The Hope of Love - Meara Platt Page 0,10
I’d love some. I’ve been going around town making certain everyone is safe and not in need of anything.” He shook the snow out of his hair and removed his cloak, gloves, and scarf. She took them from him to hang on the pegs beside the fireplace.
“You need more logs for the fire,” he remarked, bending down to stoke it. “You’re running low.”
“I have more out back. I suppose I should bring them in before nightfall.”
“I’ll do it. I am entirely at your service.”
Felicity laughed. “I baked a lemon cake. Would you care for a slice?”
“Tea and lemon cake and your company? I can’t think of anything more pleasant.”
She stared at his broad back as he went out the back door and gathered an armful of logs. She left the door ajar while she put out the cake and poured each of them a cup of tea. All was set out by the time he hurried back in a few moments later. “The devil! It’s freezing out there.” He stomped his feet at the entry to knock the snow off his boots.
Felicity shut the door securely and followed him to the fireplace. She motioned to the refreshments on the corner table nearby. “I thought we’d be more comfortable seated beside the fire.”
“An excellent idea.” He set the wood down in the bin and then grabbed two logs and placed them in the hearth, watching as they took blaze. “There, we shall be nice and warm.”
“Thank you.” She’d already poured their tea and now cut him a slice of lemon cake. “I was going to put up some holiday decorations. Lady Poppy and Duchess Olivia dropped off several boxes of them last week. They’re filled with holly and ribbons and strings of dried cranberries.”
He devoured the cake and took a sip of his tea. “Delicious, Miss Billings. Did they include any mistletoe?”
“Oh, yes. They did.” She brought in the boxes, placed them on the table, and began to dig through them. She pulled out holly and ribbons, and finally the mistletoe.
His smile was seductive. “Where are you going to hang it?”
She knew just where, in the center of the shop between the bookshelves and her desk. Not that anyone would actually kiss her under it, but it would make for a good conversation piece. “Right there.” She pointed to the spot. “I have a ladder. If you hold it steady for me, I can put it up before you leave. But I’d rather put up the holly and velvet ribbons first.”
“As you wish.” He slapped his hands to his thighs and gave an approving nod as he took a holly bough into his hands. “I am your servant and entirely at your disposal.”
She laughed. “I’ve never had a servant before. I think you serve a higher authority than me, but I shall gladly borrow you for the afternoon.”
She expected a jovial retort, but was surprised when he suddenly turned quite serious. He reached out, seemingly about to take her hand in his. “Miss Billings, I–”
The bell on the door tinkled.
He drew his hand away.
She turned, now gripping the velvet ribbons and wondering what the vicar had been about to say to her. She’d find out later, she supposed. Who else was mad enough to be out in the middle of a blizzard? “Dr. Carmichael.” Her heart responded instantly, fluttering so that she found it difficult to catch her breath.
She hadn’t expected to see him today.
“Miss Billings,” he said with a barely perceptible nod, but his gaze was on the vicar as though he wished to slice the man in half with a broadsword. “Vicar,” he said with a more obvious nod in his direction. “What brings you here?”
“I might ask you the same question.” He rose along with Felicity to greet the doctor. His lips curved in a devilish grin and his eyebrow arched quite wickedly, giving him a not very pious appearance. “I’m tending to my flock. What’s your excuse for visiting Miss Billings?”
“Same as yours, I expect.” He shut the door behind him, but did not remove his coat or bother to shake off the small pile of snow collected on his shoulders. “Just looking after the citizens of Wellesford.”
The vicar folded his arms across his chest. “Whether they’re ill or not? That’s mighty devoted of you.”
Felicity felt decidedly uncomfortable standing between these two stubborn Scots as they stood staring at each other, arms folded across their puffed-out chests. She knew the vicar, Adam Carstairs, was originally from Inverness.