The Hope of Love - Meara Platt Page 0,3
lapels. He wasn’t holding her in any romantic way, of course. He was merely being protective and comforting. “Perhaps a few tears fell,” she admitted. “Do forgive me, Dr. Carmichael. I don’t know why I’ve been like this lately.”
She tried to ease away but it was his turn to stay her hand. “Angus,” he said, gazing down at her with concern. Perhaps it was the Scottish in him. They were known for their adherence to a code of honor. He was merely fulfilling a duty to come to the aid of his ally. After all, they were plotting to grab the goose for themselves.
“What?”
“I want you to call me Angus. May I call you Felicity?” He pressed on before she had a chance to consider his request. “I knew another Miss Billings once. A crotchety old bat with a perpetual sneer on her jowly face. She was my governess when I was a lad. She detested me. Used to come after me with her cane whenever I mouthed back at her.”
“Which you did often?”
“Of course. It’s what we Scots do best.” He nodded. “Couldn’t help myself. She considered me lower than the dirt under her boots, and I wasn’t going to stand for it.”
Felicity’s eyes rounded in surprise. “That’s awful!”
He shrugged. “But all Scots were that to her. She was English and therefore of superior blood. She never let me forget it. I have no quarrel with the English, mind you. Only those like her. I’d quarrel with a Scot, too, if he spouted such drivel. I’d quarrel with any man who–”
“Dr. Carmichael, I had no idea you were so quarrelsome,” she teased, liking him all the more because he was the sort of man who would not hesitate to come to the defense of the weak and defenseless.
“Angus,” he insisted. “Call me Angus. It’s only right if I’m to call you Felicity.” He still held her in his arms, their bodies scandalously touching. She ought to have drawn away, but she rested her head against his broad, solid chest instead. She could not resist burrowing a little closer, needing to absorb his heat and strength. “Frankly, I’m surprised we’ve kept up the formality till now.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He felt too good. She would make a fool of herself if she clung to him any longer, inhaling his subtle bay-spice scent. She eased away. “We’ve been friends for a long time. Very well…Angus.”
There was no point in arguing since he had that stubborn, Scottish look about him and would continue to insist until he got his way. What harm could there be? After all, they were more than mere acquaintances. The doctor often stopped by her shop to ask for one book or another, for he was an avid reader.
Calling him Angus was a harmless request, really.
Of course, they would maintain formality when others were present, just as she would with Poppy, Olivia, and Penelope. “Angus,” she repeated softly.
“That sounded verra nice coming from you…Felicity, my bonnie lass.”
Oh, the husky smoothness of his voice!
She cleared her throat. “As I mentioned, I just received a delivery from London but haven’t opened it yet. I’ll do it now. Won’t take me a moment.” She skittered around her desk to retrieve her knife used to cut open the boxes.
She happened to glance out the window.
The snow was falling harder now. She could hear the wind whistle down the street and through the small gap between the bottom of her bookshop door and the floorboards. “Looks like a fairly nasty storm is about to descend upon us.”
He frowned. “Are you well stocked with provisions? It may take a day or two for us to dig out of this one. The earl may have to send his driver with a sleigh to fetch you for the party if it doesn’t clear out by the end of the week.”
“Oh, that would be fun. I’d love a sleigh ride.” Especially if this man were her companion. It would be quite romantic tucked under a blanket while the moon shone down on them and the bells on the reins jingled in time to the horse’s trot.
She was spinning dreams again.
The doctor had no romantic interest in her.
“I am all prepared to last out the storm…Angus. No need to worry about me. I have tea, biscuits, and plenty of books to tide me over until the snow ends. I even have the fabled Book of Love.”
His eyes rounded in surprise. “So, you’re next?”
She laughed. “No, Poppy, Olivia,