One Wicked Christmas Read Online Free Page A

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