One Night with a Duke (12 Dukes of Christmas #10) - Erica Ridley Page 0,17

next morning, Jonathan made his way uphill despite the wind chapping his cheeks and the snow clinging to his lashes.

Winter had been pummeling him since dawn, but the road was clear from horse farm to castle, the pavements were swept, and a fresh bale of firewood had been piled on the stack behind Miss Parker’s shop.

He had wanted to impress her, but wasn’t certain how. She was not swayed by his offers to purchase anything—or everything—in the shop. She would rather sell her hair combs one by one to women who wanted them than to have Jonathan purchase the lot just because he could.

No one had ever declined his money before.

He’d expected nominating himself as her temporary footman to be a lark. He hadn’t expected feeling so… useful. It was typically not Jonathan, but rather Jonathan’s bank account that made people happy. It was a thousand times more satisfying to be the reason himself.

If yesterday was any indication, Miss Parker would have forgotten to break her fast this morning, and would be too stubborn to pause for sustenance.

Jonathan would pause for her. Now that he’d completed his early morning footman duties, he had all the time in the world. Who better to spend it with than someone who wouldn’t take time for herself?

He stomped the snow from his boots beneath Marlowe Castle’s protective stone archway and swept in through the great open doors.

Warmth enveloped him. Heat and noise, and the smell of cake and hot chocolate from the buffet just inside the entryway. He tried to determine which sensory pleasure was most welcome and decided Miss Parker was right: noise was the best. Crackling fires were a godsend, and pies were lovely at any hour, but the noise of people meant one needn’t enjoy them alone.

That was the best part about spending one’s life flitting from place to place: all the new people to meet. The second-best part was that if things didn’t work out, it didn’t matter. He was leaving anyway. There were endless chances to try again.

He helped himself to a biscuit at the refreshment table, taking care to introduce himself to all the other guests milling about Marlowe Castle’s large reception room.

When Jonathan was a child, the thought of introducing himself to a stranger had nauseated him. Rarely could he mumble out MacLean without his skin flaming fiery red and his stomach doing somersaults. But he had tired of feeling like he didn’t belong. Especially when he knew he wouldn’t be staying. Jonathan didn’t enjoy feeling awkward in strange places, so one day he’d decided to pretend not to anymore. He would become like a slate of roofing tile: anything he didn’t wish to hold onto slid right off of him. Now the trick was second nature.

Once he made the acquaintance of two dozen guests, a half-dozen villagers, and a veritable army of castle staff, he followed directions across the great hall and up the winding marble stairs to the castle’s ample circulating library. Its contents were free to the public, and Jonathan had been promised the well-stocked shelves contained topics for everyone.

He hoped that included something for Miss Parker.

Although Jonathan never stayed anywhere long enough for the purchase of a subscription to a local lending library to make financial sense, his first act in many places was to join as many libraries as possible anyway. The communal reading rooms were an excellent place to meet new people and get information that might not be found in the pages of a guidebook.

To his surprise, the castle’s library was not only vast, but unguarded. Rather than a separate reading room, comfortable sofas and chairs were scattered throughout, and the books were right there for anyone to pick up and leaf through.

It was so lovely, he wished he could pay tenfold for the experience, and was bitterly disappointed such a delight was being forced upon him for free. There wasn’t even a counter upon which one might surreptitiously leave behind a small stack of sovereigns.

There was, however, a black cat eyeing him with suspicion.

“Why, good day, sir,” he said to the cat.

It arched its spine, black fur spiking as sharp claws extended from its front paws.

A young woman stepped out from what might have once been a reading room, and was now an extension of the library.

“Your Grace,” she said.

Jonathan bowed. “A plain mister, I’m afraid. Jonathan MacLean, at your service.”

“Not you.” She pointed to the cat. “That’s Duke. He’s not a sir.”

“I see.” Jonathan did not see. He