A Taste for Scandal (38 page)

She wanted to laugh as he spun her around, relish the happiness that shone in his eyes as he watched her. She had been right to accept him, to take the risk of stepping foot on Evie’s dance floor. For as long as she lived she would remember this moment, the day that gravity released her and allowed her to float across the dance floor in Richard’s arms.

But even as she wished for the dance to go on forever, the music lifted, then ended with a flourish. She opened her eyes, not even realizing that she had closed them, and looked up into Richard’s searching gaze. Her heart pounded in her chest, drowning out everything else in the world except him. He slowly released her, dipping into a deep bow.

“Richard!”

They both started, looking to the edge of the dance floor. Evie widened her eyes meaningfully at her brother, then looked to the girl beside her. Jane drew in a swift breath when she noticed Richard’s intended. Charity’s eyes were wide with shock, the candlelight shimmering off her unshed tears.

“Charity—” he started to say, but the young woman just shook her head and turned away, disappearing into the throng around them.

Jane looked back and forth between the siblings, unsure of what to do. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. Richard looked back to her, indecision tightening his features.

“Go to her.” She could hardly believe she was saying the words, but it was only right.

He nodded curtly, herding her toward his sister. “Don’t move. Evie, take care of her. I’ll be right back.”

Without another word he turned and plunged into the crowd.

Was it possible to be a bastard when one’s parents were happily married? As Richard stalked the halls, looking for some sign of Charity, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell happened. He felt as though he had been caught in flagrante delicto, not merely dancing with another woman. He found her where he probably should have started in the first place: sitting alone on the pianoforte bench in the music room. She looked very small and vulnerable, so much like the little girl he had once known.

“Charity,” he said, hating so much that he had caused the tears streaming down her face. She had been nothing but sweetness and grace since the moment she had come to London. He wasn’t even sure why she was so upset. It was just a dance, for God’s sake. He would dance with a dozen girls before the night was through. “I’m so s—”

She held up a hand, stopping the apology on his tongue. “No, don’t apologize. Please don’t apologize.”

All the women he had charmed and disarmed through the years, and he couldn’t seem to think of a single thing to say to the one girl he thought of almost as a sister. He came up short—that was
not
the way one should view one’s future wife. And it sure as hell was not the way he wanted to view
his
future wife.

Bloody hell, this was a hell of a time for this. He had already asked her for her hand, already made the promise that should never be revoked.

She wiped at the tears with her wrists, dampening the fabric of her gloves. His heart went out to her, despite the emotions churning within him. He blew out a sigh; before he could figure out what to do next, he had to figure out what had upset Charity so dreadfully. Lowering himself to the bench beside her, he withdrew his handkerchief and handed it to her. “Please, tell me what is the matter.”

She dabbed at her cheeks and sniffled before dropping her hands to her lap and meeting his eyes. “You. Us.” She shrugged almost helplessly. “Me.”

Summed it up quite nicely, actually. He smiled slightly. “That’s quite a list, my dear.”

She gave him a watery grin, nodding. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

“Let’s see if we can narrow it down a bit. What did you see that made you cry?”

Twisting the linen square in her fingers, she looked to her lap. “Something I shall never have if I marry you.”

Richard’s heart gave a hard kick in his chest. What was she saying?

She turned toward him fully, leveling those sad eyes on him. “If we were together for a hundred years, I still could never imagine you looking at me the way you looked at her.”

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She was quiet a moment, fingering the handkerchief. “Richard, when I came to London, it was to find a suitable husband with whom I could have nice life. I thought all I needed was kindness, respect, and hopefully friendship—just like my parents have together.

“But tonight, seeing the way you watched Miss Bunting took my breath away. It was as if the entire ballroom had disappeared, and the two of you were alone in your own world. I realized I want a man to look at me that way, as if his very next breath depended on me.” She put a hand to her chest, leaning forward in earnestness. “Richard, I want a man to love me like that.”

Love?

All of the air rushed from his lungs, from the room—hell, from the entire house. Richard stared at her in utter astonishment. He turned the word over in his mind, then mouthed it, testing it on his tongue. Love. It was the perfect word. He didn’t know how it happened, he didn’t even know when, but looking down at Jane tonight as she danced in his arms, he felt as though he were home. Wasn’t that what love was?

He ran a hand through his hair, not caring a whit if it wreaked havoc on his appearance. A hell of a discovery to make, practically minutes before he was set to make his betrothal announcement. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Ask me to marry you.”

He reared back. “What?”

“Ask me,” she said again slowly, the first hints of a smile curling her lips, “to marry you.”

Cautiously, his eyes slightly narrowed and his head tilted a tad to the side, he said, “Charity, will you marry me?”

“No.”

His mouth dropped open. Could she really be serious? “Are you certain?”

“Do you love me?”

He cringed. “No.”

“Then yes, I’m certain. Now,” she said, coming to her feet and holding out her hand, “I believe there is a delightful lady out there who is wondering what became of her dance partner.”

He took her hand and came to his feet, his mind reeling. “I don’t even want to think about what our parents are going to say to all this. What will they think if they discover I’m in love with Jane?” Saying the words out loud sent a thrill of anticipation through his veins.

Charity raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the big, bad Earl of Raleigh is afraid of a little taste of scandal?”

He laughed, tugging her into a brotherly embrace. “Of course not—scandal is my very favorite dessert. Let’s hope my family feels the same way.”

The air in the ballroom seemed to suffocate her, heated by a thousand candles, three hundred guests, and the weight of so many curious glances. Jane could not have been more grateful when, after what felt like an eternity, Evie slipped an arm through hers and said, “Come, Miss Bunting. Let us take in some fresh air on the terrace.”

Their progress was slow, but eventually they made it to the glass doors, and out into the mild night air. Jane drew in a deep breath, relieved to be free of so many watchful eyes.

“I must say,” Evie murmured as she led them to an unoccupied corner close to the stone railing, “that was one of the most magnificent sights I have ever beheld.”

“You’re not upset with me?”

She chuckled. “My dear, if I didn’t want you to seize the opportunity, I would have never presented it. I simply had no idea how brilliant you’d be.”

“But Miss Effington—”

“Will be all right.”

Jane shook her head, guilt settling low in her belly. “I feel dreadful. I never meant to upset her. I mean, it was just a dance.” Though it wasn’t, of course. It was a thousand times more than that. It was her love letter to him; her way of finally telling him she loved him.

“Anyone who witnessed that waltz would be a fool to think it was
just a dance.
”

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she was very glad for the relative darkness. Was it really that obvious? “Oh, my lady, what must you think of me?”

“I think,” Evie said tilting her head to the side so that moonlight bathed her pale features, “that I know all about the things we do for love.”

“There you are!” Beatrice exclaimed from behind them. “I have been looking for you everywhere.”

Jane turned to greet her friend, and was surprised to see her on the arm of a tall, lean gentleman outlined against the light of the house. She stifled the urge to groan; she was in no mood to be introduced to anyone. At the very least not until she knew what was happening with Richard. But Beatrice had been so kind to her, the least Jane could do was smile and play the part.

“Oh, Jane, you were brilliant,” Beatrice said, releasing her escort’s arm to squeeze Jane’s hands. “Evie didn’t think you would come down, but I knew you would.”

“Thank you?” Jane wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and the words came out more question than statement.

“You were quite a sensation, my dear. I don’t think you even realized that we were on the dance floor with you. Oh, that reminds me,” she said, linking arms with the gentleman at her side once more. “Lord Andrew, allow me to introduce Miss Bunting. Jane, Lord Andrew Gravell, son of the Duke of Worthington.”

The name was as good as a knife in her heart. Jane gasped, horrified, and took a step away. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here, arm in arm with Jane’s own friend, dancing with her as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

His eyes widened, his shadowy features going rigid, and she knew at once that he knew who she was.

The daughter of the man he had killed five years earlier.

Chapter Thirty-four

Father came surprisingly quickly in response to Richard’s summons. As a sign of respect, Richard left the seat behind Dennington’s desk free, sitting in one of the smaller chairs on the front side. The marquis’s pale and drawn features caused a little ripple of alarm. If there was any other time to have this conversation he would have chosen it, but Father was expecting the announcement tonight, and Richard owed him the respect of telling him of the change of plans.

“Father,” he said in greeting.

He nodded in return. “You wished to see me?”

There really was no easy way to say it. Richard rubbed his hands together, deciding to be as straightforward as possible. “Charity and I have broken off our betrothal agreement. I will instead be asking Miss Bunting to be my wife.”

Father’s chin snapped up as if he’d been clipped in the boxing ring. “That can’t be.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but it is. Charity decided she wishes to marry for love, and quite frankly, so do I.”

For a moment he simply looked at Richard, the weight of his disappointment a physical force in the room. It was a thousand times worse than yelling or shouting. At last he shook his head. “Men like us have responsibilities that few can fathom. There are certain sacrifices we must make, certain expectations we must fulfill.

“These last few months, you have proven yourself to be equal to the tasks laid before you in life. I have been proud, prouder than I have ever been, of the man you have become. Which is why I can’t fathom why you would throw everything away to betroth yourself to such as spectacularly inappropriate female. For the love of God, Richard, have you gone mad?”

It hurt to hear the condemnation, to feel his father’s censure. But in this, Richard wouldn’t back down. “I suppose I have. Actually, on second thought, I think I am only just emerging from madness. It is hard for me to believe that only hours earlier, I was betrothed to a woman I did not love, and who did not love me. What utter madness is that, I ask you? To cleave myself to another person for the rest of my life, when there is another who holds my heart”—he shook his head—“it’s impossible for me to fathom.”

“It’s not about you,” his father countered, his eyes flat and serious. “What about your sisters? What about the scandal they will have to live under knowing their brother is married to some commoner off the streets?”

Richard narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching at the disgust in his father’s tone. “I like to think they would be proud of their brother. Not many people are strong enough to choose love over convention. I almost wasn’t, after all. I’ve known for years that when I married, I’d have to find the best damn paragon of womanhood in all of England. What I didn’t plan on was not recognizing said paragon when I met her. Lucky for me, I came to my senses just in time. And if my choice of bride negatively impacts their search for a spouse, I would like to think that those are the people they should avoid in the first place.”

The marquis pressed his lips together in a flat line, not about to give in. “Tell me, what kind of marchioness do you think this woman will make? She has no training, no background. I told you before how difficult the position is, and how the only thing that makes it bearable for your mother is knowing how to handle—”

The door pushed open, and Mother came sweeping into the room. “That is enough.”

Richard and his father both gaped at her in surprise. Had she been listening at the door? For God’s sake, Beatrice must have been giving lessons.

“You,” Mother said, pointing a finger straight at Richard, “should have come to me sooner. And you,” she said, swinging around to face the marquis, “should have come to me in the first place. Since neither one of you thought to involve me in any of this, allow me to make up for lost time.

“First of all, Richard, the only reason I championed Charity so well is because I thought you genuinely liked the girl. I’ve been putting marriageable young women in your way for years. It was only recently that you started acting like a man in love. How was I to know it wasn’t Charity’s influence?”

She looked at her husband and shook her head. “Edmund, I can scarce believe the drivel I heard from your normally wise and thoughtful mouth. Training and background? Yes, being a marchioness is difficult at times, but it isn’t my ‘training’ that makes it bearable—it’s my love for you. I’m astounded that you never realized that.”

Richard could only stare at his mother. When had she become so bloody brilliant?