When they reached the landing, she headed for the gold and cream drawing room to the right of the staircase, which thankfully was empty.

“I would have never thought of you as being so high in the instep, Richard Moore,” she said, fluffing out her skirts to sit on the settee. “Lovable cad perhaps—but not one to look down his nose at others.”

He walked over to the window and pushed aside the damask drapes to look out on the streets of St. James’s Place. Already traffic clogged the cobblestone road as the
ton
began another evening filled with the various entertainments the bustling Season offered. The little basket-toting baker was nowhere to be seen. Not that he would be searching for her.

Sighing, he said, “I’m not high in the damn instep, Bit. I didn’t mean what I said. That woman just rubs me the wrong way, and I seem to have a hard time keeping a civil tongue in my head when she’s around.”

“And why do you suppose that is?”

Richard glanced at his sister’s face. A slight smile curved her lips. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Because she’s a termagant.”

Evie’s smile grew. “I think she’s nice. And quite attractive.”

“I wouldn’t know. I was too busy dodging the fire she was breathing to notice.”

His sister laughed, pushing off the settee and coming to her feet. She walked to where he stood and pulled back a corner of the napkin wrapped around the biscuits still cradled in his arm. He was struck anew by the sweet, delicious smell and his traitorous mouth watered as she extracted a perfect chocolate disk. Looking up to meet his eyes, she wagged the treat beneath his nose.

“Liar,” she said, then promptly turned and walked from the room.

All right, so she had offered better apologies in her life. Actually,
all
of them were better than the one Jane had given Lord Raleigh. It was so unlike her, it made her cringe just to think of the exchange. She should have waited until the next morning, when she wasn’t so exhausted and testy. Although, something about him just made her grind her teeth. She definitely should have sent Weston or Emerson instead.

It was too late now, however. What was done was done.

As the hack pulled up in front of her building, she wearily descended and paid the driver. God willing, she would never have to see the earl again. Their worlds could not have been farther apart—as so starkly evidenced by the palace he called home—so the chances of their encountering each other were slim to none.

Letting herself in, Jane bypassed the shop and headed upstairs to the apartment she shared with Weston. She pushed open the door and paused at the scene that greeted her. “What is all of this?”

Emerson and Weston both jumped at Jane’s question, apparently so immersed in their project that they didn’t even hear her come in. Weston’s sheepish expression did not bode well. Jane sighed—after the day she’d had, she didn’t need a single other thing getting between her and her bed.

Emerson twisted in his seat and hooked an arm over the back of his chair. “I was just explaining to Weston that a good sailor wastes nothing. Debating how best to give this pile of rubble new life.”

Setting down her basket, she went to join them at the table. The surface was littered with jagged white pieces of fine porcelain. The delicate periwinkle border added cheery color to an otherwise abysmal sight. “Mama’s china,” she breathed. Fresh grief welled within her, and she purposely turned from the table and went to the still-steaming kettle for some tea.

“It just seemed criminal to toss it out like so much rubbish,” Weston said, his voice melancholy.

“Aye. And I was telling Weston about the mosaics I saw in Spain and Greece. They’re little more than broken tile pieced together, but damned if they weren’t the most beautiful things, pardon my language. I don’t see what it would hurt to give it a try.”

Jane paused while stirring her tea, throwing a glance over her shoulder at the table. Even broken, the pieces were still precious to her. “Do you know, that’s not a bad idea.” She’d seen a few mosaics, each telling a story with their swirling array of colored tiles. The tightness that had pinched her shoulders since the moment Lord Raleigh came down the grand staircase in his equally grand house lessened just the smallest amount. She claimed one of the chairs and inspected the porcelain covering the scarred table. After taking a calming sip of tea, she asked, “What have you come up with so far?”

Her brother lifted a shoulder. “Not much. We both thought a piece of furniture of some sort, but nothing special came to mind.”

“Furniture?” It was hard to imagine the random mess on the table coming together for anything so useful as that.

“Nothing too big or fancy. Just a small piece to memorialize it.” Emerson rubbed a hand back and forth over his chin as he considered the raw material before them. The raspy sound of his stubble made her smile—it had been five years since such a sound had been heard in her home. Soon, Weston would need to worry about shaving. The thought gave her pause. Who would teach him? Perhaps she should have their cousin give him lessons before he shipped out once more.

Sighing, Emerson leaned back in his chair. “I give up. The two of you think it over, and I’ll gather the materials we’ll need.” He cut his glance to Jane. “And I should’ve asked when you came in—how did it go at his lordship’s?”

She wrinkled her nose. That was the last thing she wanted to talk about. “Dreadful. His family was rather nice, but he was as boorish as ever. As was I.”

Emerson’s green eyes twinkled in the candlelight as he chuckled. “I’d as soon believe a fish could walk than you’d be boorish, Janey.”

“It’s true. I lost my temper in the face of his discourtesy. I should have known I was too exhausted to endure such a meeting.” The sarcastic comment about her mother being proud of her had really been too much. It didn’t help that the earl had no way of knowing how recently Mama had passed away.