A Taste for Scandal (32 page)

“Of course,” Benedict quipped, making a surprisingly good shot. “You know, I do believe this is the first time I’ve seen you alone since your father’s illness. It seems every time I am over at Granville House, the delightful Miss Effington is by your side.”

Richard leaned against the table, holding the stick to his chest. “Yes, I know. Mother has made absolute certain that the girl is in my path as much as possible.”

The crack of colliding balls rang out and Benedict grinned in triumph before looking up to meet Richard’s eyes. “I have to say, it didn’t look as though you minded so much.”

Richard tried not to grimace. “As you said, she’s a delightful girl.”

Benedict paused, lifting an eyebrow at Richard’s flat response. “Your enthusiasm knows no bounds.”

Richard shrugged, pushing away from the table and heading to the crystal decanter on the Chinese-influenced sideboard against the wall. “Things have changed, Ben. It’s Father’s wish that I choose a wife before the end of the Season, and after all that’s happened, I think perhaps it’s time.”

Benedict let out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see the day. So am I to assume Miss Effington is your first choice?”

If ever there was an impossible question, that was it. Richard had spent days mulling over his conversation with his father two weeks ago, unable to stop thinking about Jane. In the end, he had sent her a note asking her to meet with him. He had wanted to speak with her in person, to hold her and explain the expectations of his family—of his father, to be specific.

He had wanted her to see how much he hated saying good-bye to her, and know that he
meant
it. In a perfect world, he would happily throw society’s expectations out the window and make her his wife.

But his father was right.

Richard knew she would be miserable in his world. How could she stand to be around people who would look down on her in every possible way? Hell,
he
couldn’t stand the thought of people not treating her with respect, let alone what her feelings on the matter might be. And then there was her long-standing dislike for the people of his class who could do anything they wished, with no regard for the consequences of their actions. She may be able to accept Richard and Beatrice, but after what happened to her father, he sincerely doubted she’d be able to set aside the injustice and live comfortably among the
ton
.

There was no good solution for their situation. The best he could do was to give her the courtesy of telling her these things in person.

And her response? She’d bloody well turned him down. He had read the letter so many times, he had it memorized.

R,

While I very much appreciate your offer, it is wholly unnecessary. I understand completely the new role that you are filling, and I want you to know that while I enjoyed the time we had together, I know that it must now be at an end. For this reason, I respectfully decline your offer. I wish for you all the best in your life, and will always think of you fondly.

Yours,

J

He still could hardly believe how casually she could walk away. After all, he remembered her kisses well—that kind of passion couldn’t be faked.

But her words were plain, and in no way uncertain. She was nothing if not a pragmatic woman, always doing what needed to be done, whether she wanted to or not. Everything inside him had wanted to drop what he was doing and go to her, sweep her off her feet, and remind her why they were so perfect when they were together.

But he hadn’t. What good would it have done anyway? In the end it would have only hurt her more. He cared for her too much to be that selfish.

And so he had resigned himself to the business of finding a proper candidate for his bride—a candidate like Charity Effington.

“She’s as good as any.” He took a drink of the caramel-colored brandy he had just poured. Not bad. “Actually, that’s not fair. She is better than most. She’s talented, kind, agreeable, and, most important, she actually has a brain in that pretty head of hers.”

Laying down his stick, Benedict accepted the drink Richard held out to him. “Then why do I sense a complete lack of interest on your part?”

Because he had tasted something infinitely sweeter, with a woman he couldn’t seem to forget. Not something he cared to share, even with his oldest and best friend. Instead, he downed the rest of the drink and grimaced. “Come now—you know me well enough to know debutantes have never been my cup of tea.”

“Then don’t choose one.”

If only it were that simple. “Don’t be obtuse. I’ve always known that someday I’d have to settle down with some proper young miss who would smile nice and make the family proud. That day has just come sooner than originally thought.”

A scratch at the door kept Benedict from replying, and a servant brought in a tray of refreshments before leaving them alone once more. “You know,” Benedict said, heading for the tray and choosing a pastry dotted with what looked to be currants. “I never took you for the settling type. Settling
down
, yes, but never settling.”

The comment rankled, digging beneath his skin like a sliver. But his friend had meant no offense, and his tone was curious rather than accusing. Richard joined him and selected a chocolate biscuit, still warm from the oven. “And I never took you for the meddling type.” He grinned at Benedict before taking a bite of the biscuit.

The moment the rich, sweet flavor touched his tongue, his whole body tensed and he froze, arrested midchew. He closed his eyes, unexpected emotions welling up within him.

It couldn’t be.

“Something the matter?”

His gaze snapped to Benedict, whose brows were lifted in question. Taking a breath to get his heart started again, Richard shook his head, chewing quickly and swallowing. “Sorry, I just remembered that I have an appointment this afternoon. Would you excuse me?”

“Of course. I do hope you’ll come again soon.”

“Oh, don’t worry; I’ll be back. I’ll see myself out.”

As casually as he could manage, Richard strode to the door and slipped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. For a moment he just stood there, closing his eyes and trying to calm his racing heart. With a single taste of that biscuit, he knew two things with absolute certainty.

Jane was here.

And he was going to find her.

Chapter Twenty-eight

“That smells right nice, it does.”

Jane glanced up from the warm batch of ginger biscuits she had just set on the counter to smile at the apple-cheeked cook. “Thank you. They were my father’s favorite.”

Mrs. Ensley grinned broadly, pausing to draw a sleeve across her damp forehead before resuming her rapid chopping of the celery intended for tonight’s soup. “Don’t know as we’ve ever had so many treats come out of this kitchen, not since the masters were wee boys.”

Jane nodded as she went to check on the bread she had rising. She knew all about the lack of a pastry chef on the Earl of Dennington’s staff. He apparently abhorred sweets, and the house rarely saw visitors. Lucky for her, the earl’s brother, Mr. Hastings, was married to someone that had just as much of a sweet tooth as her brother: Lady Evelyn.

And even more fortuitous, Richard’s eldest sister had been more than willing to help when Beatrice and Jane had shown up on her doorstep two weeks ago. Of course, Evie didn’t know about the more embarrassing parts of the story—thank goodness Beatrice had kindly agreed to keep Jane’s relationship with Richard close to the chest.

Jane had learned rather quickly that the household in general was enamored with the new—albeit temporary—lady of the house. The earl’s mother was rumored to be quite a dragon, and all of them were relieved that she and the earl had decided to remain in Leicestershire this Season while Mr. Hastings and Lady Evelyn took up residence.

Behind her, Mrs. Ensley chattered on, talking about the boys when they were young, and how nice it was to have them speaking to each other again. Jane made appropriate sounds of interest as she worked, letting the cook go on with her stories. It was a huge change, having someone else in the kitchen with her. So much of her days had been spent alone, in the relative quiet of her domain. Jane wouldn’t have thought it before, but she rather liked having the company, especially given Mrs. Ensley’s pleasant if loquacious manner.

Dumping the dough on the floured counter, Jane began kneading, the rhythm so familiar she didn’t even have to think about it. At least something had remained the same in her life. She didn’t know how she would have been able to bear it if she had to give up her baking on top of everything else. It also helped that she had her mosaic tray with her here in the kitchen where she used it to carry ingredients around the huge space.

The light tap of footsteps coming down the corridor barely registered through her thoughts—the servants were always coming and going in the busy house. Mrs. Ensley’s squeak, however, was something else entirely.

“Beg pardon, my lord. Can we help you?”

“I’m afraid I must be lost.”

The air froze in Jane’s lungs.
Richard
. She squeezed her eyes closed at the sudden rush of almost painful pleasure that swept over her entire body at the sound of his voice. Unable to stop herself, she turned to see him, this man who had haunted her dreams for weeks. His tone had been formal, as was his posture, but his eyes . . . his eyes looked straight through her, burning a path all the way to her fingertips and back.

Dear Lord, what was he doing here? Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, so loud she was certain they could hear it.

“Here, let me show you the way.” The cook put down her knife and reached for a towel.

Richard looked away from Jane and smiled woodenly at the woman. “I see that you are very busy, but perhaps”—he hesitated, his gaze flitting back to Jane—“your assistant could help me find my way?”

“I don’t m—”

“Yes, of course,” Jane interrupted, surprising both herself and the cook. Heavens, what was wrong with her? She was supposed to be staying away from the man, not volunteering to be with him. She blamed it on the fizzy anticipation flowing through her veins like champagne, making her light-headed.

Mrs. Ensley blinked, her gaze shifting back and forth between them as Jane stood staring at him, her feet rooted in place. “All right, then. Hurry along now, dearie. Mustn’t keep his lordship waiting.”

Jane nodded, wiping her hands quickly and yanking at the strings of her apron. It felt as though it had been a year since she had stood beside him, felt his lips on hers, and relished the heat of his body against hers. Her skin tingled at the mere thought of his touch.

As she approached, he stepped to the side, his eyes never leaving hers. “After you,” he said, waiting for her to pass. God, he was even more handsome than she remembered. Slipping past him, she caught the slightest hint of his shaving soap, and she couldn’t stop herself from drawing in a deep breath. She bit her lip against the fresh wave of anticipation that swept through her. It was absolute torture, being so close and pretending she had never met him.

What would he say to her? Why had he come in the first place?

She led him down the corridor toward the stairs, the sound of his footsteps drawing closer behind her until he was nearly at her side. His hands, like hers, were bare, and with each step she imagined his fingers, only inches away now, reaching for hers. She swallowed and kept her head down, afraid her expression would betray the riotous emotions bubbling up within her.

As they walked along, the air between them was heavy with unsaid words. It was sweet torture, being so close yet unable to express all the emotions that burned between them. The smart tap of footsteps echoed down the corridor, and he abruptly pulled away from her. “What’s here?” he whispered, pointing to the nearest door.

Her mind whirled, trying to keep up. “Um, music room, I think.”

He pushed open the door and hauled her in behind him, shutting them in with a quiet click. They both waited, breaths held, until the footsteps continued past the door. She released her breath, sagging with relief.

When he turned to face her again, his brow was wrinkled, his eyes searching. “What,” he said, the word sharp, “are you doing here?”

She backed up a few steps, needing to put distance between them. All she wanted to do was cling to him, to curl up in his arms and never let go, but she knew she couldn’t. “I work here now.”

Richard shook his head, raking both hands through his hair as if the world had ceased to make sense. “Why on earth are you working here? What happened to your bakery?”

The drapes were pulled closed, leaving the room in a dim twilight. Carefully, she picked her way to the pianoforte bench and sat. She was stalling, she knew. This was exactly the conversation she never wanted to have with him. With the flick of her wrist, she said, “Gone.”

“Gone?”
His voice was incredulous in the darkness. “What do you mean, gone? The bakery is your life.”

Yes, the bakery
was
her life. She lifted her head, drawing on the inner strength that had gotten her this far. “Not anymore. I work here now.”

He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was thick with caution. “What happened?”

Was it possible to tell the story in a way that wouldn’t make him feel responsible? She doubted it. She licked her lips. “I have a neighbor who has been looking for an excuse to be rid of me since the moment I took over. She finally found it.”

“Tell me it wasn’t because of me.”

She shook her head. “It was because of me. My choices were my own.”

He cursed then, the word echoing in the quiet of the room. “Damn it, Jane, why didn’t you come to me?”

“What could you have done? You had an entire estate and your whole family to look after; you didn’t need to be burdened with me as well.”