A Taste for Scandal (9 page)

Wait, what? Jane gaped at him, hardly able to believe what he was saying. Was he mocking her? Pretending to indulge her only to laugh and walk away? But no, he counted out five sovereigns and laid them on the counter. “The honey walnut, please.”

Jane’s eyes were riveted on the coins before her, all shining merrily in the sunshine. Good heavens, who carries around such a fortune on a random Thursday? She looked up, for once speechless. Even his sister seemed surprised, her golden brows rising halfway up her forehead as her eyes darted back and forth between them. Jane shook her head, at a loss of what to make of the handsome lord before her. “You can’t be serious.”

He crossed his arms over his blue velvet jacket and smiled. The warm challenge in his eyes did very strange things to her belly. “I don’t see why not. You made a valid argument, and I sincerely want that scone. Besides, my entire reason for coming here today is to apologize for my ill behavior yesterday, and making reparations seems appropriate. I’m only sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.” He paused, pursing his lips. “Actually, that’s not true; I’m also sorry I didn’t stop to think before diving in to rescue a damsel who was most assuredly
not
in distress. Hmm, come to think of it, there are a lot of things I’m sorry for, but let’s hope the money will stand for all of them.”

It was the exact opposite of what Jane expected from a man like him, and for a moment she blinked in astonishment. Finally, she looked down at the coins lying on her counter like a guilty conscience. Jam and splash, she hadn’t expected him to actually
agree.
It would be so easy to pocket the money on the table, hand over the scone, and cheerily wave good-bye to the earl. Mrs. Brown’s threat of setting her brother-in-law on Jane was very real, and she had no doubt whatsoever that he would pay her a visit upon his return to check on the repairs. Lord Raleigh’s money would pay for the repairs and then some, but . . .

She couldn’t take his money. No matter how he annoyed her, his motives yesterday had been pure. As much as the extra funds would help, it wouldn’t be right to take them. Oh, but the coins tempted her. It wasn’t as though five pounds was much money to him. He didn’t even seem to be taking the situation seriously, grinning at her like a fool. She clenched her jaw. No, she couldn’t do it. Charging a Good Samaritan was about as low a thing as one could do. She sighed.

Blast the man for always making it so hard to do the right thing.

Picking up the tongs, she made quick work of selecting a scone and wrapping it up for him. When she was done, she pushed it and the coins across the counter. “I can’t accept your money, Lord Raleigh, but I do accept the apology. Let us call a truce and be done with the whole matter.”

She’d surprised him; she could see it in his widened blue eyes. But there was something else reflected in their silvery depths. Admiration? Surely not—he had such a low opinion of her after all. He rubbed a hand over his chin, looking down at the items on the counter. “It appears we are at an impasse, Miss Bunting, for you will not accept my money, and I cannot accept another free treat. Perhaps we could make a trade?”

Jane started to refuse, but curiosity got the better of her. Besides, accepting a trade for the fruits of her labors was reasonable, wasn’t it? “What sort of trade do you have in mind?”

He held up a single gloved finger, an incredibly boyish grin on his lips. “Give me one moment.” Without another word, he turned and pushed out the door and into the street, quickly disappearing from view.

Jane turned wide eyes to Lady Beatrice, who shook her head. “I haven’t a clue.”

What had Jane gotten herself into this morning? And why must her stomach insist on doing flips every time the man grinned at her? She had much more pressing things to worry about. If she were smart, she’d hurry to the kitchen and send Weston back in her place. It was the practical thing to do. And yet . . . yet, she simply couldn’t seem to make herself move. Instead, she watched the door, anxious to see what the earl would bring back.

She tried not to show the disappointment she felt when the next person who pushed through the door was a customer. That was precisely the person she
should
be waiting for—not the earl. Still, she made quick work of the transaction, quickly assembling his order and exchanging funds. Her mind was so preoccupied that by the time he left, Jane couldn’t have even said what he had just purchased.

Soon after, Lord Raleigh popped back into view and pulled open the door with one hand while hiding the other behind his back. “You’ve made your peace offering, Miss Bunting. Please allow me to make mine.”

Humor crinkled the corners of his eyes and there was no denying the rush of warmth that spread through her body like warm honey. She mustn’t get her hopes up—he could very well be playing a trick on her.

From behind his back he produced the loveliest bouquet of flowers she had ever seen. She couldn’t contain her delighted gasp. Actually, it looked like two or three bunches put together, overflowing with a riot of color and variety. She drank in the beauty of the vibrant blooms, a sight absent from her life since the days Papa used to buy flowers for Mama. Pleasure, tinged with nostalgia and almost unfamiliar in its intensity, lifted the veil of exhaustion from her shoulders and buoyed her sinking heart.

“I—I don’t even know what to say,” she stammered, hardly able to take her eyes from his offering. No one had ever given her flowers before. She was far too busy to entertain the notion of a beau, and she couldn’t justify spending their hard-earned and meager funds on such a frivolous indulgence.

“Say thank you. And in turn, I shall say thank you for the scone. See how polite we can be when we put our minds to it?”

Jane hazarded a glance at Lady Beatrice, who was grinning with delight, her gloved fingers pressed to her mouth. Looking back to Raleigh, Jane offered a tentative smile. “Yes, thank you, of course.”

Almost as if they called to her, she turned her gaze back to the flowers. She could hardly believe they were hers, all hers. Her senses seemed to have completely taken their leave.

Raleigh gave the flowers a little waggle, rustling the stems and shaking her from her stupor. “Perhaps you would like to put these in water?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, willing her cheeks not to blush as she reached for the bouquet. Her fingers grazed the supple leather of his gray gloves, and she very nearly dropped the precious blooms. She
had
to get a grip on herself. “Thank you. Again.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, his icy blue eyes never leaving hers. “It occurred to me last night, as I sampled those utterly delicious biscuits you brought by, that anyone who could bake such divinity must surely be a good person. And I must concede that you were right. It wasn’t fair to judge you based on your reactions in the heat of the moment.”

He paused and leaned forward conspiratorially. “And I suppose I really must thank you for not poisoning the biscuits since, upon reflection of
my
behavior, I admit it wouldn’t have been unwarranted.”

Who was this charming man? A smile, the flowers, and now this? She looked to him with new interest. In the space of a few minutes, he seemed almost a completely different person. An oddly
likable
person—though she couldn’t help but be wary of such a change.

“I think both of us may have been guilty of snap judgment,” she admitted, meeting his gaze squarely. “For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for the things I said to you, and for not believing your motives in the first place. I’m not normally like that, and feel badly for taking my frustrations out on you.”

The corners of Lord Raleigh’s mouth tipped up. “Bravo for us, Miss Bunting. We have been able to remain civil for over a minute. That is certainly a record.”

She hugged the bouquet to her chest and smiled as the delicate, heady scent of roses surrounded her. “Indeed.”

Collecting the coins and wrapped scone from the counter, he stepped back. “We had best be on our way. I certainly wouldn’t want to tempt fate by overstaying my welcome.” He sketched a shallow bow, just as he might have had she been a real lady. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Bunting.”

Without another word, he turned and escorted his sister out the door. Jane returned Lady Beatrice’s quick wave just before the pair turned right and disappeared from sight.

For a moment Jane simply stood there, staring out the glass of the door like an idiot.
What
had just happened? She finally blinked and looked down at the flowers still clutched to her chest. If it weren’t for their physical presence, she would think the whole thing was just a dream. A wonderful, impossible-to-believe dream.

She took a deep breath. No matter how shocking the encounter, she had to pull herself together. She had entirely too much to do to be standing around all day like some sort of princess, staring at a bunch of flowers. Pausing to retrieve her mother’s precious vase from the top shelf of the cabinet behind her—blessedly still intact after yesterday’s scuffle—she headed to the kitchen to rescue her brother.

As she descended the stairs, Weston glanced up, sweat beading on his brow as the whisk clanked rhythmically against the metal bowl. “Oh, thank God,” he said, abandoning his task at once and rolling his shoulders. “What took so lo—saints above, did the old bat bring you
flowers
?”

Jane came up short. The old bat? Oh, yes, she had already forgotten about Mrs. Brown. She shook her head, realizing what he must be thinking. “Heavens, no. These are from Lord Raleigh.” She slipped between him and the worktable and headed for the sink. With any luck, he wouldn’t notice the blush heating her cheeks. “And it’s not very nice to speak of Mrs. Brown that way.” She couldn’t bring herself to put much heat in the rebuff.
Old bat, indeed
.

“Yes, well,
she’s
not very nice. But what’s this about Lord Raleigh? From what you said last night, it sounded as though you two got on about as well as cats and dogs.”

“He came round to make peace, which I appreciated. Now off with you before someone comes into an empty shop.”

With a nod he headed up the stairs and back to the shop, leaving her in peace in her kitchen. She set down the flowers and the vase and peeked at the egg whites—perfect. She covered the bowl with a thin towel and turned back to the sink.

Smiling, she lifted her mother’s gorgeous porcelain vase. It had stayed in its place behind the glass door of the cabinet since before Mama fell ill. After Papa died, there was no one to fill it anymore, but it was too beautiful not to have it on display. And then Mama died, and Jane couldn’t bear to put any of the cheery pieces away. Instead, they served as happy reminders of the parents she missed so much.

A soft smile came to her lips. And now the vase would be filled again.

She lowered it to the sink and started to reach for the pitcher when she caught a glimpse of something stuffed down inside the vase. Curious, she tugged it out, flipping it over to get a better look. She took one look at the single word scrawled across the front and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Chapter Eight

“Flowers, Richard?” Beatrice sent him a sly look beneath the shade of her bonnet as they walked along the pavement toward Bond Street, an irrepressible grin lighting her lips.

“What? I couldn’t very well just take the scone from her, now could I? Besides, this glorious thing was well worth the trade,” Richard said, popping the last piece in his mouth. Utterly delicious—not unlike its baker.

The air was crisp, but with the sun bathing the city for the second day in a row and drying the ever-present mud, the streets were quickly filling with shoppers and pedestrians.

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, disbelief clear in her tone. “I’ve seen you woo many a lady, dear brother, but I’ve never known you to give a woman flowers. I think you like her.” She walked with the satisfied sashay women everywhere seemed to use when they were certain they were right about something.

“
Like
may be too strong a word. Yesterday morning, I despised her. Yesterday evening, I disliked her. Last night, I was dismayed by how I treated her. Today, I have come round full circle to feeling completely neutral toward her.”

And that was total and complete bollocks. Jane was utterly intriguing. Seeing her eyes light up as though he’d offered her precious jewels instead of a humble bouquet had been well worth it. In that moment, when the world-weariness and caution had dropped away, he’d caught a glimpse of the girl buried beneath all the responsibility and burden.
That
girl was certainly no shrew.

In fact, she was quite the opposite. And the thought of getting to know that part of her was very tempting indeed.

Beatrice’s gaze was too sharp by half. “She interests you. I could see it in the way you looked at her.”

“If nothing else, I do feel badly about the whole bumble-broth. The damage to the cabinet was more extensive than I realized. I do wish she would have accepted the money.” Only a half lie this time. Part of him wished she had, but the other part of him was enthralled with the fact that she did not. He wanted to know more about a woman who had legitimate claim to reimbursement—who indeed would suffer without it—but yet who would turn it away because she didn’t think it right. Nearly unthinkable, that.

His whole life he’d had people clamoring after him, wanting something from him: money, connections, associations, a good word—anything that would profit either their pockets or their statuses. And yet the humble little baker wanted nothing from him.

For some reason, it made him
want
to offer those things for her. To do something good for her. He couldn’t say why, but it made him want to be worthy—for her to look at him, Richard, not the wealthy Earl of Raleigh, and think well of him.

“Yes, I hadn’t realized how enthusiastic your brawl must have been. That cabinet was quite the worse for wear.” She slowed her pace a bit, her fingers tapping his arm lightly as they walked. “You should find a way to repay her.”