ie’s body was still tingling as it came down from the high of her orgasm. She wasn’t going anywhere. She nodded.
“Excellent.”
One night. No names. No consequences. Just sex.
CHAPTER ONE
Two years later.
The grand country house was decked out with all the Christmas trimmings. Swags of Ivy and Holly adorned every stair well. Mistletoe was clumped in attractive looking posies, suspended from the Tudor support beams. And the air was heavy with the smell of mulled wine and mince pies.
“Everything is spectacular, Maggie,” Lady Cressida Andrews said with a frosty smile. “Your father didn’t exaggerate your talents.”
Maggie knew she should have been grateful that her future step-mother had hired her for the weekend. With a daughter to support and all the expenses single parenthood entailed, Maggie would take any additional income she could.
“Thank you, Cress.” Maggie knew the older woman hated the term of endearment, for the fact that it was more common than her full name. And therefore Maggie went out of her way to use it. Cressida was so infatuated with Maggie’s father, Clint, that she suffered the diminutive in silence.
“There are just a few more guests arriving. My God-daughter, Amelie, and her new beau, should be here by in a few hours.”
“Of course. Annie will have enough dinner for them as well,” she reassured confidently, referring to the country cook who was doing most of the leg-work for the weekend.
Cressida compressed her perfectly pouted lips. “Just remember, Maggie, that you are not actually the hired help. I wanted to support you in your little catering business, but I do not want my family thinking you’re just a cook.”
Maggie’s laugh was rich with both surprise and amusement. “I am just a cook.”
“A very good cook. But one who has a wealthy father and no need to be scrimping and saving like this.”
Maggie also had a very wealthy best friend, who had repeatedly offered money, property, anything to make Maggie’s life easier. Accepting handouts was simply not Maggie’s style, though.
“Don’t worry, Cress. I have every intention of joining you all for dinner. I just want to make sure the kitchen team has a handle on the menu, first.”
Cressida hovered on the brink of the kitchen a moment longer.
“Yes?” Maggie prompted, hiding her impatience behind a thin smile.
“You will have time to shower first, won’t you?”
Maggie frowned and looked down at the black jersey dress she wore. It was a perfectly nice outfit, and the butcher’s apron had worn most of the day’s misadventure. She looked back at Cressida and, for the first time, noticed that the woman was basically dressed to meet the Queen.
“I suspected as much,” Cressida sighed heavily. “Never fear. I have a wardrobe of Couture upstairs. You’re a little gangly, but I’m sure something will fit. I’ll put something in your room.”
Maggie grimaced at the woman’s knack for being offensive without meaning to. “Thank you,” she muttered without a hint of gratitude.
“We’ve got this covered, love,” Annie, the cook, promised with a wink.
“Oh, I know. I’m just trying to annoy her as best I can.”
“I gathered,” Annie remarked with a nod. “I’m sure she means well though.”
“Yes.” The fourth of her father’s wives, or the woman who was destined to be, at least, was kind-hearted. It wasn’t Cressida’s fault that she drove Maggie crazy.
Maggie took a perverse pleasure in shaping by hand the stars that topped the mince pies, before finally making her way to her room to get ready. By the time she pushed into the bedroom, she had barely ten minutes left in which to make herself ready.
Fortunately, Lady Cressida had gone to great lengths to ease her preparations. She eyed the dress that had been selected with a dubious expression.
She lifted it up and held it against her body. Despite being nothing like her usual style, it was a garment of great beauty. A deep, jade green in color, it was a perfect foil to her Irish complexion. It was strapless, designed to sit straight across the bust and tight to the hips, it then fell in a swathe of gauzy chiffon, to the floor. If she wore heels, it would be too short, leaving her with no choice but to stick to a pair of glittery gold ballet slippers she’d brought with her.
Cressida had also left out a fur shawl. Maggie ignored it. She’d been vegan for over a decade. Her step-mother would accept it one day.