A Taste for Scandal (11 page)

“Good afternoon,” the older woman said with a smile, looking back and forth between Jane and the siblings. Jane knew exactly what she must have been thinking: What were these two exquisitely dressed people doing in her little shop?

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Dobbins. What can I get for you?” Jane smiled to defer any impatience that might have come through in her tone.

“Oh, no,” she said, turning inquisitive, dark eyes toward Lord Raleigh. “They were here first. I can wait.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment and offered her a smile that somehow actually made the mother-to-be blush. “We are entirely too overwhelmed with the choices before us to decide just yet. I insist that you go ahead.”

Thankfully, Mrs. Dobbins agreed, and Jane helped her in record time. Before she left, she cut a glance toward the patiently waiting pair and whispered, “If only he was on the menu.” She giggled and made her way to the door, leaving Jane slack-jawed behind her. In all the years they had known each other, Jane had never heard even a single word from the woman’s mouth that was anything short of proper. What was it with the earl and his effect on women?

The very moment the door clicked closed, she turned back to the earl. “You were saying?”

“Yes, I was saying.” From his smile, she could see that he was quite pleased with himself for having piqued her interest. “The thing is, Miss Bunting, you have me at an advantage, and I was hoping you might be willing to”—he paused, rolling his hand as if looking for the right word—“indulge me.”

Indulge
him? What on earth was that supposed to mean? She looked to Lady Beatrice, who merely raised an eyebrow at her brother. “What,
exactly
, would I be indulging, Lord Raleigh?”

“I wish for you,” he said, leaning forward as if taking her into his confidence, “to teach me to bake.”

For a moment, she said nothing, absolutely certain he would burst out in laughter at any moment, betraying his jest. But he just watched her, his gaze steady and expectant. He couldn’t
possibly
be asking in earnest. Perhaps she had heard him wrong.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, looking back and forth between the siblings in absolute disbelief. Of all the possible scenarios for their presence in her shop, this was by far the most unexpected. “But you want me to do what?”

“Teach me to bake.” His voice was casual, as if it were of no consequence. As if lords regularly requested lessons in trades.

“Whatever for?” First the flowers, then the precious letters from her deceased mother, and now an earl requesting private baking lessons? Perhaps she was in the middle of an elaborate and amazingly realistic dream. Or perhaps the events of the past two days had well and truly addled her poor brain, and she was on her way to Bedlam this very minute.

“Several reasons,” he said with a shrug, not seeming to find the conversation absurd in the least. “I find I’m in need of a hobby—the excitement of the last few days has helped me to see how very dull my life has become.”

“So . . . you’re
bored
?” The whole scenario just got stranger by the moment. Did he lead so vapid a lifestyle that he required lessons in practical living to spice things up? And for heaven’s sake, did he have any idea how insulting that was? Jane’s hands somehow made their way to her hips. However generous the flowers had been, this man was still the useless dandy she feared him to be.

“Here in London, I am never bored. I am, however, always up for a challenge.”

“A challenge.” Was that all her work amounted to in his eyes? Did the man not realize that he was speaking of her trade as if it were a thing of amusement?

“Yes, that . . . and I’m quite curious as to how one goes about creating chocolate angel wings and honey-flavored clouds with naught but a few earthly ingredients.”

The last was said with such a devilish gleam, she almost smiled back. Blast the man, he was irresistible, as she was certain he well knew. Straightening her features at last, she infused as much sternness into her response as possible. “’Tis not a hobby, my lord. It’s hard work. Certainly not the sort of thing one of your standing is used to.”

“I’d take offense to that,” he said, crossing his arms, “if it weren’t for the truth of it. I gather from our encounters that you don’t hold those of the
ton
in the highest of esteem. Believe it or not, I am not unaware that some feel that the upper class borders on useless.”

She hoped that the blush heating her cheeks wasn’t obvious; she’d rather he not know that she’d had exactly that thought not a minute earlier. Thankfully, neither he nor his sister seemed to notice anything of the sort.

“Well,” he said, spreading his arms, “here is your chance to teach one gentleman, at least, how to be productive.” He paused, his brow wrinkling. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually made anything in the whole of my life. Not a single thing.” He shook his head as though this was the worst possible fate. “Please, Miss Bunting, you must help me to remedy that immediately.”

Jane held her tongue, eyeing the rakishly handsome man before her. Poor little lord, in possession of a massive fortune and no real talents. “Even if I were willing to indulge your sudden whim to dabble in baking, do you not see the complete impropriety of such a proposition? I can’t be teaching a single gentleman to do anything.”

He waved away her concern. “I wouldn’t mind your brother or cousin being present.”

“You might not mind, my lord, but I guarantee you, they would. I would never ask such a thing of them, not as hard as we work every day.”

Lady Beatrice, who had been quietly observing them up until that moment, stepped forward and said, “I can serve as chaperone.”

Raleigh straightened, shaking his head. “No, you couldn’t. I am well past the age of needing a chaperone, especially one who is my young sister.”

She ignored him, not taking her eyes from Jane. “Better still, it could be lessons for the both of us.”

Had they both lost their minds? What on earth had brought about such a bizarre request? “Why, Lady Beatrice? Do you wish to ‘produce’ something as well?”

The girl shook her head, her guileless dark blue eyes meeting Jane’s with an openness and respect that leached some of the stiffness from Jane’s shoulders. “No, Miss Bunting; I’m a painter and have had the joy of creating tangible works on a regular basis. If you wish to know the truth, I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to see my brother do this for the world. Well, that and I hope to sample the fruits of the lessons without guilt of gluttony—it would be, after all, purely academic in nature.”

Jane couldn’t be sure, but she swore the earl muttered “impertinent baggage” under his breath. What was she to make of the pair of them? What on earth did one say to such a request? She struggled to come up with the nicest possible way to turn them down. However misguided, there was certainly no malice in the request, and she didn’t want to sound rude. “While I appreciate that you would—”

“Oh, my, I quite forgot,” Lord Raleigh said, shamelessly interrupting her. “We’ll pay half in advance, of course.”

Jane blinked. Pay? Was he trying to pay her back in a roundabout way for the cabinet? It was tempting, but she’d already turned down his charity once today. She laid her hands on the counter as she considered what to say to such a thing. “I really don’t—”

“I was thinking it would be fair to offer you what Beatrice’s last dance tutor charged. Does a pound a lesson for four lessons seem adequate?”

Four pounds?
She gripped the edge of the counter, desperate for something solid to anchor her. Such an exorbitant sum for lessons would almost be criminal. “I can’t possibly—”

“Actually, Richard,” Beatrice interrupted, “it was a pound per lesson, but no supplies were necessary, and I was his only pupil. I only think it fair that we offer six pounds for the pair of us plus the cost of ingredients.” And here Jane had thought the girl to be the more sensible of the two.

“What kind of tutor charges that kind of money?” The words escaped before she could stop them.

The smile that Lord Raleigh gave her bordered on mischievous. “The very best in their field, that’s who.” As compliments went, it was surprisingly flattering.

Looking back to his sister he nodded, making sounds of agreement. “Excellent point, Beatrice. Very well, will seven pounds for four lessons and any supplies be adequate?” His tone was so mild, one would have thought he had asked if his coat was suited for the weather.

Jane chewed the inside of her lip, warring with what she should do. There was no doubt they were attempting to make up for the damage to her shop, the money for which she had already rejected. On principle she should say no, but . . .

Mrs. Brown’s threats had not been idle. In one month’s time, Mr. Byrd would most assuredly be on her doorstep, inspecting the shop for any hint of damage. And even if the offer of lessons was manufactured for her benefit, it still allowed her to contribute something of worth in exchange for the money. An honest, fair exchange, if grossly overpriced.

She didn’t like the uneasiness snaking through her chest at the thought of being beholden to them, but she would be foolish in the extreme to refuse. Even if he looked upon her profession as some sort of
hobby
.

Her pride ached as if it had been physically pinched, but her responsibilities to her brother and her landlord meant that she couldn’t afford to turn down such an offer. She straightened her posture and nodded. “My only free day is Sunday. I think one until four in the afternoon would be the best time. I cannot possibly teach you to properly bake in four lessons, but I’ll do my best to teach you to bake both the biscuits and the scones. The cost of ingredients is inclusive in any lessons, so let us agree at five pounds.”

Raleigh grinned hugely, looking very much like a satisfied wolf. She drew a breath, suddenly very grateful that Lady Beatrice had decided to join them. Jane didn’t have the fortitude to be alone with the man, even if propriety allowed such a thing.

“I accept your terms,” he said, reaching into his jacket and laying the money on the counter.

“There is one more thing,” she said, her eyes flitting up to meet his.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I don’t wish to give the neighbors a reason to talk. Would you mind terribly coming to the back door?” That, at least, was out of range from Mrs. Brown’s prying eyes. Jane had no wish to try to explain such an arrangement to anyone, least of all her.

He and his sister exchanged quick glances. Had they ever entered an establishment through anything but the front door? Just when Jane expected them to back out, Lord Raleigh met her eyes and nodded. A slow, oddly satisfied smile kissed his lips.

“Until Sunday.”

His deep, warm,
intimate
tone wrapped around her like warm air from a just-opened oven, and she could do nothing but nod as the pair turned and exited the shop. What on earth had she just gotten herself into?

In all Richard’s life, days had never taken so long to pass. And all for the anticipation of seeing his pert little baking instructor in less than a day. It made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t for years. It also made him damned anxious for the night to be over. Sweeping across Lord and Lady Chesterfield’s lavishly appointed ballroom, a ravishingly beautiful, buxom young widow on his arm, Richard worked to keep his signature charm intact.

Mrs. Elisabeth Keating was quite possibly the most gorgeous widow England had ever produced. God bless the
ton
and its propensity to match blushing young debutantes to wealthy old men with their spoons half stuck in the wall before the wedding breakfast was even over. Richard had profited quite handsomely from such arrangements over the years, as there was always some young, beautiful widow looking for a little adventure.

Which was exactly the case with his current dance partner. After only two months of marriage and a year of mourning, Elisabeth was on the hunt for a young English buck. Richard’s eyes dipped to the daringly low bodice of her scarlet gown; she was certainly armed with the proper ammunition.

A week ago, he would have happily ushered the lovely widow out of her cloistered existence of the past year and into the warmth of his bed. With her newly inherited wealth and position, she would no doubt be the perfect candidate for his particular style of affair: no promises, only pleasure.

But tonight, the widow held little appeal for him. Instead, his mind kept wandering to a different beauty altogether. One that was simple, and fresh, and completely without the ulterior motives that those of his world always seemed to have. Next to Jane, Elisabeth somehow seemed faded and brittle.

Of course, by the same comparison, the widow seemed willing and eager to please—quite literally, in fact.

As the orchestra concluded the set with a flourish, Elisabeth looked up into Richard’s eyes and fluttered her long, pale lashes. She pressed against him for just a moment before stepping back and offering him a seductive smile. “You move wonderfully, Lord Raleigh. I do hope we’ll have the opportunity to
dance
again tonight.”

“My dear Mrs. Keating, I can think of nothing that would bring me more pleasure.” Purposely pushing aside the thoughts of Miss Bunting, he lifted Elisabeth’s gloved hand to his lips. The cloying scent of roses wafted to his nose; she must have dabbed perfume at her wrists with just this in mind. He pressed a lingering kiss to her fingers, holding her gaze as he did so.

It was the sort of move he had employed dozens of times, and he had always relished the flash of heat that sparked in the chosen lady’s eyes. But not tonight. The heat was there in Elisabeth’s eyes, but he felt no answering tug. There was just no
challenge
in it. No excitement at all. It would have been like plucking an overripe peach from the very lowest branch of the tree.

He suppressed a sigh and released the widow’s hand. A single glance around confirmed that the ballroom was full of women either just like Elisabeth, or entirely too unripe to be considered. As a matter of fact, perhaps he was tired of peaches altogether.