Page 220 of Dukes for Dessert

Carole hooked her arm about Judith’s elbow and hauled her past the butler and into the cottage.

“Are you absolutely positive you need my help?” Judith whispered between appallingly non-subtle glances over her shoulder toward the butler.

“You know what?” Carole stopped walking and dropped Judith’s arm. “I have to get into that library without Swinton noticing. Do you think you can find some way to keep him near the door until I get back?”

Judith’s eyes sparkled. “Absolutely.”

Without a backward glance—Carole did not want to bear witness to whatever distraction her maid had in store for the butler—she hurried down the corridor toward the library before some other member of Azureford’s staff could stop her for questioning.

She jerked to a stop just inside the library. A horrified gasp strangled in her throat as she stared at the shelves in shock.

The duke’s aesthetically organized books weren’t sorted by color anymore. Blue spines were not with blue spines. Red was not with red. Green was not with green. Rather than a neatly delineated rainbow, the library was a cornucopia of color, every spine contrasting wildly with its neighbor.

How was she supposed to find her sketchbook now?

“No, no, no,” she groaned as she dashed forward to scan the shelves in search of a familiar spine.

The problem was, her sketchbook’s spine didn’t stand out at all. It had actually started its life as one of her father’s journals. The same sort of blank journal any number of gentlemen ordered to keep their diaries or balance their ledgers. Azureford himself owned countless volumes of the same style.

The difference was, the journals that belonged to Carole’s father had fancy Q embossed on the front cover. The same recognizable Q that was emblazoned on half their other possessions. If she didn’t get that journal out of here during her one chance to do so, whoever stumbled across it would either immediately realize Carole had penned the sketches—or they’d think her father did. Neither was acceptable.

She hurried from shelf to shelf, yanking dark blue spines free only to shove them back moments later when their covers failed to display the family Q.

“Five minutes!” Judith called, rather… breathlessly? “Here we come! Did you find your earring?”

Carole tugged the gold-and-citrine hoop from her reticule and shoved it behind a row of books. Perhaps it wasn’t a likely place for an earring to have fallen, but she needed to keep her story plausible. It could take days to find a needle in a haystack. Weeks.

Swinton strode into the library, his cheeks oddly flushed. “I must ask you to leave. His Grace arrives within the week, and we must ensure the house is in proper order.”

“But this is his summer cottage,” Carole stammered inanely. “It’s not… summer.”

This time, it was Judith who hooked her arm through Carole’s and hauled her toward the door. “Thank you, Swinton. You are everything that is sweet and kind. A veritable gentleman.”

“We’ll be back,” Carole called over her shoulder as Judith dragged her outside.

“Not without my master’s invitation,” Swinton replied, and closed the door in their face.

2

“Almost there, Your Grace.”

Adam Farland, the sixth Duke of Azureford, set his well-worn sheaf of notes from the last Parliament session on the squab beside him, and directed his gaze out the window.

John, his driver, was right. A bright red sign beckoned from the rolling green grass:

* * *

Welcome to Christmas!

* * *

Most visitors flocked to England’s northernmost village for the winter entertainment it usually offered. A glittering castle atop a soaring mountain, fields of gorgeous evergreens, carolers beneath softly falling snow almost all year round. According to the latest almanac, there would be no chance of a frost fair for at least ten weeks.

A self-deprecating smile curved Adam’s lips. He would not be surprised to learn he was the only resident who had timed his visit to correspond with the least Christmassy time of year. The already small village would hold a fraction of its seasonal population.

That was why he was here.

“Thank you, John.”

---