A Sinful Regency Christmas. Ann Lethbridge
already accepted, so you can’t say no now.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed as he studied Melisande. They had been friends for a long time, often seeing each other at risqué house parties in the past, though she had never been his lover. She smiled at him now like the cat who got into the cream.
And he had said he would go to her Christmas party, blast it. It had seemed like a good place to get on with the business of forgetting Cassandra.
“Really?” Cassandra cried. “So am I! We will get to spend the holiday together.”
“Isn’t that delightful, Sir Ian?” Melisande cooed. “Just one cozy little countryside Christmas.”
Ian’s hand flexed into a fist. Delightful was the very last word he would use to describe it all.
Chapter Two
“A glass of mulled wine, my lady? It should be warming after such a chilly journey,” Melisande’s butler said, holding out his tray laden with silver goblets as Cassandra stepped into the foyer.
“Thank you, Smithers,” she said. She handed her snow-dusted cloak to a footman and gratefully took a cup. The drink was still so warm it steamed, and it smelled of rich spices and fine red wine. It made her feel like Christmas had truly come.
“Her Grace and the other guests are in the drawing room, my lady.”
The other guests? Including Ian? She had been thinking about him being here ever since Melisande had said she invited him. “Am I the last to arrive?” she asked, carefully neutral. It was bad enough that she was so unsettled by all these new feelings for Ian, this missing him. It would never do if everyone else could see it, too.
She especially did not want Ian himself to know, but she feared he probably did. He knew women all too well.
“No, my lady. Her Grace is still expecting several others, I believe.”
“The snow has probably delayed them,” Cassandra said. The flakes, so delicate and pretty, had begun falling halfway through her journey, until even warm bricks and fur-lined robes couldn’t keep the cold at bay. She hoped Ian wasn’t out there in it.
But she also didn’t want to see him again just yet. Not until she could prepare herself.
“I will just join the others, Smithers,” she said. She put her now-empty goblet back on the tray and made her way slowly through the foyer and along the corridor toward the drawing room.
She had been to Melisande’s little manor house several times. It was not Melisande’s husband’s grand ducal seat, but her own cozy little pleasure place not too far from London for parties and gatherings. But Cassandra had never been there at Christmastime, and she made her way slowly as she marveled at the beautiful decorations. Swags of greenery tied with red bows looped around picture frames and hung from the plasterwork. Vases on their marble stands were filled with holly bouquets, and kissing boughs of branches and ribbons were in every doorway. Somehow the whole house even smelled like mulled wine, sweet and spicy and warm.
She could hear the laughter from the drawing room even before the footmen opened the doors for her. It was already loud and merry, punctuated by carols from the pianoforte. I Saw Three Ships played slightly off-key, as if the musician had been dipping into the wine. Cassandra smiled at the sound. It had been so long since she enjoyed a Christmas! So long since she had had fun.
And she intended to have a lot more fun before the holiday was over, if all went according to plan. She was going to leave the old, staid Cassandra behind.
She smoothed her hair and her dark red carriage dress before she stepped into the room. Her gaze quickly scanned the gathering, but she saw right away that Ian was not among them.
Lord Phillips, however, was there. He stood by the pianoforte, turning the pages for Melisande’s cousin as she banged out the song on the keys. He looked up at Cassandra’s entrance, and a quick, wide smile flashed across his face.
Cassandra smiled back. Lord Phillips really was quite handsome, with his auburn hair and green eyes, his even, aristocratic features and easy smile. His shoulders were also rather broad and strong-looking under his well-tailored coat. He was easy to talk to, quick with a joke. He didn’t make her feel nervous when she spoke with him.
Yes, he was a good choice to help her get back into the world of romance and flirtation. But …
But he was not Ian. No one else was Ian.
Ian doesn’t want you, she reminded herself sternly. Not in that way. That kiss, which had awakened so many things within her, had made him leave her. She couldn’t let that happen again. Having Ian for her friend was so much better than not having him at all.
If only she could forget the way his lips felt on hers, the way he tasted, the way his hand slid over her skin.
Cassandra shivered and gratefully accepted another glass of wine from the footman. Melisande rose from her settee across the room, where she sat with two of her admirers, and hurried over to greet Cassandra.
“My dear! You are here at last,” she cried. “Isn’t this weather beastly? I hope the others arrive very soon.”
“I am quite glad to be here,” Cassandra said, returning Melisande’s embrace. “The house looks so festive.”
“We’ll have games of blind man’s buff and hide-and-seek later, and of course more carols, if someone can persuade my cousin to let someone else have a turn.” Melisande led her toward the cozy groupings of chairs by the blazing fire. “Now, Cassie, I have assigned you a chamber right across the corridor from Lord Phillips, and you will sit with him at dinner. It is all arranged. Now, you must be bold.”
Bold? She felt like a scared little rabbit, peeking out of her forest hiding place for the first time. But it was past time for her to come out into the light again. She took a long sip of her wine and gave Melisande a determined smile.
“Now, come and meet Mr. Evans and his wife, this is the first time they’ve attended one of my little soirees,” Melisande whispered. “I think they are a tiny bit nervous, though I cannot imagine why …”
“Good afternoon, Sir Ian. Such a wretched day for a journey.”
“Indeed it is, Smithers,” Ian said as he stamped the snow from his boots and slid out of his greatcoat. “I’m just glad I didn’t attempt to drive the curricle from Town.”
Though trying to maneuver the little, high-perched open carriage through a sudden snowfall just might have been preferable to how he did spend the journey. Alone in a closed carriage as he thought about seeing Cassandra here. He had had a hard enough time controlling himself at the ball. Here, at one of Melisande’s famously romantic house parties …
Ian shook his head hard. He would just have to try to stay away from her, to be polite and friendly, and not give in to the primitive urge to grab her in his arms and devour her delicious mouth all over again.
“Her Grace and the other guests are in the drawing room, Sir Ian,” the butler said. “I’m afraid I must see to an emergency in the dining room, but there is wine and refreshments laid out in there.”
“Thank you, Smithers. I know the way.”
“Very good, sir.”
Once the butler was gone and Ian was alone in the foyer, he took a moment to make sure he looked suitably civilized before he faced Cassandra. As he shoved his fingers through his hair, pushing back the tangled strands, he glimpsed a chart laid out on a nearby table.
It was the chamber assignments for the guests, neatly lettered cards with each person’s name slotted into a specific doorway. He was in the Red Room, he noticed. And Cassandra was in the Gold Room, at the opposite end of the corridor.
“There you are at last!” he heard Melisande cry. “I was beginning