Once Upon a Duke's Dream
Once Upon a Duke’s Dream
Happily Ever After Book 3
Ellie St. Clair
Prairie Lily Press
♥ C opyright 2017 by Ellie St Clair - All rights reserved .
I n no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved .
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher .
F acebook: Ellie St. Clair
C over by AJF Designs
D o you love historical romance? Receive access to a free ebook, as well as exclusive content such as giveaways, contests, freebies and advance notice of pre-orders through my mailing list !
Sign up here !
Also By Ellie St. Clair
Standalone
Unmasking a Duke
Happily Ever After
The Duke She Wished For
Someday Her Duke Will Come
Once Upon a Duke’s Dream
Searching Hearts
Quest of Honor
Clue of Affection
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 20
Epilogue
THE DUKE SHE WISHED FOR
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
QUEST OF HONOR
Prologue
Chapter 1
More from Ellie St. Clair
About the Author
Also by Ellie St. Clair
To the Time of the Highlander
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
Epilogue
More From Audrey Adair
Prologue
B radley flicked the reins of his horse, pushing him to run even faster as the large manor came into site. He looked back at the horse keeping time beside them, and didn’t like the look of the man who was thrown over the saddle. Roger didn’t move, but for the light rise and fall of his chest that gave Bradley a bit of hope .
His heart pounding nearly in time with the rhythm of the horse’s hooves, Bradley Hainsworth, Duke of Carrington, raced the horses up the drive, but turned around the back of the palatial manor house to come to the servant’s entrance, as was fitting the situation. He vaulted off his horse, ran to the house and pounded loudly until finally a servant opened the door, an incredulous look on his face as he took in Bradley’s blood-stained shirt, windswept hair and the crazed look in his eye .
“Are you here for the house party? I believe, sir, you may have the wrong entrance …”
While the man clearly didn’t know who he was, he had seemed to discern from his dress that he was not a man that belonged at the servant’s entrance. Bradley, however, had no time for explanations .
“My friend is gravely injured. Send for the physician at once, and find a man to help me bring him inside to a place he can be treated,” Bradley commanded .
As the man began walking away, Bradley called out after him, “Oh! And find Alexander Landon, Duke of Barre !”
The man recognized his words with a slight nod of his head. He had likely already been on his way to find the master of the house .
Bradley helped carry Roger inside, placing him on a small couch in a room in the servant’s quarters that was clean and comfortable enough. He helped the servants who began bustling about, tearing away Roger’s shirt, and he grimaced at the hole the bullet had made in his friend’s chest .
Their old friend the Duke of Barre finally appeared in the doorway, his face aghast as he took in what was in front of him .
“My God, Carrington! What in the …?”
“I’ve not much time to explain, but I was helping Roger escape from France, where he had been falsely imprisoned. We were on our way back to England when we were ambushed,” Bradley said in a rush. “I must apologize for imposing on you like this, but we were so close to Warfield and I didn’t know where else to go .”
“It’s fine,” Alexander replied. “I’m glad you felt you could trust me .”
A servant called to Alexander from the doorway, and he turned to Bradley. “I’ll return shortly,” he said. “The physician should be here momentarily .”
Bradley nodded, and now that he had time to consider all that had happened, guilt began to descend onto his shoulders. All that had happened was his own fault .
He recalled the day he had agreed to help the Foreign Office with their request. They could not infiltrate the highest ranks of society without drawing attention to themselves, but they were concerned that there were gentlemen who were passing on information to the French. Of course, there were more than a few Frenchmen within society, although every one made it more than clear that their allegiance was with the English. They had all lived in England for some time and had not returned to France in a number of years, meaning that suspicion about their loyalty was not often questioned. Bradley had agreed to assist the Foreign Office in watching such gentlemen, but, until his trip to Paris, nothing had been of note .
Roger had been eager to help, and volunteered to travel to Paris to see what he could discover .
Bradley realized that someone knew who they were and what they were doing for the Foreign Office, although he did not know how they had discovered such things. Perhaps Roger had let it slip, although that was highly doubtful given how trusted a friend he had been. Regardless, Roger's capture and imprisonment in France had led to Bradley needing to travel to the country to help his friend return to England, and things had only grown more complicated from there .
There had been strange circumstances that had placed Roger under guard in the first instance, for his friend had been arrested for stealing, despite the fact he would never have pilfered a single thing. Bradley knew Roger, the son of an earl and his boyhood friend, better than anyone .
Roger had been shaken by what had occurred, telling Bradley over and over that he had not stolen anything. Bradley had been so concerned with fighting his friend's cause and getting him out from behind bars that he had given very little thought to the bizarre nature in which Roger had been imprisoned .
Now that he thought of it, the fact that his friend had been arrested while out walking the streets of Paris had been strange indeed. Even more so the fact that stolen items were apparently recovered from his apartment, although Roger had stated over and over that he had never seen such things before. Regardless, Bradley had used his power and title to remove Roger from prison, although they had been strictly instructed to remain in Paris until matters were settled within the courts – but Bradley had insisted that they leave at once .
He and Roger managed to make their way to England's shores without too much difficulty and relief had filled them as they'd begun their ride back to London. That reprieve had been shattered in an instant when Roger had been
thrown backward as a bullet struck him in the chest .
As the servants continued to clean the wound the best they could, soon there was a large pile of bloody bandages in the corner of the room. Bradley paced back and forth in front of the window. It had felt like they had been here forever, although truly it had not been that long .
“Where is the doctor?” he inquired. “And where did Barre disappear to? We need him !”
“Your Grace,” one of the valets spoke up. “The Duke’s fiancée called him and he went to assist her momentarily. He should return at any moment .”
Bradley nodded and resumed pacing .
The physician finally did appear, and it took no more than a quick look at Roger before he turned to Bradley and slowly shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do .”
Bradley had been outraged, and despaired for his old friend. He sat by him all night, praying for life to return to his body. But the physician had been right. Come morning, Roger took his last breath .
1
“S top! No!”
Bradley, Duke of Carrington, woke with a start, hearing his words echoing around the room. Breathing heavily, he stared at the fire in the grate, trying his best to calm his frantically beating heart .
“It was just a dream,” he muttered to himself, passing a hand over his face and feeling the sweat on his brow. His skin was gooseflesh, his breathing ragged. “It was just a dream .”
However, the truth was that it was not just a dream. It had actually happened, and the memory simply would not leave him. It was there every night, each time his head touched the pillow, repeating itself over and over again .
Roger was dead .
Bradley could still hear the gunshot, could still see the blood-soaked shirt as his friend took his last breath. The blame for all of it sat firmly on his shoulders .
Rubbing one hand down his face, Bradley pushed back the covers, made his way to the window and threw open the drapes, drinking in the early morning light. He could not go back to sleep now, not when the memories of his friend continued to haunt him .
“I will find the man responsible,” he bit out, his breath steaming up the glass in the window. “I swear to you, Roger, justice will be done .”
Leaning his head against the cool glass, Bradley closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the heavy burden of duty once more roll onto his shoulders. It was not he who had shot Roger, although he could understand why it certainly looked that way. After all, it had only been him and Roger on the road back to London, having made their escape from France .
Groaning to himself, Bradley left the window in order to ring the bell. It was early yet, but he needed something in his belly and certainly some coffee if he was not to spend the entire day yawning. Unfortunately, he had a ball to attend this evening, which meant that he would have to be washed, dressed and prepared for such an event .
It was not that he didn’t appreciate the invitation, only that he knew that his title and the fact that he remained unattached were the sole reasons for him to garner so much attention from the rest of society. Doubtless, there would be various ladies with their eyes on him, and he would be introduced to countless debutantes with their fawning mamas behind them .
No one cared for him , they only cared about his title and his wealth. Most men seemed amenable to finding themselves in such a situation, for they quite enjoyed the attentions of so many pretty ladies, but he could not confess the same. The more they tried to cling to him, the more he withdrew, but that did not mean they relented. It was as if they saw him as a challenge, like it was all a game. They wanted to see which of the young ladies would claim his attentions, and then all of society would be abuzz with the news .
Sighing heavily, Bradley walked over to the fire, finding the room a little chilly. The maid would be in shortly to stoke it, but there was no reason he couldn’t do such a thing himself. Adding a few logs and some coal to the grate, he watched in satisfaction as the flames caught almost at once, bringing a wave of heat towards him. Tugging a blanket from his bed, he swung it around himself, fully aware that he now looked like something of a wraith. There would be no more sleep for him tonight .
At that very moment, the door opened and a pale-faced maid poked her head in, apparently surprised to see him awake so early .
“Your Grace,” she stammered, not quite looking at him. “I have your breakfast tray .”
"Enter," he muttered, glad that the blanket was still draped about him so as to cover his bare feet. The maid placed the tray down by the fire, her eyes darting around the room .
"Send the valet up in about half an hour, will you please?" Bradley asked, dismissing her. The aroma of freshly buttered toast and hot coffee was already making his stomach growl, and as soon as the door closed, he sat down at once and began to eat. However, his mind still remained full with thoughts of Roger and of the unknown killer. Would he meet him at the ball this evening, entirely unaware of what the man had done? How could he determine which was the man he was looking for ?
* * *
“A re you sure you’re ready for this ?”
Bradley let out a breath, sending his friend a wry grin in response to his question. Alastair sat slouched in an upholstered chair across the room, one foot swinging lazily over the arm. He had grown tired of waiting for Bradley downstairs, and so had come to determine what was taking so long. His friend was stalling, as always, putting off their inevitable entrance to the ball. “Can you tell just how much I am looking forward to this evening’s entertainment?” Bradley asked .
Alistair, Earl of Kenley, was always up for a social event, and he shot him a sharp look. “You don’t look particularly convincing, Carrington .”
Taking another deep breath, Bradley tried to settle his shoulders, pushing away the tension he felt. He was grateful that Alastair had been willing to come to London to assist him, glad that he had at least one more friend he could rely on. Of course, it had meant telling Alastair everything but, once the cards were on the table, Alastair had been just as keen as he was to unmask Roger's killer .
“It may be dangerous,” Bradley had warned, only for Alastair to laugh .
“It is not as though I am so tied up in business that I cannot spare a few weeks,” Alastair had replied, shaking his head at Bradley. “Come now, do not worry about me. You are quite right to decide that you cannot face this alone. I am determined to help you .”
“It is just as well,” Bradley muttered regarding his thoughts on the evening’s entertainment, as he took one final look at his cravat. “It seems I am something of a bore these days and no one else wants to particularly keep me company .”
Alastair chuckled. “You’ve always been a bore, Carrington, but I believe it suits you. There is a certain dignity about you that draws the ladies toward you regardless of how grumpy you look .”
Rolling his eyes, Bradley sighed dramatically. “It is my curse to bear .”
“If you were only not anywhere near as handsome,” Alastair sighed, shaking his head in mock envy at his friend’s dark good looks, although his own striking face and blond curls were equally as pleasing to the ladies. “Or if you did not bear such a high title, then I am quite sure no one would be interested in you .”
Bradley could not help but chuckle. “How unfortunate for me, indeed .”
“Have you actually any intention of taking a wife ?”
The serious question had Bradley frown. “No, indeed. Not in the least, at the moment, although it does not stop the grasping mamas from sending their daughters towards me !”
“You are going to have to marry at some point .”
Bradley grimaced. “Yes, I am fully aware of that, but I feel as though I cannot allow myself such pleasures until Roger’s killer is brought to justice.” He could feel Alastair's eyes on him, and hoped his friend understood. It was a blessing that Alastair had offered to assist him in looking into the matter, when, in truth, Bradley had very few close friends and
even fewer that he could be entirely honest with .
“I understand,” Alastair said, slowly. “Then I shall simply have to do your share of dancing as well as my own .”
Relieved that the atmosphere lightened once again, Bradley chuckled. Alastair had always been able to attract a great number of ladies. Bradley thought that it must have something to do with Alastair’s ability to put almost everyone at ease and say the exact words every lady wanted to hear, accompanied by that charming grin of his .
“Very good, Kenley,” he muttered, finally satisfied with the state of his cravat. “Come then, we should go .”
2
“N ow, remember to smile.”
Isabella Marriott tried not to roll her eyes, well aware of what was expected of her at the ball .
“Gerard, you do not need to coach me on how to behave within society. You might recall that I am from this country, even if you are not .”
The grip on her arm tightened painfully, making her aware that her stepbrother was not particularly happy about what she had said. Isabella, however, was not perturbed, having endured such things from him for a good many years .