One Night with a Duke: 12 Dukes of Christmas #10 by Erica Ridley

Author:Erica Ridley
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 8

Angelica faced away from the counter and touched her fingers to her mouth. Mr. MacLean had kissed each of her ten fingers, one by one, before attending to her mouth just as thoroughly.

She shouldn’t have let him do it.

She shouldn’t have let him stop.

He’d come to his senses faster than she had, and run off in a manner that would be comical... if she didn’t feel his absence all the way to her bones. The air was colder without him.

What would it be like when he left for good?

Her fingers curled into a fist and she sank her teeth into a knuckle. She did not wish to think about him leaving. She didn’t wish to think about him at all. She was busy. There was no time for romantical entanglements.

Yes, they got along uncomfortably well, and yes, he had started to feel like part of her town, but the latter, at least, was an illusion. He was part of every town for a few days, and then he moved on. He would move on from here as well. He had been forthright about his intentions. Though she appreciated his frankness, the warning was unnecessary.

Angelica was long used to locking away inconsequential desires in order to concentrate on what mattered most: her work. The Christmastide adornments she’d been commissioned to create, the sundry jewelry pieces that were next on the list.

She turned back to face her counter just as the bell tinkled over the door.

It wasn’t a customer. It was Mr. MacLean. He had rushed out into the cold without a hat or coat like a damn fool, yet his ruffled hair and wind-reddened face didn’t make him any less attractive.

She pretended it was the meal in his hands and not the man himself that awakened a hunger in her belly.

To hide her own strangely flushed cheeks, she busied herself arranging plates and silverware on their usual dining corner of the counter.

“No wine for me,” she said firmly. “I’m finishing the last of the adornments today. The ball is tomorrow.”

He set the pie on the counter next to the plates. Rather than take his seat on the wooden stool, he glanced over her shoulder at the clock behind her and winced.

She arched a brow. “Have you got somewhere to be?”

“I hoped not,” he said. “But I think your brother is waiting for me to reappear, to settle our argument.”

The fork in Angelica’s hand clattered to the oak counter. “My who? Your what?”

Mr. MacLean shrugged into his coat. “I told him not to worry; I’m not trying to steal his sister. Let me see what he wants.”

No way was she leaving the two of them alone.

Angelica hurried to swing open the counter’s hinged access panel, but by the time she was on the other side, Mr. MacLean was already out through the door.

She hesitated with her hand on the cold brass handle.

Luther was there, square jaw tilted stubbornly, the edges of two frayed ropes poking up from his gloved fists.

The ropes

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