A Taste for Scandal (13 page)

Still, as much as she tried to reason with herself, the truth was plain enough. Lord Raleigh affected her like no one ever had before. She wanted to ignore the fact that he was so blasted handsome, to forget his wealthy family and lofty status, but the truth was, he was the sum of all of those things. She had to be very, very careful around him. She couldn’t allow herself to get lost in his pretty manners and sweet gestures.

Because when it came down to it, he had her at the advantage in every possible way.

A tap sounded from the back door. She drew a deep, fortifying breath, willing her treacherous heart to stop its sudden pattering. She could do this.

Dear Mama,

Thank you for the wonderful advice. If you have a letter hiding somewhere describing how to properly train an earl and his lady sister, now would be a good time to have me stumble upon it. I’ll understand, however, if you neglected to think of such an absurd scenario. Heaven knows I certainly did.

Love,

Janey

The moment the door opened, Richard knew the anticipation had been worth it.

With the diffused daylight warming Jane’s moss green eyes—more brown than green today—and her rich, dark hair pulled much less severely from her smooth brow, everything about her just seemed softer somehow. Her eyes flitted up and met his before darting to his sister.

“Good afternoon, Lady Beatrice, Lord Raleigh.”

Bea grinned. “And to you. It is lovely to see you again.”

Richard bowed his head, his eyes not leaving his tutor. “Indeed it is. I do hope your week has improved since last we saw you.”

Dipping her head slightly in response, she stepped back and motioned for them to enter. “It could hardly have done otherwise. I am happy to report that it was very uneventful, thank goodness.” Her smile was tentative, but at least it was present. That was a good sign, surely. “I have things all set up for the lesson.”

The kitchen was drastically warmer than the chilly March afternoon outside and he happily inhaled the slightly sweet, smoke-tinged air. It was a surprisingly large space, with long shelves running the length of one side wall, stacked with pots, pans, tins, bowls, and canisters. A huge worktable dominated the center of the room, and various utensils sat in pottery like wood and metal bouquets. Several potted plants crowded the half window on the back wall beside the door, and a huge cast-iron monstrosity of a range squatted in a wide alcove beside the open fireplace.

After he turned in a complete circle, taking in the room’s features, his gaze met Jane’s, her expression cautious. He smiled easily. “So, this is where the magic happens. I rather thought there would be fairies and brownies scurrying about, perfecting all of the magical treats this kitchen turns out.”

A wisp of pleasure lit her face, though her expression remained guarded. “If only that were so. ’Tis just me, with a little help from Weston. I lost my pot of fairy dust long ago.”

“One would never know it,” Bea said, shedding her spencer jacket and draping it from one of the hooks anchored to the wall. “Yours are truly the best treats I have tasted, and I assure you, I have tasted many.”

“You are too kind, Lady Beatrice. Hopefully, after today, you will know the simple task of making such treats yourself. Now,” she said, her tone brisk and businesslike, “the first rule of entering the kitchen is always to wash one’s hands. I don’t wish for dirt, horse hair, or soot to become one of our ingredients.”

Her businesslike demeanor made Richard smile. If she thought she could get through these lessons while maintaining such a governess-like attitude, she clearly didn’t know him very well. But for now, he went along with it, dutifully following directions. After washing up in the sink, Jane waved them toward the worktable, where three identical stations had been set up, two on one side, and the other on the opposite side.

“You both expressed interest in the chocolate biscuits, and we will get to those, but I thought perhaps to ease you into the process of baking with a simpler recipe for chocolate puffs. Before we start,” she said, pushing a bundle of white fabric on the table toward them, “here are some aprons to protect your clothes.”

Richard stared down at the coarse fabric and snorted. “An apron? Surely you jest.” That’s all he needed, to look like a nursemaid in front of the woman he wished to impress. Next thing he knew she’d have him dressed in ribbons as well.

She shrugged, the very corners of her full lips tilting up. “Suit yourself. Of course, I’d hate to see another of your . . .
delightfully
colorful jackets come to ruin.”

Beatrice snickered as she slipped on her own apron. He looked down at his rich sapphire blue jacket and frowned. She had a point, even with her sarcasm for his preference for fashionable clothing. He had it on the best authority that women loved for him to wear the blues and silvers that complemented the color of his eyes, thank you very much.

The two girls caught each other’s gaze and, if not exactly laughed, at the very least shared amused glances. So that was how it was going to be, was it?

With a raised eyebrow to Bea, who swallowed her emerging grin, he turned to Jane and nodded. “You are absolutely right—I wouldn’t want to sacrifice another piece of clothing to the dangers of sugar and flour.”

So he did what any good rake would do: He started unbuttoning his jacket.

Chapter Eleven

Jane’s amusement abruptly vanished as her breath caught in her throat. “What are you doing?”

“Protecting my
delightfully
colorful jacket, of course.”

Without her consent, Jane’s eyes flitted down his chest. His fingers efficiently freed each silver button in turn, and the fabric began to gape, revealing his fitted white and blue striped waistcoat.
Oh, good heavens!

It was disconcerting enough having him here in her kitchen—her sanctuary. His presence seemed to wrap around her, her every sense alert to the subtle hints of his citrusy scent, the dulcet tones of his smooth voice, the all-too pleasing line of his broad shoulders. Having him shed his jacket was more than she knew what to do with. Her cheeks warmed as he reached the last button.

“Richard,” Lady Beatrice admonished, and Jane was relieved to hear the scandal in her voice. “Where are your manners? You mustn’t undress in Miss Bunting’s kitchen, for heaven’s sake.”

Jam and splash, that was the
last
image Jane needed in her head at that moment. The warmth of her blush erupted to a full-fledged burn, and she quickly averted her gaze to a much safer subject: the worktable between them.

“I’m hardly undressing, Beatrice. Miss Bunting made an excellent point, and I, being a diligent pupil, am merely heeding her advice.” The lazy, satisfied lilt to his voice told her he knew exactly what he was doing, the incorrigible man.

“She suggested wearing an apron, not removing your clothing.”

“Ah, but even with an apron, the sleeves of this jacket would be ruined if something were to spill on them. Best to avoid the chance altogether, don’t you agree, Miss Bunting?”

Jane’s head snapped up, and she found herself caught squarely in Lord Raleigh’s challenging, altogether too amused gaze. The lessons had not yet begun, and he was already teasing her? Did he think he could come into her kitchen and dominate the space as if he were holding court in his own home? She willed the color from her cheeks, straightening her spine and lifting her chin. “Of course. As a matter of fact, my father never wore a jacket in the kitchen. He did wear the apron, but then again, since baking was his profession and not some
hobby
, he had no worries for the fashionableness of such a utilitarian item.”

Instead of putting him in his place, she had the sinking feeling that she had pleased him with her response. He wasn’t laughing, but his eyes betrayed the smile that his lips denied. Did he actually like it when she stood up to him?

“Well, then,” he said, reaching for the apron, “if it was good enough for your father, then it is certainly good enough for me.”

And just like that, he managed to endear himself to her. It was a simple enough sentence, said in a completely offhand manner. Still, her silly heart interpreted the sentiment as an exceedingly kind one. It implied a certain level of respect, despite the fact that her father was a simple businessman and baker. Her heart gave an extra little skip, and she couldn’t stop a tiny smile from tugging her lips. “Excellent choice.”

As he tied the apron in place, a small part of her mourned the loss of the view. His waistcoat fit him to perfection, highlighting his broad chest and lean waist in a way that left little to the imagination. Whatever one could say about Lord Raleigh, there was no denying he cut a very fine figure indeed.

She suddenly realized how off course she had allowed her mind to wander. Waxing poetic about the man’s physique wasn’t exactly in the lesson plan for the day. Their presence here was little more than a business transaction, after all. Focusing on the safer of the two siblings, she dove in. “The chocolate puff recipe is the simplest I have—in fact, it is the very first one my father taught me when I was young. Once we master it, we can move on to the chocolate biscuits that you’ve already sampled. Is that agreeable to you?”

Both her students nodded. Richard began rolling up the sleeves of his fine, snowy white shirt. By the looks of his well-formed forearms, he was most certainly not of the “idle rich” variety. Jane swallowed. Clearly this was not what Mama had in mind when she wrote her advice about a well-dressed suitor. Of course, this wasn’t courtship, and Jane had a lesson to teach.

She wrenched her gaze from Raleigh’s bare arms and continued. “Good. The hardest part of any recipe has already been attended to: the temperature of the oven. This recipe calls for only the three ingredients that you see before you.” She motioned to the bowl of eggs, the block of chocolate, and the treble-refined sugar she had set in the middle of the table.

Lord Raleigh raised an eyebrow as his gaze swept the table. “You know, Bea,” he said, lowering his voice to a conspicuous whisper, “I’m beginning to think she has no faith in us.”

He wasn’t taking any of this seriously, not that Jane had thought that he would. Still, it was hard to remain professional when he was so teasing. “You say that,” Jane responded, crossing her arms. “But I think you’ll find that this recipe is plenty difficult for a novice.”

“Novices, yes. But three ingredients? Even my niece could handle that, and she’s not yet one. At least give us something we can sink our teeth into.”

Lady Beatrice shook her head. “
You
may have something to sink your teeth into. I am perfectly happy with three ingredients—less opportunity for me to make a muck of things.”

Jane nodded—she couldn’t have put it better herself. Let him think this was all a game. He could tease all he wanted now—she had little doubt he would be regretting the words later. The recipe was the simplest she had, but it still required plenty of work.

“There are three steps to getting the puffs in the oven. First, grate the chocolate, next, beat the egg white, and third, combine the ingredients.”

“Three ingredients
and
three steps? Should I be taking notes here? Wouldn’t want to get lost.” Raleigh’s grin was incorrigible.

Did he ever take anything seriously? Jane pressed her lips together. Oh yes, she was going to enjoy it very much when his arm was limp from exertion at the end of the lesson. Knowing what was in store for him, she smiled sweetly and continued. “I only have two graters, so I will demonstrate first, then turn it over to you.” Jane picked up one of the two blocks of chocolate, positioned it over a wide bowl, and showed them how to grate. The earthy scent of the raw chocolate wafted up as she worked the block in practiced, efficient strokes, and a small pile of shavings quickly filled the bowl. It was only because the task was so familiar that she didn’t falter under the weight of Lord Raleigh’s stare.

This was going to be a very long four weeks indeed.

“I’ve premeasured the blocks, so be sure to grate the entire thing. Watch your fingers toward the end; the grater won’t discriminate between chocolate and flesh.”

“Goodness,” Lady Beatrice said, admiration lighting her eyes, “you certainly make it look easy.”

“I’ve had a few years to perfect my methods. All right, your turn.” Jane handed over the utensils and watched as they each started in. Lady Beatrice took short, hesitant strokes, doing little more than scratching the chocolate. The earl, on the other hand, took rapid, uneven strokes, throwing shavings over the bowl and onto the table. A few pieces fell to the floor, and Jane cringed. They had paid well for the lessons, but still the waste of the valuable chocolate wasn’t to be borne.

“Lord Raleigh,” she said, in a voice just stern enough to make him stop and look up. “Take your time. Use long, even strokes, holding the grater in one place so you don’t lose any of those precious shavings.” She pantomimed the motion. “Imagine you are waltzing to a robust tune. Assuming you are a graceful dancer, of course.”

“As a swan.” He grinned devilishly.

She knew he would be. Something about the confident way that he moved left little doubt in her mind that dancing with him would be perfection. “Then prove it.”

He raised his eyebrows at the command, but complied without a word. This time, his motions were fluid and controlled. She could see the muscles of his arms flex through the thin fabric of his shirt. Unbidden, the thought of being swept across a dance floor, held in his arms, flashed through her mind and she only just suppressed a sigh. Perhaps she should have insisted he wear the jacket after all. She had no business dreaming of waltzes with earls—she wasn’t a starry-eyed little girl anymore. Dancing was what people without need of work did to fill their time, something she would never be.