A Duke’s Christmas Masquerade (Preview)

Chapter One

Bath, 1812

“Charlie? You have to come and find us now!” Penny cried out.

Charlotte tilted her head to the side, listening intently as she stood blindfolded in the middle of the sitting room. She could hear not only her younger sister giggling away, but her youngest brother, Eddie, too. Just fifteen years old, Eddie was yet to adopt the rather sterner and more stoic nature that their two elder brothers had.

“Shh,” Penny urged Eddie. 

The sound of their running feet followed as they darted around the room.

“Come on, Charlie,” Penny called again after Charlotte still didn’t move. “It’s nearly Christmas. You have to play games.”

“I know, I know.” Charlotte waved a hand in the air, holding back her own laughter. She had no qualms about playing games, but she also had a secret competitive streak. She supposed it came with coming from a family of so many children. With three brothers and one sister, if they ever competed against each other, they fought tooth and nail to win. Even Sebastian and Nathaniel dropped their stoic natures and threw themselves into such games when Christmas was upon them.

Charlotte turned slowly on the spot. She heard Eddie run past her, doing his best to keep his laughter quiet, but his feet were heavy on the floor. He was in the middle of a great growth spurt, and in the last couple of months alone, his feet had grown large, and he’d reached Charlotte’s shoulder height. Another month, and he would have grown out of all of his shoes. 

“Aha!” Charlotte heard him and latched her arm around his waist.

“No,” he cried out loudly, trying to wriggle away from her. “You’re too good at this game.” He pushed her off him as she laughed and tugged off the blindfold, passing it to him.

“Come, it’s your turn.” She busied herself with wrapping the blindfold around Eddie’s eyes, hiding the blue orbs and flattening some of the wildly messy blond hair at his forehead. “Where’s…?” She trailed off as she looked around, searching for where Penny had hidden herself in the room.

Penny was sat on the back of a wing-backed armchair, her feet on the seat, in a way they all knew their mother would not approve.

“You’re the best at this game, Penny,” Charlotte said with approval. “I would not have thought to clamber across the furniture to you.”

“It is why I love this game.” Penny pretended to crack her knuckles, as if she was some great boxer rather than a well-dressed young lady. She blew a loose strand of brown hair out of her eyes and sprang up again, reaching for Eddie’s shoulders. “Prepare yourself.”

“Wait one minute—oh!” Eddie was not given that minute before Penny spun him madly around, making him dizzy. 

The room decked with evergreens and mistletoe, ready for Christmas, was dazzling in the evening light. The last streaks of the beautiful wintry day shone through the tall windows, with golden streaks that fell on the ivory-hued furniture. In the doorway, with one long line of tinsel hanging around the frame, stood another.

Charlotte turned toward her eldest brother in surprise. Leaving Penny and Eddie to their game, she approached Sebastian. He stood with his arms folded, and despite the happy atmosphere in the room, as she walked toward him, she felt that air drain away from her, as if he sucked it from her in a great gale.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice deep, trying to shut out the laughter of Penny as she darted out of Eddie’s grasp. “Bastian?” She used his nickname, for long ago, he had taken against the idea of being called ‘Seb’. 

He slowly shook his head. With brown hair, almost russet red in places, he was perhaps the most distinctive of all of their siblings, with a light line of copper stubble across his chin and heavy features that were not dissimilar to that of their father’s. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the heavily embroidered waistcoat was half undone, as if he had thrown it over his shoulders distractedly that morning and had not bothered to let the valet finish the job.

“You and I must talk.” He reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a letter, waving it between them.

“It’s Christmas.”

“Not yet, it isn’t. These games can wait.” With these final words, he turned away, creating a path through the corridor to another room downstairs.

Charlotte looked back with longing at Penny and Eddie as they played together. Penny was now taunting Eddie by cooing like a pigeon from various corners of the room and making him dart in the wrong directions. How she longed to stay with them, how she wished she could sit and read the book she had left out on the side for her entertainment that evening, or she could have started wrapping presents for Christmas, but it was not to be.

With a heavy sigh, she followed Bastian across the hallway. He left the door of their father’s study open, and she stepped inside, closing it behind her.

“I see you haven’t changed much in our father’s study.”

“I have no wish to,” he answered, his voice strangely deep.

Just as she had seen many times in this last year since they had lost their father, Bastian wouldn’t take his father’s seat behind the desk. Instead, he adjusted a few papers on the desk before turning to the two armchairs in front of the fire and sitting down, ushering Charlotte to do the same in the other chair.

This thought came through strongly as Charlotte took her seat, glancing at their father’s desk. It was the one part of the house where Charlotte felt she glimpsed her brother’s mind. Bastian, a man who liked to seem in control and perfectly settled, had a desk that was strewn with various papers in a complete mess. She had a feeling that, in his mind, he was not half so settled as he pretended to be.

“Care to explain why today I have received a letter from Mr. Lionel Wentworth saying that you refused his proposal?” Bastian held up the letter in the air between them.

Charlotte said nothing. She stiffened, her gut knotting, as she stared at that scrap of paper. Such hatred filled her as she looked at the letter, any residual happy feeling she had felt from their game of Blind Man’s Buff completely vanished. 

“You cannot expect me to marry him.” She shook her head firmly. “Not now. Not after what was claimed about us. Bastian, even you wouldn’t insist on that.”

“Charlie.” He sighed and leaned against the side of his armchair, pinching the brow of his nose. “You know you must marry.”

“Why must I?” Charlotte cried, moving to the edge of her seat. Beside them, the fire crackled in the grate. It should have been the season for roasting chestnuts on that fire, for gathering around it and hearing old stories of families and friends, singing carols, but that fire only made her feel cold now. “Others have married when they are older than me. Good God, Bastian—”

“Language, Charlie.”

“Are you actually correcting my language now as if you are my father?”

“It is my responsibility to ensure you make a good match, and you impress the ton. I do not think taking the lord’s name in vain will help that, do you?”

“Oh, what high standards you have!” she declared and stood hurriedly, moving to the mantelpiece and clinging to it, doing anything to look away from her brother. “I heard you say God’s wounds this morning. Why is it more important for me to correct my language than you? In fact, why is it more important that I should marry than you? In case you haven’t noticed, you are eight years older than me. If age is a reason to marry, then you should surely be wed already.”

“Charlie.” Bastian’s voice grew sharp as he lowered his hand from his face. “Batting away this discussion by attacking me will not help matters. It is the way the world works. I do not have to marry young. The expectation for gentlemen is not so great, and I have an income. As for you…” He gestured to her.

Charlie bent further over the mantelpiece, her head getting closer and closer to the mirror behind the mantel clock. Her eyes flitted up to her reflection as she thought of her brother’s words.

Her blonde hair was falling out of its updo, in the way it so often did, not wanting to stay swept up and neat, especially after a game of blind man’s buff. She had the same sharp angled cheekbones that Bastian had, but her eyes were softer, great orbs of green that she inherited from her mother. Charlie glared at her reflection, feeling more and more furious at what she saw there.

“Something you said still burns in my mind,” she whispered, turning away and glancing at her brother. “A woman has little but her charms to recommend her to men.”

“Did I say that? When?” Bastian lurched forward in his seat, seeming quite disgusted by the idea.

“You were drunk,” she reminded him. “You said it after father died and mother told you it was your responsibility to ensure Penny and I married and found husbands of our own, homes of our own.”

He sighed, shaking his head once more.

“Charlie, I know your mind. I know your politics. You and I could sit here for hours debating on the virtues of a woman and the expectation for her to marry young. No matter what my personal opinion is, I cannot change facts. You did not find a match in your first Season, and now that father is gone…” He sighed once more, that sound heavy between them. “Gentlemen address me to enquire about your hand. Believe me, I have had plenty of inquiries. We must see your married soon, so we can introduce Penny to the ton next year.”

“Many inquiries?” Charlie was shocked, stepping away from the mantelpiece. 

“Yes, but this is still the preferred one, is it not?” He held up the letter again. “You were being courted by Mr. Wentworth.”

“You will not see me married to him now, Bastian.” Her voice grew loud as she stepped forward. This time, Bastian reacted, moving back in his seat and looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I do not love him, do not care for him, nothing. Marriage should be about love.”

“In an ideal world and in your books, yes, but we are talking about reality.”

“Our parents married for love. Have you forgotten that?”

“They were fortunate,” Bastian spoke with a calmness Charlotte could not find as she placed her hands on her hips. “We do not all have that option in life. So, Mr. Wentworth…” He held up the letter once more. “Have you forgotten the scandal? Forgotten the reason why we must see you married so fast?”

“Bastian, please—”

“You were seen kissing him.”

“I never!” Charlotte flung herself toward her brother, dropping down to her knees before him. 

“What are you doing?”

“Begging you to understand me?”

“I’m your brother, not your master. Get up off the floor.” He waved at her, but she refused, kneeling before him. “Charlie—”

“If this is the only way to make you listen to me, then so be it,” she said sharply. “Bastian, I never kissed him. It was some vile rumor. I swear it, and no matter what Mr. Wentworth pleads with you now, I beg of you, do not believe it. I cannot marry him. I would sooner marry the spiders that hide in your chimney than marry him.”

“A passionate statement indeed.” He fidgeted with the letter, turning it over in his hands. He leaned forward, pinching his brow once more. “Charlie, because of the scandal, whether it happened or not, I must see you married and fast. If you are not wed by the New Year, then this whole family’s name will be dragged through the mud.”

“That’s a month away,” Charlie whispered, her voice tight and nervous. “Surely you would not see me married in a month?”

“I have no choice.” Bastian’s voice was somber as he looked her in the eye. “Since father is gone, it is my responsibility to look after this whole family now, to protect us all.”

“And that means protecting our name? Our reputation? More so than my happiness.”

“Charlie!”

“What, Bastian?” She shrugged. “God have mercy, if you could see it how I saw it—”

“Language, Charlie.”

“I will not be quiet on this matter.” She shook her head once more. “Please, can you not see it how I see it? Can you not see that you are about to imprison me in a marriage I do not want?” She snatched the letter from his grasp and moved away on her knees, tossing it into the fireplace. She watched Mr. Wentworth’s letter burn to a crisp, the yellowing edges of the pages now turning black and singed.

She breathed so heavily, she was in danger of crying. Her chest rose and fell, and her eyes stung with unshed tears.

“I do not enjoy this, you know,” Bastian said, his voice quiet indeed. She nodded but couldn’t bring herself to turn to look at him. “There is something we could agree on, a way forward that is best for this family, and at least gives you a chance at what you want, even if I think it a remote thing indeed.”

“What do you mean?” Slowly, she turned on her knees, curiously staring at him. He scratched the coppery stubble on his jaw before he went on.

“I have friends, some who have enquired as to your future. In fact, I believe I could arrange a betrothal for you, sending just two letters.” At his words, she flinched, but he raised a comforting hand. “I am not suggesting I do that today. I am suggesting that you have until Christmas Day.”

“Christmas Day? That’s twenty-five days away!”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “You have until Christmas to see if you can find a man you wish to marry. There will be plenty of balls and parties this Season you can attend. Find a man you care for, and if he proposes to you by Christmas, then you have your way to marry for love.”

“And if I cannot work miracles?” she asked in challenge. “If your time constraint is so mad that I cannot find anyone?”

“Then I have no choice.” He grimaced, looking in nearly as much pain as she felt. “I shall arrange your betrothal for you, and you shall be married by New Year’s Day. Do we have an agreement, Sister?”

Charlotte felt sick as she slowly stood, reaching for the mantelpiece once more.

“Charlie, do I have your agreement?”

“As you wish,” she said with reluctance, knowing that whatever she said now, it didn’t matter. Sebastian had made up his mind.

When the New Year came, she would be leaving this house, leaving the home she loved so much, and if she could not produce a miracle, she could be married to Mr. Wentworth or some other objectionable gentleman. 

 

Chapter Two

“Victor? Victor! What about this one?”

“Mother, please. You and I have discussed ladies all evening. Their ears must be burning by now.” Victor adjusted the cravat around his throat as he stood in the entrance hall. He had to get out of the house, even if it was just for a few hours. It was a matter of surviving his mother’s rather obsessive behavior now.

“But Victor, this is important,” she cried for what had to be the fiftieth time that day. She halted beside him, waving one of the scandal sheets in the air between them. “What of Lady Yates? Lady Agatha Yates? It talks here of the great fortune she has just inherited. Surely you cannot object to a woman of such a dowry?”

“Mother, I do not need bribing to marry a woman.” He calmly took the scandal sheet from his mother’s hand and placed it down on a card tray beside them on the hall table. He laid a hand on his mother’s shoulders, watching as she fidgeted. She pushed back her dark hair that was staring to gray, her pale blue eyes darting all over him. She reached for the pearl necklace at her throat, twisted it between her forefinger and thumb, then released it again. “I have promised to consider marriage. It is why I have returned home to you. Yet I will not choose a lady by looking at a scandal sheet.”

“You will marry though, will you not?” She moved out of his grasp and snatched up the scandal sheet again, sifting through the pages as she searched ladies’ names. “You said you’d give me a grandchild. I want a grandchild, Victor. Before I die, I want a grandchild.”

“You are not dying anytime soon,” Victor said harshly, though his mother did not appear to hear him. She chewed her lip, looking assiduously through the sheet before her.

Victor turned away as he heard footsteps in the hallway. His butler had strode into the house, an elderly gentleman by the name of Horace. He had been here for years, watching over Arabella as she aged, whilst Victor was in Prussia with his extended family. Victor looked pleadingly at Horace, who shrugged, as if to say, ‘it is the way she has been for some time.’

When Victor had returned after receiving his mother’s letter, he’d insisted on a doctor seeing her at once. Her insistence she was going to die soon was quite maddening when the doctor assured Victor his suspicion was correct—there was nothing physically wrong with Arabella. It seemed to be more a sickness of the mind, an obsession, a need.

“You must marry, and soon,” she said again, as Horace walked toward Victor and offered up his greatcoat.

“Thank you,” Victor addressed Horace. “Would you bring my mother a tea, please? Something to calm her.”

“Of course.” Horace smiled. “Shall I have a horse prepared for you, Your Grace?”

“No. I shall be walking to the club, thank you.” The townhouse in the center of Bath made it easy to reach anywhere he wished to go on foot. 

“What about this one, Victor?” Arabella held up the scandal sheet again. “Margaret Beau. Oh no, not her. She is an insufferable gossip. I could not handle you marrying such a lady as her, despite her beauty. Ah, what about this one? Lady Ashford. Lady Charlotte Ashford. You remember her, do you not? She is your old friend’s sister.”

“Why is she mentioned in a scandal sheet?” Victor realized at once he had said the wrong thing, for his mother started to read out the article.

“Ahem. ‘Lady Charlotte and her siblings must be in much turmoil at the moment—’”

Victor snatched the scandal sheet before she could say anymore. Rather than reading it, he thrust the sheet behind his back toward Horace, who fortunately understood the hint, and took the paper, hiding it in one of his own pockets. Arabella held a hand to her pearl necklace in surprise, craning her neck around Victor to try and see where the sheet had gone.

“Victor?”

“Worry not.” He forced a smile. “I have returned from Prussia as you have requested, and I will consider marrying as I promised.”

“Consider!?” she said in outrage.

“Please, calm yourself.” He took one of her hands between both of his, patting it softly. “Now, I have assured you I will attend every event this Christmas. There is nothing that can be done tonight, and I certainly cannot find myself betrothed to another before the end of this evening.”

“No, of course not.” She smiled, seeing the ridiculousness of the idea at last.

“Retire to the drawing room. Horace will bring you some tea, and perhaps one of those egg custard tarts you like so much?” Victor looked at Horace, who nodded eagerly.

“I have placed two on a tray for you already, Your Grace,” Horace said with his usual comforting smile.

Victor matched that look. If it was not for Horace, he worried just how troubled his mother’s mind might be by now.

“Thank you.” Victor patted his mother’s shoulder. “Rest yourself. I shall return later.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the gentleman’s club. With a little luck, I shall run into some old friends. Have a good evening, Mother.”

“You too, dear.” She walked toward the drawing room, tottering on her feet as she continued to twiddle with the pearls.

Victor looked at Horace helplessly, who shook his head, none the wiser.

“She has a stack of those scandal sheets that she hides beneath her bed,” Horace revealed in a whisper.

“See, they are burned,” Victor pleaded, and Horace nodded. “I’ll be back soon.” Desperate for an escape, for a few minutes of levity, Victor left the house and strode into the streets of Bath.

***

“I do not believe it.” A sudden, deep voice struck Victor.

He was sitting quietly in a corner of the gentleman’s club, with a glass of whisky in his grasp. He’d been reading the paper about England’s politics and the Prince Regent’s latest escapades, rather glad for the distraction from his mother’s gossip about the ladies of the ton. 

Now, he looked up at the familiar voice, seeing through the rather dull light of the club a face he knew well.

“Victor? I mean…” The man shook his head. “I should not call you that now, should I?” He strode toward Victor, his face coming into focus. “I should call you the Duke of Stonehart now. How are you?” He bowed quickly, then offered his hand.

Victor saw at once a face he knew well. It was Lord Sebastian Ashford, viscount now that this father had passed and left him the title.

“Bastian? Well, Lord Ashford.” Victor remembered at once the old nickname that had followed his friend around. “Good God, it has been years.” He put down the paper and whisky and stood, shaking Sebastian’s hand as eagerly as he could. “How have you been?”

“Well enough.” He grimaced. “I see you have heard my news then. My father passed last year, so yes, I am these days called Lord Ashford.”

“I am so sorry.” Victor released his hand. “But glad to see you again.”

“You have returned from Prussia?” Bastian shook his head in amazement. “Last I heard, you were setting up home there and unlikely to ever return.”

“Ah, I see the gossip is as bad as it ever was. Come, sit down, and I shall tell you the truth of the matter.”

They settled themselves together in two large leather armchairs in the corner of the room, flanked by soft yellow candlelight. The servers in the club came over and topped up their whisky glasses, and fortunately, others in the club gave them a wide berth, retreating to other corners, meaning Victor was left to talk to his friend quite openly.

“I have returned for my mother’s sake,” he said after a few minutes. He thought it best not to talk of the particulars and his mother’s obsession with needing to see him married. “It is right I see her again. I have spent too long in Prussia.”

“Yet you enjoyed your life there, did you not?” Bastian asked, resting back in his chair. “It certainly must have been an adventure! No responsibilities, just off exploring. Ah, how I envy you.” He raised his whisky glass to his lips and took a hefty gulp.

Victor heard the inference in the words.

“You are weighed down by your own responsibilities, my friend?” Victor asked. The more he looked at Bastian in the darkness, the more he realized much had changed.

He’d known Bastian when they were children, for their fathers had been friends. When they were very young, they’d played swords together out on the lawns of their houses. As a child and a young man, Bastian was carefree, always laughing, always jesting. So far, this evening, he hadn’t made a single jest. His expression was a little more haggard than Victor remembered, his sharp features seeming even more angular than before, thanks to a permanent crease in his brow where he evidently frowned too much.

“Now the head of my family, and with four siblings to care for, as well as a grieving mother, you can well imagine what my life is like.” Bastian waved a hand, looking down at his whisky glass. 

“Your sister.” Victor blinked, remembering suddenly that his mother had mentioned something about Lady Charlotte Ashford’s name being mentioned in the scandal sheet.

Why is she mentioned?

An image flashed across his mind about the last time he had seen her. When he had taken his leave of England, at just the age of twenty, she had been twelve. He could remember coming to see Bastian to say goodbye and seeing her playing in the garden with her two younger siblings. She had wild golden hair and was doing cartwheels on the grass out in the sun. She was a happy soul, laughing loudly.

That, however, was a long time ago, and he realized at once that the child would now be a woman.

“She was mentioned in a scandal sheet,” Victor said with a wince, watching as Bastian shook his head, taking another hasty gulp of his whisky. “I did not read the article.”

“Oh good.” Bastian smiled at last. “I am tired of people talking to me of what they have read. You might as well know, as everyone in Bath seems to know it. In fact, everyone from here to Bristol knows it. They suspect she kissed a man, though she vehemently denies it.” He frowned. “I’m inclined to believe her.”

“You doubt your own sister?”

“Of course not. It’s just when gossip is involved, it has a habit of warping your own mind.” He rubbed his temple as if suffering some headache. “Put it like this, dear Charlie is part of my current stress.”

“I forgot you called her Charlie.” Victor laughed softly. “Allow me to guess.” He knew the way the ton worked. Even if he’d been in any doubt about it, his mother’s relentless reading out of the scandal sheet earlier that day had made the matters plain. “Whether the scandal is true or not, you now must see her married.”

“See? You understand it!” Bastian flicked his fingers in Victor’s direction. “She does not, though. She doesn’t want to marry for anything less than love, but that is the way my sister is. An idealist romantic. She would go and see a Shakespearean romance in a heartbeat, then bore you stiff all night talking of it.”

Victor laughed warmly at the idea. As far as he could see, there was nothing wrong with going to the theater, then talking about it afterward.

“Yet it must be done,” Bastian spoke with somberness. “She must marry, and I must see her betrothed by Christmas Day.”

“Christmas? So soon?” Victor asked in amazement. “You are expecting her to fall in love quickly.”

“Don’t you start.” Bastian smirked as he pointed a warning finger at Victor. “I do not expect her to fall in love in such an obscene time limit. At least this way, she and I have come to an agreement. In her eyes, I have given her a chance, whilst, for the rest of the family, I am seeing her quickly married, enough to save the family name and reputation.”

“No wonder you are so stressed. Let me get you another drink.” Victor helped Bastian to drown his sorrows. Where Victor just had two glasses, they rather lost count of how much Bastian had.

By the time they were done, Bastian was in no state to get himself home. They could have ordered a carriage to get Bastian home, but Victor didn’t trust Bastian’s stomach to hold through the motion of being rocked back and forth. Instead, he escorted his friend home himself, holding Bastian under the arm and walking him through the streets of Bath.

Bastian and his family lived in a house that was beyond the Royal Crescent, in a large building set back from the main road with a vast lawn and a knot garden visible through the black railings that bordered the land. 

Victor led Bastian toward the door and knocked loudly.

“Who’s there? Oh!” Someone answered. Victor blinked at the face that was similar to Bastian’s, but not identical. When he saw the light brown hair, he realized he had to be looking at the face of one of Bastian’s younger brothers.

“Nate,” Bastian declared, and practically fell on his brother.

“Oof. What are you doing? Drinking every drink in Bath? Come in, you fool.” Nathaniel caught Bastian before he could fall any further and dragged him inside. “Thank you,” he said hurriedly to Victor, not taking the time to look him in the eye.

Victor hardly minded. He wanted to be home fast this late at night, and staying around to introduce himself didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“Nate? What is going on?” a voice called from within the house.

Victor halted, his curiosity getting the better of him on the doorstep. In the house, he saw a young woman step out of a room and into the hall. This had to be Lady Charlotte, judging by the age of the woman. Her golden hair was swept back under a band into a rather wild updo. Her face had aged since Victor had last seen her, and he saw with some shock that she had matured into a beautiful young woman, those full lips parting as she stared at her brother.

“Oh, well, this will help the family’s reputation, will it not?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips as she stared at her brother.

Victor nearly laughed aloud at her challenge, but the door had been left to swing shut in his face. All at once, the view of Lady Charlotte was blocked out. 

---

“A Duke’s Christmas Masquerade” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Charlotte’s life breaks into pieces when a scandalous rumor threatens to destroy her reputation. Forced to find a match that will save her future, she needs to find true love before Christmas or succumb to an arranged match by her guardian brother. With an unexpected twist of fate, a parcel with a mask and a promising request arrives at her doorstep and Charlotte’s life turns into a winter wonderland romance. Having no clue about the mysterious sender, she agrees to meet the masked stranger and dance with him at every seasonal ball.

Will she dance her way to love before the end of the twelve Christmas balls?

Victor Beaumont, Duke of Stonehart, returns from Prussia and endeavors to fulfill his mother’s ardent wish for his marriage. Encountering Charlotte, the sister of his old friend, rekindles memories of her childhood charm, which has now turned into a captivating presence. Determined to win her heart, he delivers a peculiar request to her. During each and every of the Christmas balls, she must save a dance for him. As one dance turns into many though, Victor’s hidden identity might be the ruin of this romance…

Will he risk revealing his identity to pursue true love with Charlotte?

As Charlotte and Victor grow closer amidst the chaos and magic of Christmas balls, Charlotte’s family and a persistent suitor arise as threatening obstacles. While their courtship unfolds in the most unorthodox way, love sparkles as strong as Christmas magic in every ballroom. Can their love withstand the endless societal pressure? Will secrets and scandal tear them apart, or can they find love amidst the festive season’s turmoil?

“A Duke’s Christmas Masquerade” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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