Once Upon a Duke Read online

  Once Upon a Duke

  12 Dukes of Christmas #1

  Erica Ridley

  Contents

  Once Upon a Duke

  Also by Erica Ridley

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Thank You For Reading

  Kiss of a Duke

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Jewels of Historical Romance

  ISBN: 1943794170

  ISBN-13: 978-1943794171

  Copyright © 2018 Erica Ridley

  Photograph on cover © PeriodImages

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Once Upon a Duke

  Beware romantic spirits from Christmas past...

  * * *

  Due to the terms of an estranged relative's will, the Duke of Silkridge must revisit the cold, unforgiving mountains where he lost everything he once loved. As soon as he restores his family legacy, he'll return to London where he belongs. He definitely won't rekindle the forbidden spark crackling between him and the irresistible spitfire he'd left behind...

  * * *

  Noelle Pratchett is immune to charming scoundrels like the arrogant duke. He stole her heart, stole a kiss, and then stole away one night never to return. Now he's back—and they both know he won't stay. But how can she maintain her icy shields when every heated glance melts her to her core?

  * * *

  The 12 Dukes of Christmas is a laugh-out-loud historical romance series of heartwarming Regency romps nestled in a picturesque snow-covered village. After all, nothing heats up a winter night quite like finding oneself in the arms of a duke!

  Love romance? Have a free book, on me!

  Sign up at http://ridley.vip for members-only exclusives, including advance notice of pre-orders, as well as contests, giveaways, freebies, and 99¢ deals!

  Also by Erica Ridley

  The 12 Dukes of Christmas:

  Once Upon a Duke

  Kiss of a Duke

  Wish Upon a Duke

  Never Say Duke

  Dukes, Actually

  The Duke’s Bride

  * * *

  Rogues to Riches:

  Lord of Chance

  Lord of Pleasure

  Lord of Night

  Lord of Temptation

  Lord of Secrets

  Lord of Vice

  * * *

  Dukes of War:

  The Viscount’s Christmas Temptation

  The Earl’s Defiant Wallflower

  The Captain’s Bluestocking Mistress

  The Major’s Faux Fiancée

  The Brigadier’s Runaway Bride

  The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway

  The Duke's Accidental Wife

  Author’s Note

  Because Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol wasn’t published until 1843, his now-classic tale was unknown during the Regency period.

  Perhaps because of this, it was even more fun to weave elements of homage into Benjamin and Noelle’s romance. You may also spot nods to other holiday classics throughout the entire 12 Dukes of Christmas series.

  I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them!

  xoxo,

  Erica

  Chapter 1

  Winter enveloped the frost-tipped forest in its deathly grip as a lone black carriage made its determined way up the side of the frozen mountain.

  Benjamin Ward, the fifth Duke of Silkridge, glowered at the snowflakes obstructing the view from the window. Instead of being ensconced in the dry warmth of his familiar study in London, he was four hundred miles north, heading back to the one place he had vowed never to return.

  Cressmouth, England.

  The nearer his coach drew to the tiny village nestled high in the mountains, the worse the weather became. The cold breeze had turned into a punishing wind, and the endless gray skies above had begun to clot with heavy clouds.

  Already, blobs too icy to be rain and too wet to be snow spit down upon him.

  Bad weather was a good sign. It meant he was getting closer to his goal. Closer to the end. The sooner he fetched the heirloom that had been stolen from him, the sooner he could return to London. Back to where he belonged.

  Benjamin clenched his jaw and tore his gaze from the countryside. He hated to leave his home. This was the first time he’d been called away in years. The first time he’d allowed a deviation from his rigid schedule.

  Whether Parliament was in session or not, there was too much work to be done back home. Benjamin was personally responsible for half a dozen key committees shaping the country’s future. He had no time for distracting quests.

  But here he was.

  His horses clomped past a large, festive sign held sturdy in the frozen ground by thick wooden posts. Despite the darkening sky and the falling sleet, its boldly lettered words were still legible.

  * * *

  Welcome to Christmas!

  * * *

  “It’s Cressmouth, not Christmas,” he muttered beneath his breath with a roll of his eyes.

  But it was no use. The quaint northern village was even worse than he remembered. Brightly colored cottages dotted amongst the white of the snow and the frosted tips of a thousand evergreens.

  Everywhere he looked there were sparkling candelabra in windowpanes, curling smoke rising merrily from red brick chimneys, children in colorful woolen mittens pelting each other with soft balls of snow.

  “Humbug,” he muttered beneath his breath. He would not take part.

  But it was too late. The Silkridge ducal crest gracing the sides of his stately coach had caught the attention of those he passed.

  “Ho, there,” called out a ruddy-cheeked gentleman shoveling snow from his walk. “Happy Christmas!”

  “It’s January,” Benjamin muttered to his valet.

  “Didn’t you see the sign?” Doyle answered with a grin. “’Tis always Christmastide here.”

  “Humbug,” the duke said and motioned the driver onward.

  The only explanation for the townsfolk’s Christmas fever was their sad and desperate attempt to try to create some sort of advantage to living in the coldest corner of all of England.

  Benjamin glared at the snow-dusted pines dipping and curving through the mountains. Cressmouth was in the middle of nowhere. The closest town was Cornhill-on-Tweed. Any further north, and this village would be in Scotland.

  A bright red ball sailed from between a pair of cottages and out into the street.

  The horses reared in alarm. The driver struggled to keep control of the reins.

  From the corner of Benjamin’s eye, he caught a flash of movement. A lad scarcely six years of age intended to dart out before the horses in order to retrieve his ball.

  “Stay,” the duke barked, not to his horses and driver, but to the child at the edge o
f the street.

  He leapt from the coach and hurled the ball far over the child’s head so that he would be forced to run away from the lane to fetch it.

  “So kind of you,” called a woman from an open doorway. “You saved Nigel’s life.”

  “His ball was in my path,” the duke snarled as he jumped back into the carriage.

  His shoulders tightened. He was tired of the cold, tired of traveling, tired of waiting this long to regain something he had lost.

  Not Christmas. He had given that up on purpose. Benjamin was after something far more precious.

  At tomorrow morning’s reading of the will, his mother’s heirloom would return where it belonged. To Benjamin’s hands. Finally.

  The dizzying white castle seemed to mock him from the peak of the mountain. That had been his maternal grandfather’s home. His estranged grandfather. The same grandfather responsible for converting what had once been a ghost town into a vibrant Christmas village.

  A madman. There was no other explanation.

  Benjamin directed his driver toward the winding path up to the castle’s imposing front gate. They would sleep here tonight. There were no other inns. Besides, this had once been his winter home.

  Although his paternal grandfather had passed down the ducal title, his eccentric maternal grandfather had given Cressmouth a reason to thrive.

  From Benjamin, he had only taken things away.

  It was past time to take his birthright back. He was here for his mother’s locket. The one meant for him. The one bearing a miniature family portrait inside, painted mere weeks after Benjamin was born.

  It was the only portrait he shared with his mother. She had died shortly after his birth. That had been Benjamin’s first Christmastide. The holiday had not improved since.

  After all this time, it finally seemed possible to retrieve the stolen necklace. Benjamin had begged for its safe return a thousand times. But his grandfather was as immovable as his castle.

  The old man always said he’d give the golden locket back to Benjamin over his dead body, and the blackguard clearly meant it. He was dead now. Time for the heirloom to come home.

  Benjamin shook off the ghost of his grandfather’s memory as he alighted outside the castle’s doors. A stream of dapper footmen flowed out to greet him.

  Murmurs immediately erupted from a growing crowd of onlookers.

  “Why, it’s the Duke of Silkridge!”

  “Happy Christmas, Your Grace!”

  “It’s January,” Benjamin growled.

  He entrusted his carriage and horses to his driver and the footmen, and made his way inside to see if there was room for him in the castle’s crumbling interior.

  As he crossed the threshold, Benjamin stared about in disbelief.

  The interior was the opposite of crumbling. By all appearances, the abandoned medieval castle had been restored to its former glory and beyond.

  In the reception hall, crackling fires roared behind their grates, their orange light dancing over a spotless lake of white marble.

  Strips of bright blue carpet guided visitors from the door to any number of destinations. An adjoining salon filled with voices and laughter. A great spiral stair led from one sprawling floor to the next.

  At a large buffet, footmen cheerfully handed out plates of biscuits and generous ladles of steaming mulled wine. The butler pointed him in that direction after accepting his greatcoat and top hat.

  Benjamin didn’t want warm, sugary biscuits. He wanted a room for the night, he wanted his mother’s locket, and he wanted to be gone.

  Before he could have any of these things however, he caught sight of golden blond hair and laughing brown eyes. Just like that, his world tilted on its axis.

  Noelle was here. Right here.

  His heart beat uncomfortably fast.

  She looked both the same and yet somehow even better than before. Soft curves and gold-rimmed spectacles. Happy and smiling and beautiful. Surrounded by a group of equally cheerful friends.

  He’d thought she would be gone. He’d hoped she would be gone.

  So many years had passed since he’d last seen her. For the longest time, he had expected her to have a Season in the capitol, to take London by storm. Perhaps she had done so, and he had missed it. After all, he spent his days in the House of Lords and his nights in his study.

  Perhaps she was now “Lady” or “Mrs.” and no longer the Miss Noelle Pratchett he remembered.

  He didn’t want details, he reminded himself. Learning she’d found someone else would serve no purpose, and discovering she was still unwed would not signify. And yet he couldn’t help but gaze at her hungrily as she broke from her friends and made her way to the refreshment table, right in his direction.

  The moment she caught sight of him, she pulled up short. All traces of laughter disappeared from her eyes. “Silkridge.”

  “Miss Pratchett,” he replied, bracing himself for the inevitable correction.

  It did not come.

  “Five years,” she said instead.

  “You look lovely,” he blurted out, and could have kicked himself. She did look lovely. He had not meant to notice, much less give any compliments.

  She ignored it. Her lips pursed. “I thought I would never see you again.”

  “So did I,” he admitted. He had missed her so much, those first few months.

  After that, he had done his best to push her from his mind. One should not dwell upon things one could not have. Such as a rekindled romance.

  Or forgiveness.

  She crossed her arms beneath her bosom. “No doubt you’re here for the will.”

  Ten o’clock on the morrow. He wouldn’t be a single moment late.

  “I shall be gone before you know it,” he promised.

  “No doubt.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You were last time, too.”

  Chapter 2

  He was back.

  Noelle Pratchett gazed at the imposing, impossibly handsome gentleman before her in disbelief. For years, she had vowed that if she ever crossed paths with the Duke of Silkridge again, he deserved nothing less than the cut direct.

  And yet she was rooted in place. Her knees were locked tight to keep from trembling and her traitorous eyes could not be distracted from his form.

  Tall, intense, tightly controlled. It wasn’t just that his clothing had been perfectly tailored to his lean, muscular body. Every thread, every stitch had been selected with the same care and precision that ruled the rest of his life.

  He was never well-dressed; he was perfectly dressed. Every fold of his cravat, a work of art. Every crease, starched and crisp. Every hair just so, with nary a tendril out of place. His jaw, smooth and clear of stubble.

  He wasn’t a fashion plate come to life. The duke was no dandy. Rather, he was the very embodiment of rules and expectations. His hair, the perfect length. His waistcoat, the ideal pattern. His choices in color and style, muted but elegant. Timeless. As if an artist might paint his portrait at any moment.

  And this magic, despite having just stepped inside from a long drive on a blustery day. Not even wrinkles would dare to mar the plans of the Duke of Silkridge.

  He was not here for her, of course. For a while—a very short while—her naïve heart had once believed such a thing possible.

  Back in those days, he was not yet a duke but rather Benjamin. Irresistible, despite the same haunted eyes and carefully controlled exterior. If it had not been for that one reckless kiss, she would not have believed passion capable of sneaking past his defenses.

  At the time, she had been delighted. It was a fairy story. She, the penniless orphan. He, the handsome prince. What had begun as friendship had turned into so much more. He would not have kissed her otherwise. Surely this meant they had a future.

  He had been horrified. They had no future at all. Indeed, the next morning he was in the first coach heading out of town. That was the last time she saw him.

  Until now.

&n
bsp; “This is a surprise,” came the duke’s low, comforting voice. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  Noelle was not comforted. She was annoyed. She hadn’t wished to see him.

  The time for girlish innocence had long since passed. She had learned her lesson well. If you open your heart, you will be left behind. She would not make such a foolish mistake again.

  The duke accepted two mugs of mulled wine from a passing footman and offered one to her.

  Noelle had come to the refreshment table in search of biscuits, not wine, but she supposed now was an excellent time to change her mind.

  She accepted the warm mug and allowed its fragrant steam to bathe her face. “Is Christmas as you remember it?”

  “Cressmouth,” he corrected immediately with no attempt to mask a light shudder. “I don’t know how anyone could live here.”

  Irritation flashed through her. She loved her hometown. Loved the people, loved the scenery, loved being wanted. That he felt himself above all of that, including her, made her vow to be Christmassier than ever just to vex him.

  “I wish it would snow year-round in all of England, not just here,” Noelle replied cheerfully. She gestured about the great hall. “Nothing could be merrier than a cold crisp day outside and a crackling fire inside, especially when surrounded by so many friends.”

  He didn’t bother to hide his disagreement. “I don’t recognize anyone here but you.”