A Taste for Scandal by Erin Knightley Page B

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.”
    “I agree, but at this point, it would only make things worse. I don’t wish to insult the woman.” He hardly knew her, but he was absolutely certain that was exactly how she’d feel if he tried to force the money on her now.
    “Then find a way to pay her for something.”
    “I couldn’t possibly order enough biscuits and scones to pay for the damage—especially when you consider the work she would have to do to fulfill such an order. It would be more hardship than help, I think.”
    They came to a cross street and paused, waiting for a safe time to cross. Richard pursed his lips, trying to think of something brilliant. “I could send the money anonymously.”
    Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Really, Richard—and you don’t think she would know who sent it? It would be back at our door by nightfall, if the messenger didn’t make