A Taste for Scandal (15 page)

A soft wisp of something akin to unease slipped through her like a faint cool breeze. She liked that her brother was enjoying spending time with their cousin, but his enthusiasm for sailing seemed to grow by the day. He was a baker’s son. It was a profession that had been in the family for three generations now. Everything she did in the shop was so that he could claim his rightful inheritance when he reached his majority. In fact, one of the only reasons Mr. Byrd had allowed her to maintain the lease was because of the understanding that Weston would someday take over.

They were still struggling after Mama’s death, but at some point they would be able to hire help for the shop, and Jane would be able to teach her brother properly as they worked side by side in the kitchen.

She looked to Weston’s eager face, his eyes imploring her to say yes, and sighed. Perhaps she was being oversensitive. Emerson was here but a short while, and this was a topic over which they could bond as men. Forcing a smile, she dipped her head. “Of course, that sounds like a fine idea.”

Her brother gave a little whoop of joy before turning back to his charts. Emerson cocked his head slightly, watching her with his piercing green eyes as she crossed the room to pour herself a cup of tea from the still-steaming pot on the table.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right without us here to protect you from the accident-prone earl and his egg-averse sister?”

The thought of being alone in the building with Raleigh with only his sister for chaperone was enough to raise gooseflesh on the back of Jane’s neck. She was being ridiculous, of course. What use would a man like him have with her? And what use would she have with him, for that matter? So what if he was handsome as the day was long, and possessed arms so fine as to be worthy of being carved from stone? She was nothing more than his teacher, and he merely her student.

Belatedly, her mother’s words from the letter this morning tugged at her conscience. Was she forgetting her head in favor of her silly heart?

Jane had always been a practical person. She just had to remind herself—and her heart—of the fact. With a determined smile, she nodded. “Yes, of course. You two have fun.”

Anticipation settled deep in her belly as she dropped a lump of sugar in her tea and stirred. Whether she admitted it or not, she was quite looking forward to next Sunday. Even now, the elusive scent of his shaving soap teased her senses, masking the flavor of the tea. Perhaps she would experiment this week. It had been a while since she had invented a new recipe. And at the moment, she very much had a taste for lemon.

“I have a confession to make.”

“Lord help us all,” Benedict responded without missing a beat—or the punch he aimed for Richard’s belly.

Richard absorbed the blow—with the help of the padded muffler covering his friend’s fist—and repositioned his forearms more defensively. His right arm ached fiercely, but he’d be damned if he was going to betray the weakness. Who would have thought grating chocolate and whisking egg whites would be such bloody hard work? And, more important, where did the little baker hide all that muscle she surely must have? If it had been a real attacker in her shop, she probably could have taken him out more effectively than Richard ever could.

He shifted his weight back and forth between his feet and smiled at Benedict. “Nice to know fatherhood hasn’t softened
every
aspect of your life. As it is, I am surprised you didn’t show up in pink ribbons.”

Richard sent out a hard right jab, connecting solidly with Benedict’s chest. His friend grunted, but otherwise showed no other reaction to what Richard knew was a damn good hit. He cringed at the reverberating pain that speared his sore shoulder.

“If it had softened me—which it hasn’t—at least
I
would have an excuse. I wonder, what is your excuse?”

He grinned smugly, and Richard threw a left hook toward his chin in an attempt to wipe the look from his face. Benedict threw up his arm in a block, and the punch glanced away harmlessly. Without connecting with his intended target, Richard stumbled forward, giving Benedict the perfect opportunity to drive another punch straight into Richard’s ribs.

“Oof!”
Damn it, that one really hurt, though he clenched his jaw to conceal it. Honest to God, he had never boxed so poorly in his life. Perhaps he should reschedule for next week so not to follow his baking lessons so closely. He took a moment to recover his breath before replying. “I’ll have you know I took down a man twice my size not two weeks ago. I just don’t want Evie to kick my arse if I damage that delicate nose of yours.”

Benedict chuckled, but never relaxed his position. Both of them were covered in sweat, despite the fact both he and Richard were shirtless and Gentleman Jackson’s wasn’t even busy yet. They fit right in, since the whole place had a sweaty, musty smell about it.

Benedict feinted right and swung left, but Richard saw it coming and sidestepped the move. As Benedict repositioned himself, he said, “Back to the confession. What, exactly, have you been up to lately?”

“Do you remember the baker, Miss Bunting?”

Benedict ducked beneath the punch Richard aimed for his head. “How could I forget? I’m fairly certain she’s the only woman in England who has ever tried to have you arrested. Rather charming girl, if I remember correctly.”

He winked before throwing a right uppercut that Richard only just managed to block with his left forearm. “Nice shot. And yes, that would be she. I’m engaged in something of an . . . experiment.”

“What kind of experiment?”

They were both starting to pant, but Richard answered as evenly as he could manage. “She’s teaching Beatrice and me to bake.”

The look on Benedict’s face was priceless. He quickly brought up his hands in a more defensive position. “If you are trying to throw me off guard with such a ridiculous statement, it won’t work.”

“God’s honest truth. Every Sunday for the next three weeks.”

Benedict watched him over the tops of his fists, his body swaying back and forth. “I see. All right, I’ll bite. Enlighten me: Why would you do such an outlandish thing? And don’t tell me this was Beatrice’s idea.”

“My idea completely. A rather brilliant one, if I do say so myself.”

“And you always do,” Benedict said with a nod. “To what end?”

“To learn to bake the best damn biscuits in the whole of Britain?”

Benedict merely rolled his eyes before jabbing out a hard hit to Richard’s ribs. He followed through with the motion, dancing back around until they were facing each other. Richard sucked in a few breaths before continuing. “To pay her back for the damage I did to her shop. Can you believe she wouldn’t accept my money otherwise?”

“I can, actually. She is a woman with pride, clearly. So tell me, what is your true purpose?”

Richard grinned and shot out with a stunner to the sternum. Benedict rocked back on his heels, but came back for more.

“That
is
my true purpose. Well, that and to have a bit of adventure.”

Benedict promptly dropped his arms and scowled. “Yes, with Miss Bunting, I’ll wager.”

“Good God, that was uncanny. You looked and sounded exactly like Evie just now.” Richard continued to hold his position, trying to egg his friend to get back into the match. “And no, not in the way you are thinking. She’s . . . different. Rather interesting.”

Benedict stood stubbornly in place. “And that matters how exactly?”

Richard pantomimed a couple of jabs. “Quit looking at me like I’m planning to tup the woman the first chance I get.”

“Aren’t you? You must be forgetting that I’ve known you since we were boys. What else could you want with a woman so thoroughly outside of your realm? It’s not as though she stands a chance against a rich, titled—”

“Don’t forget handsome,” Richard interjected with a wink.

“—
ugly
gentleman such as yourself. For heaven’s sake, the woman works for a living, Richard.”

“But that’s just it. She’s this beautiful, spirited woman, and she’s completely unimpressed with me. She wanted nothing to do with me when I tried to make reparations. Can you imagine?” He smacked his padded hands together to try to reengage Benedict, but his friend was proving stubborn this morning.

“Yes, imagine a woman being unimpressed by you.”

Richard grinned, unperturbed. “But with these lessons, I found a way where she can keep her pride, I can assuage my conscience, and in the meantime it doesn’t hurt to spend time with a fascinating woman.”

“I may be married, but I have eyes, Richard. I know that she is an attractive woman, and I know exactly where your interests lie when it comes to beautiful, unavailable women, and it damn well isn’t with her baking lessons.”

Richard finally abandoned the fight and placed his hands on his hips, his chest still heaving a little from all the exertion. For some reason, the accusation didn’t sit well with him. “I’ll have you know that for once, you’re the one whose mind is in the gutter. Relax—it’s just a bit of constructive fun. Truth be known, it felt damn good to make something for myself.”

Benedict shook his head, sending a few drops of sweat to the floor. “I still don’t like it. Miss Bunting is a respectable woman who works at a respectable business. What will people think if they see you coming and going like clockwork?”

“See—that’s what Beatrice is there for. She’s our chaperone of sorts. Not that it matters. Miss Bunting is the proprietress, so it’s not as though she can lose her employment.”

Benedict tugged the muffler from his left hand. “I would think owning a business means she has to pay even more attention to her reputation. Regardless, I’m merely concerned that your ‘adventure’ may bring repercussions not considered. Just be careful, my friend.”

“Now you sound like my mother. You were much more fun before you became a family man.” A glance at the clock told Richard their session was almost up, so he followed suit and began tearing away his own padding. Thank God—he didn’t know how much more his shoulder could take.

Chuckling, Benedict yanked off his other glove. “That’s what you think. Speaking of family, though, how on earth did you get your parents to agree to Beatrice’s taking these lessons? However indulgent your father may have been with Evie helping him in the stables, I can’t imagine either one of them would let Beatrice anywhere near a kitchen, let alone one meant for business—especially with this being her first Season.”

That was the one less than ideal part of the setup. Tucking his gear beneath one arm, Richard shrugged. “A brother can take his sister out for outings. Every detail doesn’t necessarily have to be harped over.”

Benedict froze, his eyes wide. “You’re not serious.” At Richard’s nod, Benedict let out a horrified laugh. “Playing with fire, my friend. Clearly my advice to be careful is entirely too late. The only thing I can say now is to try not to get yourself disowned from your parents when they find out. I sure as hell am not letting you move in with us.”

“I’m beginning to think fatherhood turned you into a woman by mistake. Quit worrying and have a little faith in me, old man.” His friend was clearly overreacting to the situation. Yes, Richard would have an earful if his parents realized that he was associating with a tradesman—tradeswoman?—with his sister in tow, but it was worth the risk.
Jane
was worth the risk. It wasn’t as though anyone was being hurt by a few harmless lessons.

The hint of a grin lifted one corner of Benedict’s mouth. “You’re taking baking lessons and
I’m
the woman? Interesting logic.”

Richard laughed. “I’ll have you know, baking rivals boxing any day when it comes to physical exertions. I could hardly move my arm this morning.”

“So that’s your excuse for boxing like a ten-year-old girl.”

“Well, that and the fact I was trying to match your skill level so you wouldn’t feel as outmatched as you truly are.”

Gathering his accoutrements, Benedict shook his head. “Your ability to delude yourself is astounding. Now, if you will excuse me, I’d like to make it home in time to share luncheon with my wife and daughter. Until next time, my friend.”

Richard collected his things and headed to the changing room. Benedict really was going soft.
Be careful, my friend.
Richard gave a soft snort. It wasn’t as though Jane was really risking anything by having them there. Yes, she wanted them to come to the back door, but she probably was afraid of making her neighbors jealous. After all, he was an earl. Wouldn’t someone of her standing benefit from the association?

One would certainly think so, based on how many people constantly tried to angle for his friendship. He thought of Jane’s completely opposite reaction to him and smiled. He was starting to think she was an original.

He was still thinking of the enticing baker an hour later when he breezed through the magically opened door at Granville House and headed up the stairs toward his chamber.

“Where have you been?”

Richard paused midstride, glancing down the corridor to see his mother peering at him from the doorway of the drawing room. He suppressed the flare of impatience; it was difficult to become accustomed to living with his parents again. “Oh, here and there. Did you need something?”

Mother sent a furtive glance into the room behind her, then hastened into the corridor to join him where he stood on the landing of the stairs. The faint patter of raindrops outside disguised any sound her footsteps might have made as she approached. “You never joined us for breakfast this morning, and since you and Beatrice were out and about most of the day yesterday, I was hoping you might have time for a visit.”

Richard’s eyebrows rose. She spoke very quietly, and sent another glance over her shoulder. How very unlike her. Lowering his own voice to a stage whisper, he responded, “Why are we whispering?”

To his surprise, her cheeks pinked slightly. Was his mother
blushing
? “I’m not whispering,” she said, though she was very nearly doing just that. “I simply did not wish to be brash when I have guests.”