A Sinful Regency Christmas

“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 to think you had gotten lost, Ian, darling.”

Ian looked up to grin at her. “And miss out on one of your famous parties, Mel? Never.”

Melisande laughed as she came to slip her hand around his elbow. “I didn’t think you would, but then again you have been acting so oddly lately. One never knows.”

“Oddly?”

“Hmm. So distant and serious, as if you had something quite weighty on your mind. Most unlike you.” She tapped her free hand on the chart. “Are you happy with your room arrangement?”

“All of your accommodations are most comfortable, Melisande.”

“Yes, I do want people to be—comfortable,” she said with a trilling laugh. “And you are quite near to Mrs. Raye. She was asking me about you last week. It seems she met you at the theater and was quite impressed.”

“Mrs. Raye?” Ian asked, confused. He couldn’t even remember the lady. That wasn’t like him either. Another sign he needed to quit thinking about Cassandra. “I’m not really interested in any—activities this Christmas, Mel.”

Her brow arched. “No? Darling, are you quite sure you’re not ill?”

“Not ill. Just not interested at the moment.”

She still watched him doubtfully. “Well, if you do change your mind, Mrs. Raye is in the Chinese Room just opposite yours. I have several little matchmaking schemes this holiday.”

Ian laughed. “When do you not?”

“You do know me well. But this time it is rather special, for a good friend who needs a little romance in her life. She had been alone too long.” She tapped at Cassandra’s card and then at the one on the chamber next to it. Lord Phillips. “A rather good match, don’t you agree?”

No, he certainly did not agree. Ian scowled down at the cards. His hands curled into tight fists to keep from tearing them out. “You’ve matched Cassandra with Lord Phillips? That milque-toast?”

“Yes. He rather reminds me of Charles, and she seemed happy with him. You were such friends with them when Charles was alive. Don’t you think this will work out well, darling?”

Before Ian could make some furious answer, there was a discreet cough from the doorway. “Yes, Smithers, what is it?” Melisande said, turning away from Ian.

“I am sorry, Your Grace, but something requires your attention in the dining room,” the butler said.

“Of course,” Melisande answered. “Ian, darling, I will see you in the drawing room. Do talk to Mrs. Raye while you’re there.”

Then she was gone and Ian was alone with the infernal chart. He stared down at it, so many things roiling around in his heart. Anger, jealousy, a strange possessiveness, and—fear? Fear that Cassie would find someone else. If she wanted an affair, a new romance, he could give her that—no one else.

For an instant, an image flashed through his mind of Cassandra with Lord Phillips, his auburn head bent towards hers as she went up on tiptoe to meet his kiss. And, damn it all, Ian knew just how her kiss would taste, knew the soft little sound she would make in her throat. How her arms would feel as they twined around his neck.

And by Jove, but he couldn’t let Phillips or any other man have that from her. A primitive, raw surge of sheer possessiveness deep inside of him swept away all the very good reasons he knew he should not be with Cassandra.

He reached down and switched out his card with Lord Phillips’s. Now all he had to do was to keep Melisande from checking it before the others got their chamber assignments, and then take the next step in his plan.

Chapter Three

Cassandra took a deep swallow of her glass of brandy and stared at herself in the dressing table mirror. It was like looking at a stranger, not the woman she had been all her life. Her dark hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, clad in a filmy new blue silk dressing gown, and her eyes were feverishly bright. Whether with excitement or fear she wasn’t quite sure.

She took another gulp of the brandy, grateful for its warm bite at the back of her throat. She almost never drank, but she needed its courage tonight. “You can do this,” she said aloud. “You can.” People had romances every day. Why shouldn’t she?

Lord Phillips had certainly seemed to like her very much when they talked at dinner, and then after when they sang carols with the others. He had paid her compliments, smiled—touched her hand under the table. He was handsome and seemed kind. Patient. Just what she needed.

But she hadn’t been able to stop stealing glances along the table to where Ian sat. He had seemed so serious tonight amid the holiday merriment, his eyes full of shadows. It made her long to go and sit with him, to touch his arm and beg him to tell her what was wrong. To just be with him, far away from this party, to be Ian and Cassandra again. To kiss him and feel him kiss her back.

Then he had glanced up and caught her staring at him, a frown flickering over his brow. He smiled back at her when she made herself smile at him, but there was no teasing glint there to make her laugh as there usually was. And then he turned away from her.

Cassandra’s fingers tightened on her glass, and for an instant she had the mad urge to go to Ian instead of Lord Phillips, to make him talk to her again. But it was obvious he didn’t want her after that kiss. She had to forget about him.

She quickly swallowed the last of her brandy. Along with the wine from dinner and the claret punch of the carol-singing, it gave her a dizzy sort of courage. She could do this. She tightened the sash of her dressing gown and marched to the door.

She peeked out carefully before she stepped into the corridor. Earlier she had heard many stealthy footsteps creeping past, the clicks of doors opening and hastily muffled giggles, but the hour was quite late now and everything was quiet. The candles in the wall sconces sputtered low, casting flickering shadows on the silk wallpaper and the flowered carpet runner. A low moan sounded from behind one of the doors.

Cassandra almost turned and ran back into her room. Don’t be a coward, she told herself sternly. She was lonely, she wanted romance in her life. She just had to go and find it.

Even if it was not with the man she really wanted.

She tiptoed over to the door of the Blue Room, where Melisande said Lord Phillips was lodged and where he was expecting her. Carefully, she tested the brass handle, which turned easily in her hand. Everything was dark over the threshold, except for one bar of snow-silvery moonlight that fell from the window across the foot of the bed.

“Be brave,” she whispered. She slid into the room and softly closed the door behind her. She leaned back against it for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the shadows. She could see the looming shapes of a wardrobe and dressing table, the flicker of a dying fire in the grate, the large, satin-draped bed.

The figure lying under the rumpled blankets, turned away from her on his side.

At first all she could hear was the thunderous pounding of her own heart, but then she made out the soft sound of light, steady breathing from the bed.

It was now or never. Seize the moment—or die a lonely widow. Cassandra sucked in a deep breath and let the dressing gown slide from her shoulders to leave her clad only in her silk chemise. The chilly air rushed over her bare skin, making her shiver.

Before she could flee, she rushed to the waiting bed and climbed up onto the high mattress. The warmth of a man’s sleep-hot skin crept out to wrap around her, and her heart ached to be so near another person like this again. Her bed had been so cold for so long.

Her husband had been quick in his lovemaking, kissing her, lifting her gown and finishing. But she remembered the things she had wanted to do with him, dreamed of doing. Things her married friends whispered about. Things that lately she had dreamed of doing with Ian. She gathered all her scattered courage and reached out to lightly slide her hands over his shoulders.

His bare shoulders. By Jove, he slept naked? She hadn’t even thought men did such a thing. His skin was warm and slightly damp, like smooth satin over hard iron muscles. Lord Phillips was stronger and larger than she had imagined. Fascinating. She traced the tip of her finger along the groove of his spine to where the sheet draped over his lean hips, hiding the rest of him from her.

Was he taller, as well? How could that be?

A rough groan broke the silence of the room. “Cassandra,” he muttered, and suddenly he rolled over and caught her around the waist, carrying her down to the bed. His body was hard and heavy over hers as his mouth closed over hers in the darkness.

Cassandra couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She gasped, and his tongue took advantage of the small sound to slide deep against hers, greedy, hungry. It was overwhelming, overpowering….

Wonderful. She couldn’t believe anyone could kiss like this. Why, oh, why hadn’t she tried kissing strange men sooner? His teeth nipped lightly at her lower lip then his tongue soothed the tiny sting and all she knew was the delicious fire that swept over her skin at that touch.

He tasted of wine and mint, of something dark and rich, and he smelled of sandalwood soap….

Sandalwood? For one flashing instant she remembered the way Ian always smelled, so clean and exotic at the same time. The way his hair felt under her fingertips. Soft, like raw silk. Just like the hair that slid over her skin now as his open mouth traced a hot ribbon of kisses down her neck, over her bare shoulder.

But Lord Phillips’s hair was close-cropped.

Her eyes flew open and she stared down at the head against her shoulder. The dark head. She froze in panic.

“Cassie,” he muttered. “What’s wrong?”

What was wrong? She was in bed with Ian, that was what was wrong!

And yet it felt so horribly, wonderfully right.

Cassandra pushed him away with a shriek. Startled by her sudden move, he fell off her body back to the bed and she sat up straight. She jerked up the sheet to cover herself in her thin chemise, but that unfortunately left Ian quite naked. The beam of moonlight turned his lean, glistening body to pure, molten silver.

And, damn him, he didn’t seem in the least bit concerned that he was naked. He sat up beside her and knelt back on his heels, staring down at her in concern. His hair was tousled from the touch of her fingers.

“Cassie?” he said hoarsely.

“You— What are you doing here?” she stammered.

Much to her horror, a grin touched his lips. “I think that was obvious. I was kissing you, until I was rudely interrupted.”

“But you—you …” Cassandra had no idea what to say, what to do. Nothing in her oh-so-proper upbringing, or her equally proper marriage, had ever prepared her for a situation like this. Finding herself in bed with the wrong man.

The man she had secretly wanted to be in bed with more than anything.

Ian slowly stretched out on the mattress again, his head propped on his folded arms as his beautiful body was spread before her. His broad, smooth chest, tapering to a lean waist and narrow hips, his long, hair-dusted legs, the hard evidence of his arousal …

No! Cassandra snapped her eyes closed. But she could still see him there.

“Expecting someone else, were you?” he said, and he sounded so infuriatingly satisfied with himself.

“This isn’t your room,” she said.

“It is now. And I was just wondering if I should go knock on your door when I fell so inconveniently asleep.” She felt his hand brush lightly over hers where she clutched at the sheet. “I confess, I don’t think I’ve ever been awakened in such a delightful manner before.”

Cassandra shook her head. He sounded like the old Ian again at last, teasing, flirtatious, comfortable. But there was something else there, as well, a dark tension she had never heard from him before. It made her tremble.

“But you don’t want this,” she whispered.

In answer he gently took her hand in his and pulled it away from the linen. He pressed her fingers over his erection, and it felt so hot and velvet-smooth under her touch.

“Does it feel like I don’t want this?” he said hoarsely. “Damn it, Cassie, but when you touch me …”

She could scarcely believe this was happening, that she was with Ian, touching him so intimately. And he was so hard for her. If this was a dream, she didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

She slowly slid her fingers down over him, tracing the length of his manhood before she moved back up again, a bit harder. He groaned, and she felt him jerk against her hand.

“Oh!” she gasped.

“Yes—oh,” he answered, his voice harsh. He twined his fingers in her hair and drew her closer to him, his open mouth pressing to the sensitive curve of her neck just below her ear. “Damn it, Cassie, but you taste delicious. Like vanilla custard.”

“Va-vanilla custard?” she said. Her head feel back, her eyes sliding closed at the feeling of his mouth on her skin. It was so wonderful, it made her feel hot and shivering all at the same time. Her hand fell away from his erection and she braced it on his hair-roughened thigh to keep from falling.

“Mmm-hmm. I always did have a terrible craving for sweets.” Ian trailed a hot ribbon of kisses along her collarbone to the curve of her shoulder as his hand slid over the strap of her chemise. He eased it away from her body, baring her skin inch by inch.

Something deep inside of her screamed at Cassandra that this was Ian touching her naked body, kissing her. Hard for her. That something seemed to watch from a distance as their bodies slid together on the bed, completely aghast at what she was doing. But Cassandra could only hear those protests as a vague murmur. She could only feel Ian’s long, strong fingers on her skin, his mouth on her. Could only want more.

Ian eased her back down to the pillows and drew her chemise over her head, leaving her lying naked beneath him. She had never been completely naked in front of any man before, not even Charles. Her husband had usually lifted her nightdress just enough to bare what he needed, being far too polite to really look at her. For a moment, shyness washed over her and she tried to cover her bare breasts with her hands. Ian had surely seen many beautiful women. What if she disappointed him? She was too thin, her breasts too small.

But he caught her hands in his and held them to the bed. His eyes grew hooded, dark, as he looked down at her. It felt as if he touched her physically with his gaze and she trembled.

“You are so beautiful, Cassie,” he said, in a voice she had never heard from him before. A rough, harsh voice, as if he held himself on a tight tether. His arms tensed on either side of her as he held her hands down, the lean muscles rippling under his smooth, damp skin.

And then he touched her in truth, gently caressing her naked breasts. His fingertips trailed over their curves, slightly callused on her soft skin. His touch swept closer and closer to her aching nipples, teasing and retreating. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, begging him to touch her.

She let her breath out on a sigh when he finally caught one of the pink, hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger, lightly pinching, rolling. Waves of pure, hot pleasure swept through her and her back arched off the bed.

“So beautiful,” he said. “I’ve waited so long….”

He bent his head and caught the nipple he caressed deep in his mouth, sucking, licking. He cupped her other breast on his palm, his fingers teasing its crest. Cassandra cried out, her head tossing on the pillows.

She twisted her fingers in his thick, rough-silk hair and pulled him up to her, sighing as his mouth claimed hers in a fierce, hard kiss. His tongue slid past her lips to taste her and she met him eagerly. He tasted delicious, just as she remembered and had dreamed of ever since that kiss in the rain. She felt a rush of pure, raw joy that he was in her arms again when she had been sure it would never happen.

How could she keep him from escaping again?

But any thoughts fled before the feeling of his mouth on hers, his tongue twining with hers. He made her feel dizzy, giddy.

She twisted her fingers even deeper into his hair as his hands slipped down to grasp her hips and tilt her body tighter against his, until she spread her legs and wrapped them around his waist. Kissing him like this, as if they were starved for each other, her body so close to him, she knew she had never felt so very intimate with anyone before in her life.