One Wicked Christmas. Amanda McCabe

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СКАЧАТЬ but her voice strangled in her throat when she saw his face. It had gone as hard and still as one of the marble statues in the garden, his eyes a cold blank as if he had retreated behind them somewhere she couldn’t follow.

      And in that moment she was finally sorry for what had happened, because it seemed to have cost her Ian.

      Cassandra took a deep sip of her punch as she shook away the heavy memory of that rainy day and studied the noisy ballroom around her. She hadn’t seen Ian since that day. He had sent her a letter from Bath, where he said he had gone to visit his sister, and she had come to London to try to distract herself. It hadn’t really worked, though. She still thought of Ian far too often. Especially now that Christmas was near, the family warmth of the holiday preparations reminding her that she was alone.

      “Won’t you, Cassie?” Melisande said, the words breaking through Cassandra’s memories.

      “I beg your pardon, Mel?” Cassandra said. She left her empty glass on a footman’s tray and claimed a full one.

      “I was merely saying you will be at my house party for Christmas, won’t you? It should be quite a merry time.”

      A loud, wild party? Cassandra wasn’t entirely sure she could face one of Melisande’s famously raucous gatherings just yet. “I’m not sure…”

      “My dear, I won’t let you say no! London will be an utter wasteland after this week, and I refuse to let you stay here alone for Christmas. You need some fun.” Melisande gave her a sly smile over the edge of her fan. “Besides, Lord Phillips will be there. He’s been asking me about you, and you did say you liked him.”

      “Lord Phillips?” Cassandra felt a tiny spark of interest. She had danced with him once or twice since she came to Town, played cards with him at an assembly, sat next to him at Melisande’s last dinner party. He was an amusing conversationalist, and a handsome man with dark auburn hair and a horseman’s lean body. He had made her laugh, and was a good dancer besides.

      But, a tiny voice whispered inside of her, he isn’t Ian.

      Cassandra pushed away that voice. Lord Phillips was an attractive man who seemed interested in her, while it was all too clear that Ian was not interested at all. She needed to move forward with her life.

      “Yes,” Melisande said. “He was most eager to accept my invitation when I promised you would be there. You can’t let me down now, Cassie.”

      “Then I will be there,” Cassandra answered. “I always did love a country Christmas.”

      “Wonderful! Now, my dear, you will leave off the widow’s weeds for the party, won’t you? Bring some pretty clothes?”

      Cassandra opened her mouth to answer that widow’s weeds were the only clothes she had, when the ballroom doors opened and a latecomer appeared.

      The gilded double doors were at the top of a short set of marble steps, giving Cassandra a good view of any arrivals over everyone’s heads. She almost choked when she saw who stood there now.

      Ian. Looking even more handsome than the last time she saw him, with his black hair brushed back from his face and his body draped in perfectly cut evening clothes. His stark white cravat made his smooth olive skin appear even darker, with the amber lamplight gilding him to a burnished gold like some ancient, pagan god.

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