One Night with a Duke (12 Dukes of Christmas #10) - Erica Ridley Page 0,43

can travel with me! The factory will produce all the lockets based on your designs. You won’t need to lift a finger. Now that you’re not anchored to this village anymore, there’s no reason to be in it at all!”

She gaped at him. He surely couldn’t mean…

“No reason,” she repeated carefully, “except the fact that I’ve dedicated seven years of my life to becoming part of a community, establishing my reputation, and making my store a stop worth seeing on every tourist’s visit to Cressmouth. I sacrificed precious years with my family because I want this. I am a jeweler. I like my work. My shop is finally mine, and you want me to give it up for... grueling hackney rides around England?”

“Not all of the time,” he said, as though she weren’t quite catching on. “I assumed you’d want to be here sometimes, which is why I brought Duke to accompany you when I cannot. Och, I forgot the most important bit. I’m not asking you to live in sin with an itinerant salesman. I’m asking you to be my wife.”

She stared at him. “You’re asking me to accept a model replica of my neighbor instead of a flesh-and-blood husband?”

“I said—” The words came out with exaggerated patience. “—that you could come with me. It cannot be my fault if you choose to stay here.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re not proposing marriage. You’re proposing I give up everything I worked for and everyone I love, or live without my husband.”

“I’d come for Christmases,” he reminded her.

“That sounds reasonable to you?” she blurted out. “I don’t want a husband for only twelve days of the year. That’s not a wife; it’s a holiday. I’m worth more.”

“I’m trying to give you what you’re worth. The only way I can provide for you is to—”

“I didn’t ask you to provide for me. I provide for me. When I marry, it will be to a man, not to a coin purse.” She crossed her arms to hide her shaking hands. “Your excuse is hogwash anyway. If the only thing missing from our union was money, don’t you have a bank account that could solve your troubles?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I’m not spending the laird’s blood money on me. I’ll earn my way on my own or not at all. I have my own account, with coin I’ve earned. My life shall be a success in spite of my father, not because of him.”

“Then you’ve given it all away? Every farthing from the trust?”

He sighed. “Barely a dent, no matter how hard I try. It keeps earning interest.”

“So, you could have a home, and choose not to. You could pay someone else to travel about England delivering catalogues. You could probably employ a team to deliver in every shire.”

“I told you,” he said. “My success shall come from my efforts to stand out, not the money my father spent to hide me away. I’d sooner live under a bridge than accept gold as a substitute for a father.”

“But you expect me to accept a wicker manikin instead of a husband?” Her laugh felt like broken glass. “Goodbye, Jonathan. Marriage means making a home, not providing a posting house. If you’re just passing through... Do us both a favor, and stay gone.”

Chapter 13

Jonathan had never looked forward to Christmas Day, and this one was already miserable. The house was positively brimming with revelers.

They’d started the night before—carols and puddings and charades and spiced wine. After being up all night making merry, they somehow managed to be merry all over again. He’d lost count of the number of people who’d knocked on his door offering well-wishes or invitations to join them for roast goose or rousing parlor games.

Jonathan was not going in that parlor.

There was mistletoe in there.

Last night, the only woman he had any desire to kiss had brushed him off as efficiently as a maid sweeping unwanted debris from the front step.

Stay gone, she’d said. Would that he could!

But it was the wretched day known as Christmas, in a tiny village also known as Christmas, which meant there wasn’t a single hack to be had. He could get a sleigh ride to the castle if he wanted to nauseate himself with even more music and dancing, but not a single soul could be convinced to drag him far away at any price.

His head ached. So did his heart.

He should be grateful Angelica was clever enough to end things now, rather than