he did want her. So very much. Especially after that taste of her.
Afraid he had disgusted her, frightened her, he decided the best thing to do was to leave her alone for a time. So he took himself off to Bath, putting up with his sister’s matchmaking efforts, dancing at the assembly rooms, playing cards, drinking the foul water, trying to forget Cassandra. Yet she was still there—especially in his erotic dreams at night, when his sweet, dear friend was not so sweet at all.
“Hello, Ian,” he heard her say softly behind him.
For an instant he thought her voice was just another dream, but then her hand touched his sleeve. Even through the superfine fabric and the kid of her glove he could feel the warmth of her skin.
Don’t be such a fool, he thought harshly. This is just Cassandra—your friend. Charlie’s widow.
And the woman he wanted to be so much more than that.
He turned and made himself smile at her, gently, affably. He couldn’t frighten her with the lustful turmoil that twisted inside of him. “Cassandra. You look lovely tonight.” And she did. Even in her subdued purple gown, with her dark hair drawn back in a simple knot, she outshone everyone else in the ballroom.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” she said with a tentative smile. “How have you been?”
“Very well. Bath is very—wholesome.”
Her smile widened. “That must have been a nightmare for you, then. You’re probably glad to be back in London.”
He was glad, since it meant he could see her again. He studied her carefully, the slight blush in her pale cheeks, the wary light in her gray eyes. Did she remember that kiss? Did she hate him for it?
His heart ached to think she could hate him. Yet she still smiled at him, and she didn’t move away from him.
“I won’t be in London for long, I fear,” he said.
“Oh? Are you spending Christmas with your sister’s family?” she asked.
A hand traced over Ian’s, quick, insistent. He turned to see Melisande, Duchess of Gifford, smiling up at him slyly. “My dear, he is coming to my house party for Christmas,” she said. “Aren’t you, Sir Ian? You have 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.
