One Night with a Duke (12 Dukes of Christmas #10) - Erica Ridley Page 0,37

only made her shine all the brighter.

“Is that my bonnet?” he asked.

“It’s my bonnet,” she replied pertly.

He grinned. Definitely his. She looked stunning in it.

What he wanted to do most was whirl her into his arms and kiss her, but if Oswald was scandalized over the idea of sharing his station, witnessing a peck of the lips would no doubt give the poor man a fit of the vapors.

“I have something for you.” She held up her closed hand.

Reverently, he unwrapped her fingers.

In the center of her palm was an oval of bright gold, decorated with brilliant red and turquoise stones and engraved with gorgeous looping whorls that reminded him not of the sea, but of the brisk, snow-flecked wind that rustled the hills of evergreens surrounding the castle.

“A lover’s locket,” he breathed. It was even better than he’d hoped.

“It’s not the prototype,” she said quickly. She tilted her hand so that the sparkling gold oval fell from her palm to his. “It’s for you.”

He pinned it to his waistcoat at once, right next to his heart.

“You don’t have to wear it.” Her lashes lowered. “There isn’t even a portrait inside the frame.”

A situation easily remedied, though he would wait until later to decide which of his sketches to add to the locket.

“I adore it,” he said, his voice huskier than he intended.

Oswald gave a delicate little cough.

Perhaps the man deserved a fit of the vapors.

“Come along.” Angelica looped her arm through Jonathan’s. “Our chariot awaits.”

“Chariot?” he repeated.

“Well, the Cressmouth version.” She grinned up at him. “You’ll see.”

When they stepped out of the door into the chill winter air, a large, bright red sleigh sat at the edge of the street, with a glossy black horse and bright-eyed driver at the ready and a low bench for riders at the rear.

Jonathan had watched the sleighs go by any number of times since his arrival. Tourists used them instead of hackneys. Sleighs were far more reliable in inclement winter weather than anything with axles and wheels. Better yet, they were diverting to ride in, and lent the simple act of traveling down the road an air of adventure and whimsy.

He climbed in after Angelica. “Where are we going?”

“To the park,” she replied, brown eyes shining. “The Yuletide festival is underway.”

Och. For a brief moment, he forgot about Christmas. But there was no time for his muscles to stiffen with trepidation—the horse was off at a sharp clip, and Angelica’s warm curves pressed deliciously into his side.

Because the duke’s cottage was only a few hundred yards from the castle, the minutes flew by in a trice. Their sleigh pulled up behind a dozen others, all painted bright red and pulled by exquisite black horses with improbably gleaming coats.

“Courtesy of the Harper stud farm you passed on your way in,” Angelica explained. Her glove brushed his. “Ready to meet the rest of my relatives?”

Not in the slightest. The idea terrified him. Which was patently ridiculous.

Jonathan had spent every day for well over a decade meeting strangers and turning them into temporary friends. A task made easier by the knowledge that his success or lack thereof didn’t really matter. No matter what sort of impression he made, he’d be gone within a week.

But Angelica’s family did matter. They mattered because she did. Even though he was unlikely to run into them again once he left Cressmouth, he didn’t want them to remember him as someone unworthy of Angelica’s time.

He desperately wanted them to like him. A situation that all but ensured he would be at his most awkward.

“Where will we meet—” His question was answered before he finished asking.

They were barely out of the sleigh before a dozen children of various heights surrounded them from all angles, followed by an equal number of adults carrying forgotten mittens or cones of paper piled high with roasted chestnuts.

All of them were speaking at once.

“Jump in,” Angelica whispered. “It’s the only way.”

No wonder her quiet little jeweler’s shop had seemed eerily silent to her. There were at least four enthusiastic stories being told at once, along with a heated argument over a missing doll, two warring Christmas carols, and some sort of rhyming game involving the complex clapping of hands.

“Family, this is Jonathan.” Angelica introduced him to each new face in turn. “My cousin Letitia. If she challenges you to hopscotch, it’s a trick. Uncle Maurice, who normally preaches in London but holds a special service in the castle every Christmas. Aunt Octavia, who cooks the most