He gave her a quick look before pulling an onion from the basket and setting it down next to a bunch of carrots. “I like it this way.”
“All right, but you’ve mixed the baking materials with the items for the stew. Here, why don’t you fill the vase with some water and I’ll rearrange it.”
His expression was one of distinct disgruntlement but he didn’t argue. When he returned a short while later with the vase full of water, Ida had managed to switch a few things around without upsetting his attempt at order.
He gave her efforts a once over, then met her gaze. “You didn’t mess it all up.”
“Did you honestly think I would?”
“Maybe.”
“Considering the practicality of your sorting method, it would have been foolish of me to do so. Besides, you and I need to respect each other if we’re to get along amicably. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” She placed the bouquet of roses in the vase he held, her fingers inadvertently brushing his. An instant flutter gripped her heart and she took a step back, averting her gaze. “We’ll start with the tea buns. That way the dough can rise while we make the stew.”
“And by we, you mean you. Correct?” When she shook her head he held up his hands. “I am an earl and earls do not engage in chores. We hire people to do such things for us.”
Ida made a show of glancing about. “Forgive me, but I do not see a hired cook or chef anywhere.”
“Only because you insisted you do not need one.”
“And I don’t.”
He scowled. “There’s an excellent cook at Fielding House. I’ll have her make something for you.”
“And let everything I just bought go to waste?”
“If you’re set on the tea buns and stew, you can give me the recipe and ingredients to pass along.”
It was Ida’s turn to scowl at him. “No.”
“No?”
“There’s pleasure to be found in creating something yourself – a sense of accomplishment you won’t acquire from anything else. You’ll see.” When he simply stood there, staring at her without moving, she sighed. “No one will know besides us.”
A crease appeared upon his brow. “Why would you say that?”
She shrugged. “Because you seem like the sort of man who wants to keep playing the part he’s been assigned – the one in which he mustn’t associate with fallen women or engage in domestic activities.”
“Miss Strong—”
“The food will take less time to prepare if you help me. Naturally, I will not force you to do so. I won’t even judge you for choosing not to, but if I were you, I’d rather join in instead of just sitting there watching me work, which I imagine will be rather dull.”
Deciding she’d said enough on the matter, Ida went to locate a measuring jug, a bowl, and a spoon. When she turned around, she froze.
He arched an eyebrow. “What?”
She swallowed while doing her best not to look too surprised at the sight of him even though she was keenly aware that she was failing miserably. In the short time she’d had her back to him, he’d removed his hat and gloves along with his jacket, and was now in the process of rolling up his shirt sleeves.
Catching herself, Ida pointed to the kettle. “We need warm water to activate the yeast. Maybe you can heat some while I measure the flour?”
A knowing smile tugged at his lips as he crossed to the stove, almost prompting Ida to curse. The blasted man knew he was gorgeous. More than that, he knew she’d noticed. With a deep inhalation intended to steady her nerves, Ida did her best to focus on what she was meant to be doing rather than the unbidden and most inappropriate urge she’d had to reach out and touch him.
“I have to admit, this is actually fun,” he told her once they’d mixed everything together, and he’d been given the honor of kneading the dough. “It’s almost like boxing.”
“Maybe you should get all the men who frequent Gentleman Jackson’s to start baking. It would be good practice.”
