to the children’s surprised mother. “Have a splendid day!”
He slipped out of the bakery door before they could shower him with festive cheer.
The delicious smell of biscuits permeated the cold air. He could take his prize to the Duke of Nottingvale’s cottage and split them amongst the staff, but returning so soon after he set out felt like giving up.
Besides, Nottingvale’s staff had a ducal kitchen at their disposal, as well as a castle with unlimited refreshments up the road. Since His Grace wouldn’t arrive for days, they could nip out and indulge their sweet tooth whenever they pleased.
Miss Parker, on the other hand, was unlikely to leave her shop for something so frivolous as freshly baked shortbread. After accepting that new project yesterday, Jonathan wouldn’t be surprised if she’d stayed up all night working.
If anyone deserved a few dozen biscuits, it was Angelica Parker.
Rather than sweeping in through the tinkling door as he’d done the day before, Jonathan eased it open carefully, lest he disturb her.
She was at the back, behind the long wooden counter, just as she had been the day before.
Indeed, if Jonathan hadn’t been certain that an entire night had passed since he had last seen her, he might believe he had opened the door and accidentally walked into yesterday.
She was wearing the same pink dress as before, though the puffed sleeves now had no wrinkles. Her glossy black curls were in the same chignon, and not the tiniest hair was out of place. Her eyes looked less tired. Her mouth twisted in an adorable expression of concentration.
She looked how he imagined she had looked yesterday morning, hours before he had first walked through her door. As though yesterday were the “after” and today the “before.”
Jonathan had never been so intrigued. He took a closer look around her shop. Yesterday, he had inspected every single one of her beautiful, intricate pieces. They—like bonny Miss Parker herself—had distracted him from what wasn’t present. No artwork hung upon the bare walls. No hanging silk, no wallpaper, just plain wainscoting. The counter itself was free from adornment, the display case naught but plain shelves behind glass.
It was as if she felt no need for the typical decorative flourishes other people strove to add to their homes and workplaces, because the beauty of her creations spoke for itself.
Like her understated surroundings, Miss Parker needn’t add ostrich feathers or other ostentatious touches to draw attention to herself. She was gorgeous and perfect just as she was.
He swallowed. She had granted him permission to touch her art, but he had not done so, because it was not her art he longed to touch. It was Miss Parker he wished to explore. The unwrinkled gown, the soft tendrils of her hair, the contours of her lips.
These were not thoughts he could allow himself to entertain. Not with her.
Due to the snowstorm, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. Intimacy of any kind was far too terrifying to consider when he couldn’t walk away.
“Here for your hair combs?” Miss Parker asked without looking up from her work.
“Aye,” he said. “If you’re willing to sell them today. I also brought you a few biscuits.”
At this, she looked up, and her brown eyes widened at the size of his package. “Do I look like the sort of woman who would eat two dozen biscuits?”
He shifted his weight. “What’s the right answer to that question?”
“The answer is yes.” She held out her hands. “Give them to me.”
He closed the space between them and placed the parcel on the counter with a grin. “These are actually three dozen biscuits, which means there will be some left over for me, too.”
She opened a drawer and retrieved two small white plates and placed them beside the parcel. “What kind did you order?”
“All of them,” he admitted.
At last, she rewarded him with a smile. “My favorite kind.”
She placed a cinnamon biscuit, a raisin biscuit, and a square of shortbread on her plate. He did the same.
“I don’t have much time,” she warned him. “I don’t have any time, actually.”
“There is always time for biscuits,” he assured her. “I’ve done extensive firsthand research into the matter, and have never found a situation that could not be improved by delectable, sweet biscuits fresh from the oven.”
She licked the tip of her finger. “You make an excellent argument. Are you a barrister?”
“I am an itinerant ne’er-do-well.” He lowered his voice. “It pays much better.”
She smirked and took a bite of her biscuit.
Jonathan excelled at this kind