A Taste for Scandal by Erin Knightley Page A

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