One Wicked Christmas. Amanda McCabe

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.