A Taste for Scandal (35 page)

She nodded, suspecting where he was going with the conversation, but not quite sure. “I know you would. I love the way you treat your sister. It’s one of the reasons I decided you weren’t such a bad sort after all.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “That night, I promised myself something as well. From that moment on, I would do everything in my power to help alleviate the stresses that caused my father worry. The doctor told us that for the rest of his life, his heart would be susceptible to further attacks. The best we could do was try to keep his temper calm and the stresses in his life at a minimum.

“When Father told me that he wished for me to put his mind at ease and to choose a wife by Evie’s ball, I couldn’t say no. My family needs stability. They need to know that they can count on me, and I am doing my duty to keep the title in the family.”

She’d known already that a wife was in his future—Evie had said as much. But for some reason, hearing the words from his own lips was like a physical blow. A wife by Evie’s ball? It was just so soon. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, forcing a smile to her lips as she nodded so he wouldn’t see how much his words affected her.

“Jane, if it were up to me—”

She lifted a hand, stopping him before the pain in her chest grew any more. “It’s all right. Truly, it is.” She swallowed, desperately trying to hold back the emotions she didn’t want him to see. She’d known from the beginning that there could never be anything between them. This very night, she had even promised herself that there
wouldn’t
be anything.

“Say something, Jane. Please.”

She closed her eyes, trying to find words. Only one thing came to her mind in that moment, one thing that would make things better. Opening her eyes, she smiled up at him. “May I have this dance?”

He blew out a breath, releasing whatever pent up emotions he was holding inside. Extending his hand, he grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Swallowing her up in his arms, he led her around the huge kitchen, swaying in time to the soft music he hummed. It was slower than their dance in the park. Closer, more intimate—exactly what she wanted. No words were needed between them; the dance said it all. They moved as one, gliding between the pot racks and worktables—all the things that filled her life as a baker. Everything from their hips to their heartbeats seemed to be synchronized, each breath of the same motion.

In that moment, her body said the words that she knew she could never say aloud to him.
I love you, I love you, I love you . . .
like the tap of their feet on the tile and the time of the music Richard hummed in her ear, the words repeated over and over in her mind.

At the end of the song, he twirled her around, the scent of shortbread and citrus enfolding her as she spun. She already knew it was an aroma that would follow her in her dreams.

When he steadied her, she started to pull away, but before even an inch separated them he came after her, pressing his mouth fully across hers. She sucked in a breath through her nose, her heart racing at the sudden flood of emotion that sang through her body.

His hands went to either side of her waist and he drew her to him almost desperately, holding them together as if their lives depended on it. Jane wrapped her arms around his neck, plunging her fingers through his silken curls. The kiss was long, and hard, and so passionate her body burned for more.

But there wasn’t to be more.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that their time together was almost up. She sighed, pulling away. For a moment they just looked at each other. Then she smiled, nodding to the oven. “You’d best rescue the shortbread before it’s too late.”

He nodded. “Benedict would be suspicious if he smelled burned biscuits when he came down.” Richard made quick work of pulling the pan from the oven and setting it on top to cool. When he turned to her, the reluctance in his eyes told her it was time to say farewell.

With her chest feeling hollow and strange, she lifted his hand to her lips and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. “You are a good man, Richard. I’m glad to have been your teacher.”

He broke off a small piece of his creation, blowing on it to cool the steaming biscuit. “You must taste the fruits of your labors.”

He held the treat up to her lips in invitation, and she didn’t hesitate in taking a bite. It was warm, and buttery, and so tender it nearly melted in her mouth. As she smiled and praised Richard’s skills, only one thought seemed to stick in her mind.

So this is what bittersweet tastes like.

Chapter Thirty-one

The rack had nothing on the torture of sitting in Evie’s drawing room, pretending to listen politely to Lady Effington discuss her latest letter from her cousin in Scotland while his whole body was attuned to every move of the servants, waiting, hoping for a glimpse of Jane.

She was here in the house. Not only did he know it logically—where else would she be, after all?—but everything in him alerted him to the fact she was near. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Surrounded by his family and Charity and her mother, he was as good as trapped.

The problem was, he had started to wonder. What if he asked Jane to marry him instead of Charity? What if her feelings had changed about the
ton
, especially since she no longer had her shop? What would his family say? Would there be any way to make the
ton
accept her?

Was it possible to choose the woman he really wanted, while still following through with his promises to his family?

The questions had burned in his gut all day, and now, here in the house, all he could think of was finding her.

As the footmen cleared away the dishes from the second course, Evie clinked her glass with her knife. “We have a very special treat tonight. In celebration of Charity’s birthday, may I present a cake, just for you.” She gestured toward the doorway and a pair of footmen rolled in a striking three-tiered black and white edible work of art.

Jocelyn and Carolyn oohed and ahhed with delight, and Charity put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness, look at that! Mama, do you see—it has music notes on it.” She turned to Evie. “This is too much—you shouldn’t have.”

“It was Mama’s idea. I merely passed it along to my talented pastry chef.”

Richard’s head popped up. Of course he knew Jane was indeed a pastry chef, but for some odd reason, it irked him to have her referred to by her position, rather than her name. She should have said,
my talented pastry chef, the utterly enchanting and beautiful Jane Bunting
. Perhaps not in those exact words, but something similar would have sufficed.

Charity’s freckled cheeks glowed with pleasure. “Talented, indeed. Would you be terribly offended if I discarded convention and went to have a closer look?”

“Of course not. I must admit, I was marveling over it before you came.”

As the girls all rose to go inspect the cake, Beatrice shook her head in wonder. “How absolutely delightful. I didn’t even know Miss Bunting could do cakes like this.”

Evie nodded, grinning. “Indeed. Is it not wonderful?”

“Perhaps we should have the opportunity to properly thank the chef.” The words were out of his mouth before he had even finished thinking them. In general, such an occurrence was never a good thing.

Mama looked at him as if he had requested to speak with Napoleon. Having one’s chef to the table was not done, of course. Before he could come up with an excuse for having suggested such a thing, Charity agreed. “I think that is a marvelous idea. For her to have put such work into this, I would love to properly thank her. Perhaps she can even come hear me play.”

Richard nearly groaned. Why hadn’t he thought about the fact that such a suggestion would put the woman he wanted and the woman he was supposed to want in the same blasted room? But it was too late now—a footman had already been sent off to fetch her.

Why did he suddenly feel as though his wife and mistress were about to meet? Neither girl qualified for the roles, but it still felt inherently wrong to have them together. Of course, that didn’t stop his heart from pounding with the anticipation of having Jane close to him once more. He watched the door, holding his breath every time he heard a noise that was even remotely like footsteps.

Would she look at him? Speak to him? Find a way to brush by him somehow? Or would she pretend that she had never met him, refusing to indulge him his need to have her gaze meet his? Just when he thought he would explode from the anticipation, the soft tap of footsteps reached his ear.

“Richard, are you listening, dear?”

“What?” Damn it! What could his mother want from him at that exact moment in time?

“I asked if you wanted a cake such as this for your next birthday.”

The cake? No. The baker? More every time he saw her. “Um, no, thank you.”

His eyes darted back to the door, waiting for—no
willing
—her to be there. And then at that moment, she arrived. He exhaled, his body wilting with the relief of finally seeing her again.

“There you are,” Evie said, standing to greet her. “Miss Bunting, allow me to present Miss Effington, the lucky recipient of your beautiful cake.”

Jane smiled, but Richard could tell at once that it was false. Her true smiles lit her whole face, as if by a shaft of sunlight. The look that she gave Charity bordered on . . . pained. His eyes narrowed slightly. Did she know? Did she realize the significance of the lady to whom she spoke?

Charity laughed at something, and his mother actually joined in. Richard could hardly believe it as Jane, all four of his sisters, his mother, and his possible future bride conversed at the front of the room, the cake the centerpiece of their discussion.

“Excellent,” Charity exclaimed, bringing Richard back to their conversation. “I hope you enjoy the little concert—I’d love for it to be some small reward for all your hard work.”

The family adjourned then, heading toward the music room for the concert. The servants waited as they filed past, and Richard made sure that he was the last to leave the room. He knew Jane followed, but with the others so close by, there was nothing he could do. His body was so attuned to her presence, he could actually
feel
her behind him.

He huffed a frustrated breath. There had to be a way he could slip away and speak with her.

As the family chose their seats, Jane hovered by the door, as if primed for a quick escape. Beatrice waved her over, motioning to the chair beside her. “Please, come sit beside me, Miss Bunting.”

“No, thank you, Lady Beatrice, but I must decline. I have something in the oven that will need to be tended to shortly.”

“Well, be certain to come right back when you’re done. I promise you’ve never heard anyone half so talented as Charity.”

Richard ground his teeth. He had to figure out a way to speak with her. Inspiration struck, and he popped to his feet. “I’ll just be a minute. Please, carry on without me.”

“Oh, we can wait,” Charity said, pausing with her fingers over the keys.

“No, I insist you go ahead. I don’t wish to delay the others’ enjoyment of your talents.”

She looked unsure, so he made little shooing motions, not unlike if she were a bird that had landed too close to his bench. Her smile fell the slightest amount, but she nodded. “Very well.”

He blew out a breath and headed out into the corridor, pretending he had to relieve himself. The moment he was out of view, he flattened himself against the wall, waiting for the music to start. When the tingling tones of one of Charity’s favorite original works floated into the corridor, he counted down a minute before walking back along the wall until he was right at the edge of the doorway. Thankfully, this was one of her more lively songs, which served to provide him with a bit of cover.

He peered just around the jamb to where Jane stood, not two feet away. He reached out and tugged her skirts, and she whirled around. He jumped back, ducking around the corner. It wouldn’t do to be caught by his family if anyone had noticed her reaction.

When he peeked around again, he smiled—his plan was working. Jane was taking slow steps backward, inching her way along until she stood just at the doorjamb, perfectly aligned so that he could talk to her without being seen.

“I need to speak with you,” he murmured.

For a moment she stood still, and he was afraid she would not come, but then she exhaled and stepped into the corridor, just out of view of the music room.

“Richard, what do you want?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

He leaned forward, breathing in her heavenly scent. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She closed her eyes for a second before shaking her head. “I already know what you want to say, Richard. It isn’t necessary—I understand.”

“It is necessary. We can—”

“No, we can’t,” she said, her eyes earnest, her voice low. “She’s lovely, Richard. I honestly didn’t think it would be possible to like her, but I do. And I can see how plainly your family adores her.”

He bit off a curse. Damn it, this wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “She is lovely, but so are you. Perhaps my family could adore you as well. What if—”

She put a finger to his lips, shaking her head rapidly. “No what-ifs. Your family could never love me like that. I could never
fit
like she does. No matter what, there could never be a true place for me in your world.”

“But Jane—”

“Please, don’t make this even harder for me. Your duty to your family must always come first. It’s as it should be. I, of all people, understand that.”

Her eyes had darkened to a soft mossy brown, and in their depths he sensed the honesty of her words.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. She pulled her finger away and he nodded. She was right, damn it.

Beatrice watched her brother, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. She had known he enjoyed Jane’s company, to be sure, but more in the
recreational
way like he did so many others. He was legendary for his exploits, was he not? She never imagined he actually might feel something . . .
more
for the woman.