Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection

by Sophie Barnes

  So here she was, with two gentlemen already added to her dance card. All she had to do now was avoid the one man who had laid siege to her thoughts. If she could only locate him, then at least she’d know which direction to head toward. She turned her head a little as she made her way forward with the intention of reconvening with Amy once she and Grenly finished their dance.

  But then she spotted him, and it was as if a thousand things began to happen all at once. Her heart started hammering, her skin began to prickle, she grew unacceptably hot, and yet she still managed a shiver. Worst of all was that Lord Redfirn had clearly noticed that she had spotted him, for his pace all of a sudden seemed to pick up dramatically—as if he sensed that she might make a run for it. And then, much to her own surprise (for it was certainly not what she’d had in mind when she’d imagined meeting him again—a nonchalant demeanor had been more like it), she did precisely that. Not that she could really run, given the number of people around her, but she did start off toward the side of the room, where some wide-open double doors beckoned her.

  After a bit of maneuvering and more apologies than she’d ever spoken before in such a short period of time, Leonora finally stepped out into a long corridor, which, in stark contrast to the ballroom, was almost completely devoid of people. Pausing momentarily, she turned her head and looked up. Good heavens. Was that mistletoe? Surely not.

  There was no time to linger—not if she still wished to avoid Lord Redfirn. Which she did. Didn’t she? She no longer knew what she wanted, only that she’d been hurt by his dishonesty, and while a simple apology on his part might have helped, she’d barricaded herself in her home, not giving him the chance. She now found herself in one of those situations where everything had escalated to such a level that it was near impossible for her to turn back and look the man in the eye without feeling like a silly young girl in leading strings.

  Hurrying toward the nearest door, she quickly opened it, stepped inside, and locked it. A moment later, she heard somebody try the door handle. Redfirn. She half expected him to call out her name and insist she open the door, but no—nothing like that. After a couple of tries, the footsteps receded, and Leonora sank back against the door, feeling not at all relieved but rather shockingly disappointed. Was that really all she was worth? A halfhearted effort?

  Lowering her head, she let out a miserable sigh and sank quietly to the floor. Returning to the ball would have to wait—she was no longer in any mood to be sociable. Instead, she let out a heavy sigh at the same exact moment that she spotted a pair of men’s black shoes, no more than five feet away from her. She froze. And then her gaze drifted up . . . and up and up and . . . still up—all the way past the black trousers, the tailcoat, the shirt buttons, and the cravat—until they settled upon the face. Oh dear heaven above. There stood Lord Redfirn, looking not only mighty pleased with himself but also rather miffed. How on earth had he gotten in?

  “There’s another door,” he said, answering her unspoken question a bit too smugly for her liking.

  Of course there is. Why hadn’t she considered such a possibility? A number of reasons came to mind though there was no sense in considering them now when it obviously made no difference to her current dilemma—namely that she looked as though she’d collapsed on the library floor and that the man she’d been trying to avoid was now towering over her with not so much as a footman present to add some measure of propriety. They were alone—completely and utterly alone—and with both doors shut.

  It was most unseemly. No, it was scandalous and would spell either ruin or marriage should anyone happen to find them out. The thrill of excitement that curled inside her stomach as she wondered if Redfirn had planned it that way could not be denied. And yet, for whatever stupid womanly sense of misconstrued pride, Leonora found it impossible to let her annoyed façade fall away, saying simply (and a notch too coolly), “I see. And it didn’t occur to you to knock?”

  His brows knit together, and he studied her for a moment. “No,” he said, defiantly crossing his arms and clearly deciding to stand his ground.

  She wasn’t getting away without a confrontation, she realized. Well, if he was so determined, then there was little point in waiting. Rising to her feet with deliberate slowness so as not to ruin her gown, Leonora straightened, raised her chin, and looked Lord Redfirn squarely in the eye. “You deceived me.”

  Momentary shock registered upon his face. He was either surprised by her straightforwardness or felt unjustly accused. As it turned out, it wasn’t the latter, for he responded, surprising her in equal measure by saying, “Yes. I did.”

  Leonora felt her throat tighten. “Why?” Not as forcefully spoken as before but closer to a whisper.

  “Because I had a debt to settle with Mr. Grenly’s father, Lord Wolfston.” He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, then strode off toward the side table and began pouring a glass of brandy for himself. He then poured a second one and handed it to Leonora. “Would you please be so kind as to sit with me for a while? I’d like to offer you an explanation if I may.”

  Leonora stared down at the drink she was now holding in her hand. She hadn’t asked for it, but curiously enough, she rather felt as if the situation called for something to ease her aching heart. Taking a hesitant sip, she flinched a little as the strong stuff bit at her insides. Eyes trained once again on Lord Redfirn, she gave a curt nod and seated herself on the sofa opposite him. “Please do.”

  The next ten minutes were a tumultuous wave of emotions. Leonora felt her heart mend and break at least three times, so that by the time Lord Redfirn was finally through, she felt so depleted that she really had no desire for anything other than to go home. She eyed her glass, which was still half-full. Perhaps a drunken stupor would be just the thing to numb her mind and help her forget about the ever-charming earl who sat before her.

  Oh, he hadn’t meant to hurt her (he claimed), he’d been indebted to Lord Wolfston, and surely she must be able to see that as a gentleman it was his duty to pay his due (balderdash), he hadn’t expected to find any resistance from one of Lady Amy’s friends (was the man delusional?), he definitely hadn’t expected to actually like one of Lady Amy’s friends (how flattering), and he’d rather thought she would forgive him in light of how well it had all turned out (annoying man—he was probably right).

  “So you must admit that,” he was now saying, leaning slightly forward in his seat, “all things taken into account, you’re overreacting a little.”

  “Overreacting!” She hastily took a large gulp of her brandy to stop herself from resorting to the alternative, which was to scream in frustration.

  Men.

  “Yes,” he continued adamantly, apparently rather fond of the large hole he was digging for himself. “I . . . Oh, damn it all to hell!”

  Leonora felt her eyes widen in response to that remark, especially since it was followed by a swift burst of movement as Lord Redfirn shot to his feet, strode around the table between them, and planted himself directly beside her on the sofa. Her lips parted, for she planned to speak—to say something that might illustrate what a bad idea his rash decision had been. But the words wouldn’t come, and instead she found herself staring at the man quite stupidly, not to mention painfully aware that her heart was beating twice as fast as usual and that her whole body had begun to hum with anticipation.

  His gaze didn’t meet hers for the longest time. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on her hands, eventually reaching out and gently taking one of them in his own. The contact was electric—soft and sharp at the same time. Leonora’s stomach tightened, her breath caught, and when he finally raised his gaze to meet hers, she felt herself wanting something so foreign and so powerful that it took every ounce of willpower not to leap away from him. And then, bringing her hand reverently to his lips, he simply said, “I’m sorry, Nora.”

  “You . . . you what?” she squeaked, mortified by how easy it must be for him to read her thoughts from her intonation alone.

>   “When I began this business regarding Mr. Grenly and Lady Amy, I had no idea that I would end up risking my own heart in the process.” Leonora blinked. “When I suggested a courtship, it wasn’t with any ulterior motive in mind—indeed, my intentions were most noble, and still are.”

  She swallowed hard, scarcely allowing herself to believe in the possibility of what he was saying. “But the dance when we first met, and the night at the theatre—”

  He placed a silencing finger against her lips. “Deliberate attempts to offer Mr. Grenly and Lady Amy a chance to further their acquaintance, I admit. But during the course of it, I got to know you, and I have to say . . .”

  He fell silent, and Leonora found herself holding her breath as she waited for him to continue. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a sprig of mistletoe. The corner of his mouth edged upward to form a most mischievous smile, and before she had a chance to consider what was up and what was down, she was being pulled toward him with strong, deliberate hands, until there was nothing more between them—just the feel of his lips gently brushing against hers. It was indescribable. Remarkable. Wonderful. It was a moment that she wished would last forever, and yet somehow, it wasn’t enough.

  Leonora wasn’t sure what came over her, but her arms were suddenly around Lord Redfirn’s neck, her fingers raking through his hair as she scooted a little closer to where he sat. Was that a low growl she’d just heard? Whatever it was, it sent a wave of ticklish warm pleasure cascading through her.

  Chapter Nine

  CONNOR WAS IN heaven. He knew he’d wanted Lady Leonora (or Nora as he liked to think of her) for quite some time, but he hadn’t realized just how much until this very moment. Damn, but he could hardly keep himself under any measure of control. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, lick her . . . Her hands abandoned his hair and drifted down his back instead. She had a soft touch, perhaps a bit hesitant. He liked it, though, for it confirmed what he’d known already—that she had no experience with any other men—and something very elemental and masculine inside of him started cheering.

  A soft murmur of pleasure escaped her lips, and he caught the moment, seizing the opportunity to deepen their kiss while his restless fingers traveled over her shoulders, down her sides and up again, until one hand came to rest against the side of her breast. She pressed herself closer, and there was no mistaking what she wanted of him, but he did not oblige her just yet. Instead, he pushed his tongue forward, running it along her lower lip until she opened her mouth to him completely.

  Moist heat welcomed him, and as she began to respond with her own tongue mimicking his, he allowed his thumb to brush lazily against the side of her breast. He knew the slowness of his progress was undoubtedly a torturous ordeal for her, but he also knew that it would lead to far greater pleasure later. Still, he did feel his resolve momentarily waver when he directed his attention to kissing her neck, and she started squirming beneath him like a restless cat in heat. “Easy does it, Nora—lovemaking is like sampling fine chocolates. One must savor every nibble.” He eased back a little—just enough to hook a finger in the neckline of her gown and pull it down a bit.

  Lord have mercy on my soul.

  The thoughts that entered his head at the sight of her creamy white breasts, peaked by two erect, rosy tips, were not in the least bit honorable. His tongue came forward in one slow, sweeping, motion to lick at the hardened bud, and as it did, he felt Nora tremble . . . he heard her murmur his name . . . and he felt himself tighten into an unbearable hardness.

  “Tell me you want this.” His voice sounded raspy to his own ears. She pulled him tightly against her chest, and he complied with her silent plea, taking one breast completely in his mouth and suckling on it until she groaned. He pulled away just enough to catch his breath. “Please, for the love of God, please tell me you want this, Nora. Tell me now if you wish for this to end, or I assure you it will be too late.”

  “Connor.” His heart soared at the sound of his name upon her lips. “I need . . . Please don’t stop.”

  Like a hound at the races, he was ready to go, but he had to make certain—had to be completely sure that he was doing what was right not only for him, but for her. He raised his head enough to offer her a level stare. “Marry me, Nora.”

  Her lips trumpeted a little while her eyes seemed to focus. It was almost as if some fog that had otherwise been obscuring her reality had finally subsided, and she was seeing the world for the very first time. She smiled—a wide and glorious smile meant only for him. It was a wonderful moment—one that not only assured him of how she truly felt about him but that she finally knew how deeply he felt about her. “Yes,” she said. And then to confirm it, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  Still, it had to be said—he had to voice his emotions—she deserved at least that much. It wouldn’t do to take the cowardly approach now, so, bending his head, he leaned closer to her ear, and whispered, “I love you, Nora. With all my heart, I love you.”

  Wrapping her arms about his neck, her voice quivered as she responded with the words he longed to hear. “I love you too, Connor.”

  His lips were on hers again immediately, then they were trailing along the length of her neck, along her collarbone, and toward her breast, where once against his efforts were rewarded with a sigh of pleasure. Her growing desperation with his lack of haste sent his fingers traveling up her leg and toward her thigh quicker than he’d intended. But really, whom was he trying to fool? The truth of the matter was that he was unlikely to see this through to the end unless he started hurrying things along.

  So he did.

  He pushed her skirts all the way to her hips, leaned her back so she was reclining with her head against the sofa’s armrest, and gently urged her legs apart. She was hesitant about this, of course, but his kisses coupled with his playful touch soon had her relaxing anew, and when he felt the tension abandon her completely, he allowed his fingers to brush along her inner thighs until they met with her core.

  “Connor.” His name was but a sigh as her hips rose against his touch.

  She’d closed her eyes, but the need she felt—the raw and undeniable desire—was etched in every part of her expression. Watching her thus, he gently rubbed her, eliciting a groan from somewhere deep inside her.

  “Please,” she murmured, her eyes opening ever so slightly as she made her plea. He’d never been more eager to comply with someone’s wishes and hastily leaned back to make quick work of the buttons on his breeches.

  Their coupling was passionate and fast, with Connor barely managing to bring Leonora to her own ecstatic bliss before he too went tumbling over the edge—collapsing on top of her as his breathing gradually slowed. They remained like that for a few minutes until he felt her stir beneath him. “Forgive me,” he muttered as he raised himself back up so he was resting on his arms and looking down at her. “Is this more comfortable?”

  She nodded, hesitated for a moment, then said, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  He felt himself frown. “Ought I be worried?”

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t want us to enter into marriage with any secrets between us.” That sounded reasonable enough. Connor pulled himself completely off her and helped her sit back up, taking a moment to adjust his clothing while she did the same. When she was done straightening her gown, she gave him a somewhat assessing look. She’d told him not to worry, but considering how long it was taking her to say whatever it was she meant to tell him, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of growing trepidation.

  “I recently became a member of The Ring of Protectors,” she suddenly blurted. “Shortly before I met you, as it happens.”

  Connor wracked his brain for a moment, but eventually shook his head. He’d never heard of such an organization. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  For the next ten minutes, Leonora told him everything—or at least he supposed it had to be everything since he could hardly imagine the
re being anything else left to say once she was done talking. Suddenly, however, everything regarding Leonora began making a lot more sense. “Lady Amy was your first . . . ahem . . . project, I take it?”

  Leonora nodded. “Though I didn’t think of her as such for long. In truth, I genuinely like her and think of her now as a true friend, but I . . . well, there are some high-ranking ladies involved, and I suppose I wanted to . . .” She bit down on her lower lip and paused.

  “You wanted to prove yourself to them by making a splendid match for Lady Amy. Am I right?”

  She stared back at him with deep, fathomless eyes—eyes that Connor knew he could easily lose himself in forever. “Yes,” she whispered, averting her gaze. “I know now that I was wrong, but I cannot help but worry that it might lower your opinion of me—I treated Mr. Grenly very poorly.”

  “We both did,” Connor admitted, surprising even himself by his statement. “You for underestimating his value as a match for Lady Amy, and I for thinking of him as a nuisance—a man I couldn’t wait to be rid of. We were both at fault. The best we can do is learn from our mistakes.” He smiled then, recalling how much he and Leonora had argued when they’d first met and knowing now the real reason behind it. “Look on the bright side. It brought us together—eventually.”

  And the smile she offered him in return told him that although she might not be blond or have blue eyes as he’d always imagined his wife having, there was no other woman in the world who was as right for him as Lady Leonora . . . Nora . . . Soon to be Lady Redfirn.