Mistletoe and KissesA Duke of Strathmore Holiday Novella
sasha cottman
Copyright © 2020 by Sasha Cottman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Also by Sasha Cottman
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Reid
Owen
Callum
KendalLondon Lords
An Italian Count for Christmas
Promised to the Swedish Prince
Devoted to the Spanish DukeRogues of the Road
When a Rogue Falls - Hello Rogue
Contents
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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
A Scottish Duke for Christmas
Also by Sasha Cottman
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Chapter One
Cambridge, December 1790
Lord Hugh Radley closed his travel trunk one last time, silently reassuring himself that he had indeed got everything he would need for the trip to Scotland. He turned and groaned. There, sitting on the end of his bed, was the pair of boots he was certain he had already packed.
“You would forget your head if it wasn’t attached,” he muttered.
He would be needing the boots for the ice-covered roads around his family home in Scotland. After adding the boots and closing the lid of the travel trunk once more, he stepped back and allowed the porters to take his luggage.
He had been looking forward to this day for months. Christmas at the Radley clan’s ancestral home, Strathmore Castle, was always a special time. Hugh was champing at the bit to see his family.
He would be making the trip north this year, along with two of his sisters and their respective spouses. With all of them in the one coach, it was going to be a cramped four-day journey. He had packed several books in his travel bag, intending to bury his nose in them rather than attempt hours of small talk. As much as he loved his family, he had important documents he needed to study and commit to memory before he returned to England in the new year.
“When the coach arrives, could you make sure my luggage is safely loaded onto it? If my family asks, please tell them I have to see a friend before I leave, but I won’t be long.” He followed the porters out of his private rooms and locked the door behind him.
For a moment, he stood with the palm of his hand laid against the solid oak door. It would be the last time he touched it. He was no longer a student at St John’s College, Cambridge University. His days of living on the campus of the hallowed halls of learning were now at an end.
“Lord Hugh Radley, BA Theology. Fancy that,” he said.
He crossed the college courtyard then strolled along a walkway with edges bordered by tall white rose bushes before finally arriving at a black door with a brass nameplate.
Professor J. L. Gray.
He knocked on the door and opened it. Professor Gray’s rooms were never locked.
“Mary, it’s Hugh. I’ve come to say farewell,” he cheerfully called out.
A hand rose from behind a pile of old exam papers and waved. “Down here.”
Stepping around a neat stack of books, he found her. Mary Gray was kneeling on the floor, dust pan and brush in hand.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“A spot of cleaning. I moved a few more of Papa’s piles of papers this morning and actually found the floor. I dread to think the last time the stone flagging saw daylight,” she replied.
He held a hand out to her and helped Mary to her feet. Her gaze took in his coat and scarf, and she smiled.
“So, you are off to Scotland for Christmas?
“Yes, the travel coach will be here shortly. I have sent the porters and my luggage out to the main courtyard to await its arrival,” he replied.
She looked around the room, then back to him. “It must feel a little odd to be leaving here for the last time.”
He had thought it would be his last time, but earlier in the week he had been given the news that he still had some minor studies to complete before he could take up his post as curate at St Martins-in-the-Fields in central London.
“Actually, it’s not the very last time I shall be on campus. I have to come back after Christmas for a week. I will stay at one of the inns in town, but I shall drop by and say hello,” he replied.
Mary nodded, a tight smile sat briefly on her lips. She picked up another pile of papers and straightened them. He sensed she was nervous.
“Is your sister Adelaide making the trip with her newborn? I remember when she visited at half term and she was complaining about how swollen her ankles were,” said Mary. She put the papers down again and stood, tapping her fingers on the top of the pile.
Mary always fidgeted when she was uncomfortable about something.
Adelaide and Charles Alexandre had been blessed with the birth of a son, William, in early October. Hugh was dreading the prospect of sharing a cramped travel coach with a wailing infant but needs must.
“Yes, she is. My brother, Ewan, has commanded that as many members of the family as possible should make the trip this year. My sister Anne and her new husband, the Duke
