“Do you think I can give it to you, Charlotte?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Hearing him say her name gave her a shivery feeling. She understood why men and women didn’t go around saying each other’s given names. It was an intimate thing, and the wrong person doing so would be too familiar.
But Charles Jeffcoat was not the wrong person.
“Yes.”
“That was the answer I was hoping for earlier,” he teased.
“Now you have it. I think you will figure out what I’m saying, but only time will tell for sure.”
He tugged slightly, trying to get her to close the space between them, to lean down and either kiss him or let herself be kissed. That wasn’t going to change anything, nice as it would be. To her detriment, though, it might make him think her a little loose for stopping a proposal but not a kiss.
“Do you know what I would like to do?” she asked.
His smiled widened, and since they were inches apart, she could see the interest sparkling in his eyes.
“I would like to move all the empty tins from the front of the shop — the ones on the shelves — to the upstairs.”
He drew back.
“Will you help me?” she persisted, wondering if a viscount would consider himself above such things.
“Of course,” he said immediately, but his gaze dropped to her mouth. “But I had hoped—”
“For a sweet first?” she asked innocently. “Perhaps a chocolate or a piece of my marzipan rather than the toffee. It seems extra sticky tonight.”
At last, he let her slip her hand out of his grasp.
“Actually, I would enjoy another piece of your marzipan.”
She froze.What if he hated it?Suddenly, it meant more to her than anything else that this man like what she crafted every day. She didn’t have to go to the display case. She and Edward had moved all the remaining confectionery into the back to go to deliveries in the morning and so none of it would get contaminated by sawdust.
Reaching past him to a covered tray, she lifted the lid and picked up a small marzipan faux cherry. At its center, she’d put a dollop of Amity’s chocolate fondant. It was one of her favorite sweets.
“Try this,” she said.
Nodding, he sunk his teeth into it, biting it in half, dropping a little onto his pant leg. Unthinkingly, she brushed at it while he chewed. His eyes widened, either at the deliciousness of the treat or the feel of her fingers on the top of his thigh. Withdrawing her hand with haste, she crossed her arms and waited as he popped the remainder into his mouth.
Then he licked his lips, an attractive thing for a man to do if he had just been satisfied by something of one’s own creation.
“I loved it. The marzipan was silky soft but also firm. And the surprise of chocolate in the middle was a triumph, particularly the way it paired with the almond flavor. I think I detected a little vanilla, too. Yes?”
“Yes.” Charlotte clapped her hands. This man definitely had promise. “Now that you’re fortified, will you help?”
“I would have helped even without the bribery.”
When he stood again abruptly, he seemed to shrink the size of the room. And she took a step back.
“I know you would have, but it is important you understand what I do here.” She wanted him to love every aspect of her, recalling how Lionel not only wouldn’t come into the shop but didn’t care for her marzipan.
Charles made a sound of dismissal. “I think you do a lot more here than make marzipan pigs and fruit, but I’ll admit you do that very well.”
He reached for her again, and she ducked away, grabbed the keys to the upstairs and left the room.
“Are you coming?” she called over her shoulder. “These tins won’t move themselves, and the builder starts tomorrow.”
Chapter Eighteen
