A Taste for Scandal (23 page)

Oh, jam and splash, this was
precisely
why she should have stayed at home.

She had almost talked herself out of it, but somehow she found herself donning her nicest frock. And then somehow her favorite lavender ribbon had found its way to her waist. Plain hair would never do when dressed so finely, so she had fiddled with her locks, doing her best to create a flattering style. Now she couldn’t help but be pleased in the face of his obvious appreciation as his eyes roamed her features.

“You look beautiful.” He smiled in that boyish way of his, and she did her best to maintain her breathing.

Why must he be so ridiculously handsome? And so tall, and dashing, and . . .

“I brought you something.” He leaned down to retrieve an item from the bench. “Something I thought you might enjoy.”

With a flourish, he presented a single sprig of lavender. Her lips parted in surprise and delight. It was the sweetest thing he could have possibly done. She looked up, grinning like a little girl. “You remembered.”

She smiled at the sweet purple blooms climbing the stalk. A simple flower—quite a common one at that—would apparently be her undoing. Just like that, every last one of her defenses crumbled.

“Of course I remembered. I remember everything you tell me,” he said quietly, twirling the stalk in his gloved fingers.

No man should possess so much charm all to himself. Swallowing a giddy grin she reached for the flower, but he held it away.

“If you don’t mind,” he murmured, then leaned forward to tuck the stem behind her ear. “There,
now
it’s perfect.”

She savored the lingering frisson of delight curling through her as the calming scent of lavender settled around her. Picking up the small basket at his feet, he offered his arm and they started forward, in no particular hurry.

She sighed; she could get used to this kind of attention.

Despite the bland day and uninspiring scenery, the moment could not have been more perfect. She had never been escorted by a man before, never really even had the desire. Now, however, she reveled in the feeling of his strong arm beneath her fingers, his solid presence beside her, his utterly delicious scent mixing pleasantly with the lavender in her hair. Should she make a lavender lemon dessert? Perhaps with a bit of cream, and a gingerbread crust.

“Do you come to the park often?” Richard’s smooth voice broke through her runaway thoughts.

“Not really, though I do enjoy it. I simply don’t have the time to be dallying about.” Oh, gracious, did she just say
dallying
? Despite the fact she had used it innocently, she felt the telltale creep of heat rising up her neck. “What about you? I actually haven’t a clue what you do with yourself during the day. All I know of you is your fondness for honey walnut scones and lemon pie.” And his accomplished kissing skills, but she wasn’t about to bring that up.

“Lots of things,” he said, steering her toward the tree-lined path leading to the lake. “Boxing, as you know. Horse auctions with my father. The occasional card game. Dancing.”

His life was so different from hers. She had always resented people like him, doing nothing but indulging their every whim, taking from those who actually worked for a living so they might float from one party to the next. After what happened to her father, she had developed a distinct dislike of those privileged few, who did whatever they wanted with little fear of consequences.

But somehow, over the last few weeks, Richard had made her rethink the way she viewed the upper class. He was just another
person,
not some nefarious lord. He was likable, and sweet, and humorous, and had somehow managed to endear himself to her, even with all of his privilege. For the first time since she was a young girl, she thought of those long ago wishes for a man to sweep her onto a dance floor. “Tell me about the dances.”

They had slowed as they followed a curving path around the back of the Serpentine. Several mature trees populated the area, more or less providing something of a screen from most of the park.

He looked to her in surprise. “The dances? You want to know about balls and the like?” She nodded, and he pursed his lips, looking out over the water. “Depends on where you are, really. They can be very different.”

“Tell me about one that you attended this week.” She pictured Lady Evelyn in the incredible silver ball gown she wore the night she and Jane met. For the space of a heartbeat, she imagined what she herself would look like outfitted in a gown like that. She gave her head a tiny shake. Those were not the things for her to think of.

Although if she
were
to think of it, her gown would most certainly be trimmed in lavender. With flowers in her hair. And dainty silk slippers on her feet.

“Well, last night I attended Lady Primbly’s gala. The ballroom was insufferably hot, the orchestra more enthusiastic than talented, and the attendees basically the same as every other event I have been to this Season. It was really quite tedious.”

Oh. That did not sound at all glamorous.

She felt rather . . . let down. Yes, she resented the wealthy and their ability to make a career out of doing nothing, but, well, it was almost like discovering the balls she dreamed of as a very little girl were nothing more than a fairy tale.

Richard paused, extracting his arm from her grasp and turning to face her. His expression bordered on contrite. “I’m sorry, Jane. It’s a life I have been a part of for so long, it has rather lost its allure.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Now, if I were to describe the evening from
Beatrice’s
point of view, it would be a very different story indeed.”

“Well, Lord Obvious, as she is a young lady, I imagine that is true.”

He rewarded her quip with a bark of laughter. She grinned; she
loved
making him laugh.

He set the basket on the ground and pursed his lips. “Let’s see,” he said, stroking his fingers across his chin. “Upon entering the grand, gilded ballroom, we were immediately dazzled by the glitter of the room. There had to have been at least a thousand candles aflame, reflecting off the gold and crystal accents throughout the massive space.” He swept his arm out in an arc in front of them, as if showing her the enormous, imaginary ballroom in place of the lake.

“Already the room was filled with hundreds of people, with large potted plants and the odd chair filling any space not occupied by a warm body. The moment we stepped through the arching doorway, our names were announced, and every eye turned to see the Marquis of Granville and his vaunted family—particularly the eminently available and devilishly handsome son.” She smiled and shook her head as he lifted his nose in the air with an exaggerated air of snobbery.

“We bowed in greeting to our hosts,” he pantomimed a deep, cordial bow, “before delving into the dizzying rainbow of shimmering ball gowns, each one more splendid than the last.” He traced the outline of a pretend gown, including the shape of a very generous bosom, and sashayed a few steps in front of her. Jane giggled; how could she not?

“The men were only slightly less grand, with brightly colored coats and closely fitting breeches. Not
all
men filled out their clothes so well as yours truly,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows, “but nonetheless, each man looked his best.”

He made a show of preening, adjusting his cravat and straightening his sleeves. She loved watching him act so silly, all for her benefit. Amusement coloring her voice, she asked, “And then what happened?”

“Well, first we made our way through the crowds, greeting the people we knew—which was everyone, truth be told, so it did take quite a bit of time to work our way through.” He walked in a circle around her, pausing at the end of the circuit and dipping his head in greeting as if they had only just met. “Good evening, Miss Bunting. May I say you are looking positively ravishing this evening?”

She curtsied in return. “Why, thank you, Lord Raleigh, how very kind of you to say so. You cut quite the dashing figure yourself in your handsome attire tonight.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her comment, and she bit her lip in a moment of uncertainty. “Why Miss Bunting, I do believe that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me. Tell me, how are you finding the weather this evening?”

Her brows scrunched together. “The weather?”

“Yes, of course, my dear. No ball would be complete without a comment about the recent weather—the more banal, the better.”

“Oh, of course. Well, I find the weather to be . . . pleasant?”

He laughed. “Are you asking or telling?”

She grinned and tried again, this time with resolute conviction. “I find the weather to be most pleasant.”

“Excellent,” he exclaimed in approval. “I for one am very glad that we were spared rain this evening.” He leaned down and said in a stage whisper, “See how well I worked in the lack of rain? One must always comment on the precipitation, be it the recent proliferation or lack thereof.”

She nodded gravely. She couldn’t believe how much fun she was having, pretending like she had when she was a little girl. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so carefree.

He held out his hand to her, at once looking both sweet and devilish. “Will you do me the
great
honor of allowing me to claim a dance this evening? Assuming your card is not already full, of course.”

She made a show of checking her imaginary card very carefully. “Hmm, it appears I do have an opening for a quadrille. Shall I jot you down?”

He reached for her hand and clasped it firmly within his own. She sucked in a surprised breath. They were both wearing gloves, but the contact seemed decidedly intimate. Her gaze snapped up to his eyes.

“Only the waltz will do, my dear.” He tugged her to him, and she came without resistance. It was insanity, being wrapped in the embrace of a handsome earl right there in the middle of Hyde Park. In that moment, she didn’t care if anyone saw them, if anyone judged them or thought them wicked. She reveled in the feeling of being in his arms, of holding his entire attention as if there wasn’t another woman in all of England.

She swallowed and looked up to him, unsure of what to do with herself. She hadn’t a clue how to dance the waltz. What should she do with her hands?

Thankfully, Richard took charge, gently placing her fingers on his shoulder before laying his hand on her back. Within moments, she could feel the heat of his palm through both his glove and the layers of fabric she wore. She gave a little shiver, and he smiled briefly before swinging them into motion.

He led her firmly, his body somehow communicating to hers how to move. She stumbled a little at first, and he bent to whisper in her ear, “Only one of us may lead, my dear. Relax and follow my lead.”

Let go of control?

Now, there was a new concept for her. But in this, she had no choice if she didn’t want to end up on her backside in the grass. She took a deep breath and slowly released control to him.

She felt the difference the very moment she relaxed. Almost immediately, it felt as though she were floating, gliding along the pebbled path, swaying like the leaves of the trees around them. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the dance, smiling softly when he began humming a tune near her ear.

She imagined she wore an intricate ball gown, and instead of gray clouds, chandeliers decorated the air above them. The other ladies would look to her in envy as she swept through the ballroom on Richard’s arm. He danced as if he was born to it, smoothly guiding them along the path, turning her this way and that.

She laughed out loud when he twirled her, opening her eyes to see the world spinning around them. To her surprise, a ray of sunshine broke through a hole in the clouds, and pink light filled the air. It was exactly like a dream, like the fantasies of her youth. When he pulled her back to him, it was with sureness, pressing her fully against his broad chest and twining his fingers with hers. Their eyes met and the whole world disappeared. She held his gaze as he swept her along, his blue eyes her only focus as the landscape around them whirled past in a blur of greens and blues.

So this was what it was to be in heaven. Bathed in soft pink light, held tightly in a strong embrace, free from any worry or fear.

If only they could go on forever. Dancing nearly cheek to cheek, oblivious to the world and all of the responsibilities that normally anchored her feet so firmly on the ground. His imperfectly timed, murmured waltz caressing her ears as his citrus scent swirled quietly around them like a memory.

At last, Richard ended the waltz on a crescendo, dramatically humming the final refrain. He released her and stepped back, bowing deeply. He had never looked more debonair or more dashing. How could one person possibly be so charming?

She curtsied in return, going as low as she could before straightening. A delighted giggle bubbled up from within her, a joyful sound she usually associated with children, not on-the-shelf bakers with a business to run, a brother to raise, and a reputation to uphold. She couldn’t help it; she had just danced! A proper dance—well, almost—complete with spins and twirls and decidedly more contact between them than could possibly be proper.

And not with just anyone, but with Richard.

“My dear Miss Bunting,” Richard said, exaggerating the tones to sound as lofty as the Prince Regent himself. “You dance like a ballerina. Nay, a cherub.”

“A cherub? I dance like a fat, flying, arrow-brandishing baby?” She placed her hands on her hips in mock outrage.

“Yes, that is precisely it. The highest compliment, no?”

“I think not, actually.”

He smiled then, slow and easy and somehow she felt it all the way to the tips of her fingers. He reached for her hand, tugged it from its perch on her hip, and lifted it to his lips. “An angel, then.” Without breaking eye contact, he pressed a featherlight kiss to the inside of her wrist.

She stood completely still, ignoring the lock of hair the wind tugged free, not daring to brush the strands away from her cheeks lest the action cause him to release her. She couldn’t even seem to blink.