One Night with a Duke (12 Dukes of Christmas #10) - Erica Ridley Page 0,21
air for the first time.
“Do you want me to leave you to your food?” he asked, his voice gravelly but his blue eyes steady. “I enjoy your company very much, but do not mean to intrude where I’m not wanted.”
“Sit.” Rather than point to the low, plush chairs meant for customers along the other wall, she slid a wooden stool under the counter so that he could share it with her. Her heart pounded. It was the first time she’d invited someone to share her space. She tried not to think about what that might mean. Instead, she turned her back to retrieve plates and cutlery from a shelf. “What did you bring?”
His grin was back, as sudden as lightning and just as devastating.
“I have no idea,” he said cheerfully, and began to unpack the parcels. “At the mention of your name, everyone seems to know exactly what I should take.”
Angelica tensed, expecting a sharp twinge of fear or embarrassment at the knowledge a raffish Scotsman had been out and about, linking his name with hers.
No such twinges occurred. He must have massaged them away.
Mr. MacLean retrieved a bottle of champagne from his satchel. “Shall we?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Champagne is for celebrations.”
“You can use your hand again,” he pointed out. “Huzzah!”
“I’m at work.” She slid a single glass across the counter for him to use.
He shrugged. “Then I’ll drink all of it. I’m on holiday. Veuve Clicquot seems just the thing.”
Blast him. She slid a second glass across the counter. He filled them both.
He waited until she lifted hers before touching the rims of their wine glasses together. “To my favorite jeweler. Slàinte!”
“To hyperbolic strangers,” she countered. “A toast to you.”
He grinned, undaunted, and sipped his champagne.
The bubbles tickled her nose as she swallowed the tart sweetness. It was unfair of him to be so charming. The silver lining was that he would be gone within a fortnight, and she knew it. They could share meals. They could even be friends. But that was all it would be.
Her heart was firmly under lock and key.
“Well then, Miss Parker.” He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “May I call you Angelica?”
“No, Mr. MacLean, you may not.”
“I’m Jonathan,” he reminded her. “Here’s my question. How much champagne do you think it would take for us to ‘accidentally’ kiss?”
Her breath caught.
“There’s not enough wine in England,” she replied tartly, begging forgiveness to the heavens for her fib.
She was tempted at this very moment.
His smile indicated she needn’t have bothered lying.
“Tell me about your day while you eat,” she commanded, rushing to stave off this line of thought. “While you’re talking, I’m going to eat as fast as I can so that I can return to the work I’m supposed to be completing.”
Far from being offended, Mr. MacLean launched into a dramatic, no doubt highly embellished retelling of every encounter he’d had from the moment he woke up until he walked through her door.
Angelica could barely consume any food, for fear of snorting it out of her nose with laughter at his impressions of her fellow villagers and his own exaggerated reactions. He made the simple act of walking down the street seem like an odyssey.
She was surprised how much a part of her wished she had nothing else to do this week other than go pleasure-seeking all through Cressmouth, on Mr. MacLean’s fashionable arm.
Meals were more diverting with him on the other side of the counter. She liked his nonsense.
“That’s it for me.” She pushed her plate aside and walked back to the piece she’d been working on. “You may continue talking. The buzz of noise is oddly comforting.”
“Why, that’s something else we have in common,” he said with delight. “We both adore the sound of my voice! I have endless stories to tell. I wouldn’t need to repeat any, whether you listen or not.”
Angelica fought to keep amusement from curving her lips as she unfolded the black velvet from her work.
“Aye, I needed a purpose,” he said in wonder, as though she’d handed him the answers to the universe, “and you’ve just given it to me. We can spend all your working hours together! Me, having a right blether, and you... well, working.”
She pointedly neither replied nor glanced at him. Mostly to hide her smile.
“Oh!” he said, followed by the sound of rustling. “I could read to you from one of your books.”
All right, that did it.
Angelica turned toward him. “What books?”
“I brought you these from the castle circulating