A Seduction at Christmas Read Online Free

Denby?”
    “I am. Your guest is waiting.”
    Her heart leapt to her throat, making it difficult to speak. “Thank you,” she managed to say.
    He shut the door. “This way, please.” He led her through an empty tap room.
    “You don’t have much custom tonight,” Fiona observed as he led her down a narrow hallway.
    “We are a very private establishment.”
    “So there aren’t other guests?” she wondered.
    “We always have guests.” He stopped mid-way down the hall. “Your room is the last door on the right,” he informed her in a low voice. “The table inside is set for dinner as you instructed. There is a scarf on the other side of the door. When you are ready for us to serve, hang it out in the hall.”
    “Thank you,” Fiona murmured. As he stepped aside to let her pass, a new idea struck her. “If I need help, would someone come if I gave a shout?”
    “We usually don’t interfere in the guests’ games,” he told her. “However, if you are concerned then I’ll keep my ears open for you.”
    “Yes, please,” Fiona said, gathering her courage. She went down the hall, checking to be certain the vial was in her pocket as she moved.
    At the door, she stopped in indecision. Should she knock? Or enter without any announcement? What did men expect from unknown lovers?
    Mr. Denby still stood in the hallway, watching her.
    Fiona gave a knock. One light rap to the door. There was no answer from inside. “Belkie” must have assumed she was an idiot for knocking on a door for a room she hired.
    She smiled at Mr. Denby.
    He smiled back.
    Reminding herself of the twenty pounds waiting for her, Fiona turned the handle, and opened the door.
    The candlelit room was designed for seduction with sound-muffling draperies covering the walls and a linen-covered table intimately set for two. But what made her stomach twist into a knot of apprehension was the four-poster bed that dominated the majority of the room, its bedcovers turned down in open invitation. A welcoming fire burned in the grate.
    However, something was wrong.
    The room was empty. Hadn’t Mr. Denby said Lord Belkins had already arrived?
    A chair had been pulled from the table. A glass of wine poured. Perhaps Lord Belkins had stepped out for a moment?
    After all the stewing she’d been doing over entering this room, to find herself alone seemed a bit of a disappointment.
    Then again, his absence could work in her favor. She could pour the vial into his wine now.
    But just as Fiona moved forward to do the deed, a strong hand came out from behind the door and grabbed her. It clamped over her mouth, preventing her from shouting an alarm, while another hand jerked her up against a hard, muscular body.
    Panic ripped through Fiona as Lord Belkins kicked shut the door, holding her prisoner with his body, his hand covering her breast—
    “You aren’t the Spaniard, ” he said with angry surprise. He released his hold as if scalded, sending Fiona toward the table.
    She caught herself before she could fall and reached for the closest weapon she could find—a fork. She whirled to face him—and then it was her turn to freeze in shock.
    Her attacker was none other than the wickedly handsome, dark-haired Duke of Holburn.
    How many times had she thought of him? Dreamed of him? Hoped that someday they would meet again?
    Now, here he was, larger than life, furiously angry, and the only thing she could think to say was, “You aren’t Lord Belkins.”
    “And you aren’t Andres Ramigio,” the Duke of Holburn shot back—and she realized he didn’t recall meeting her. Not one flicker of recognition crossed his face.
    The man of her dreams didn’t remember her.
    It was a humiliating moment.
    He frowned at her fork, dusting off some imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve. “What are you going to do with that? Prick me to death?”
    “The idea has merit.”
    She meant the words.

Chapter Two
    T he tart’s cool response to his comment caught Nick’s