Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection

by Sophie Barnes

  The man was an utter devil. If her cheeks grew any hotter, they would surely burst into flame. “I would probably be horrified.” She shook her head and decided to sit next to him in the matching armchair. It felt good, to be back in his presence, silly as that was. She’d missed seeing him, talking to him, arguing with him.

  Eleanor frowned. She should leave. Pick up her skirts and flee from this room and this man who tempted her. Scared her. Made her want so much.

  Too much.

  Ashton inclined his head toward her. “May I ask you a question?”

  Wariness curled through her. “You may.”

  “Do you find me a stuffy old gent?”

  “What? Absolutely not,” Eleanor said, surprised at the question. “Whyever would you ask?”

  He shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders. “My brother complained to me earlier. Said I’d changed. I told him I had no choice in the matter. I had to change.”

  “Of course you did,” she agreed with a nod.

  “But I don’t particularly care being called a stuffy gent, as you may understand.” His gaze met hers, his lips curled in the faintest smile. “I was rather carefree in my younger years.”

  “Too carefree, I’m assuming?” She plucked at a loose thread in her dark blue gown, her skin warm. This was a most intimate conversation they were having.

  “For my current position, yes.”

  “Mayhap your brother merely misses the old you and wishes to recapture those fond memories of the two of you spending time together,” she suggested, understanding unfurling within her. She wondered if her sisters felt the same way about her, wished they were younger, and she didn’t have such pressing responsibility upon her all the time.

  “Perhaps your observation is correct.” He studied her. “My apologies for not spending much time with you and your family since you arrived. I’ve been rather busy entertaining my brother.”

  “Brothers should come first.”

  “A brother I see as often as I want. Lovely guests such as the Countess of Cochrane and her beautiful daughters deserve my undivided attention.” His smile grew, and she sucked in a breath, coughing after such quick inhalation.

  He shouldn’t shock her so with such a staggering smile. It wasn’t seemly. “Your flattery knows no bounds,” she finally gasped out.

  “I speak the truth.”

  “Have you spent time with my mother and sisters? You might be singing a different tune after a few days in their constant company.”

  He chuckled, the sound warming her insides. Pleasure unfurled deep within her, cascading languidly through her veins, and she couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across her face. “It’s true, you know.”

  “I’ve observed a few—tense moments.”

  “ ‘Tense’ is a kind way to phrase it. Uncomfortable, more like.” She shook her head, slowly realizing just how risky this moment was. Together alone, without a chaperone in sight. If they were caught, surely she would be compromised. And surely Ashton would do the right thing.

  Marry her rather than risk sullying her good name.

  “You have a rather calming nature, Lady Eleanor.” His low murmur caused her to turn toward him, their gazes meeting. “I’m surprised you don’t use it to its full effect when in the presence of your arguing sisters and mother.”

  “When they’re arguing, they don’t listen to me.” She chewed on her lower lip. “You think I’ve a calming influence?”

  He slowly nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “There are many things I think about you.”

  Her lips slowly parted. “Really?” The word came out a rusty gasp, and she cleared her throat. “You think of me?”

  “All the time.”

  Those three simple words rendered her utterly still. The Duke of Ashton thought of her? That he would make such an admission so easily was staggering—and hard to believe. “Still plotting my revenge, I take it?”

  “That accusation has grown rather tired, don’t you think?”

  He spoke so quietly, she had to lean closer to hear him. “I don’t quite understand what you mean, Your Grace.”

  “I’m trying to tell you that I find you unforgettable.”

  “Oh.” She released a shuddering breath, dropped her gaze to her lap, and squeezed her hands together tightly. She didn’t know what to say. “You do?”

  “I do.” The low rumble of his voice sent tingles scattering across her skin.

  Her throat dry, she swallowed hard, trying her best to find words. “I—I appreciate the compliment, Your Grace, but it isn’t necessary,” she finally said, her gaze lifting once more to find him watching her, his gaze lingering on her chest. Her skin warmed under his blatant perusal.

  “A lady should never refuse a compliment, no matter how ill given,” he said softly when his gaze met hers.

  They sat together in a silence fraught with sensual tension. It was so quiet, the snow falling heavier outside the window now, the only sound within the room their gentle breathing. His scent reached her, sandalwood and spice and pure man.

  It unnerved her, made her yearn for things she shouldn’t want. Why could she not believe the things he told her? She still felt he’d rather seek his revenge upon her.

  It was easier to believe he had ill intentions, what she expected. That he still wanted her, had no issue in letting her have such knowledge, nearly unraveled her.

  “Come here,” he quietly urged, reaching a bare hand out toward her.

  She took it without thinking and stood, allowed him to pull her toward him so she stood before his chair. He tilted his head back, threading his fingers through hers as he studied her. Even through the fine fabric of her gloves, his touch burned. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

  Slowly, she shook her head, captivated by the gleam in his eyes, the sound of his voice. Her breath left her in shuddering spurts, her body was flushed and hot, and her knees threatened to buckle. “Only you, Your Grace,” she murmured.

  He muttered a curse and tugged, causing her to tumble into his lap. She gasped at first contact, her bottom nestled on his muscular thighs, her hands settling upon his broad, hard chest. Even through the layers of clothing, she could feel the sizzling heat of his skin. Wished that she could unbutton his waistcoat, remove his carelessly knotted cravat, and spread open the collar of his shirt. Press her lips to the center of his chest . . .

  “You undo me,” he murmured, cupping her face with one large, bare hand, forcing her to meet his stark gaze. His fingertips were rough, his touch gentle. “I cannot think with you so near.”

  “You’re the one who brought me near,” she pointed out, whimpering when he drew her head to his.

  Chuckling, he brushed his mouth against hers, a teasing touch of damp lips and warm breath. “That you amuse me even during such a passionate moment confirms my suspicions.”

  “And wh—” She swallowed hard, closed her eyes when he pressed his mouth to her cheek again. And again. “What are your suspicions?”

  “Why, you were made for me, Eleanor, and no one else.”

  Before she could reply, he kissed her, those full, seductive lips nipping at her mouth, gently coercing her to open for him. She did so willingly, her body remembering his and responding with unrestrained eagerness.

  With an agonized groan, he took the kiss deeper, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, his hand still clutching her cheek. She curled her hands into the fabric of his waistcoat, ran her fingers along the row of buttons. Not daring enough to do what she truly wished.

  Undress him and expose his beautiful, masculine body to her greedy eyes.

  “You still want me,” he whispered against her mouth when he broke the kiss. “Admit it.”

  “I shouldn’t.” She tilted her head back as he blazed a hot trail with his damp mouth. As his member stiffened beneath her bottom, she knew that he was greatly aroused, and the realization both thrilled and scared her.

  If she gave in to him, would he still
want her afterward? Or was he merely using her so he could trick her and leave her the fool?

  Wrenching her mouth from his, she braced her hands against his chest, giving them some much-needed space. He blinked at her, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What? Why did you stop me?”

  “I—I don’t know if I can do this.” She nibbled her lower lip.

  “You want to.” He reached toward her, and she pressed him back with her hands. “Isn’t that enough?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “I want to believe your intentions are good . . .”

  He frowned. “But you don’t.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “Don’t you see how I must feel? Three years after my refusal, and you suddenly reappear rather forcefully in my life? Saying that you still want me and are most determined to make me your wife?”

  “I have always been in your life. You just never noticed.”

  “I always noticed.” She did. No matter where she was, an intimate musicale, a grand ball, a night out at the opera, there he would be. Watching. Waiting, always in the background, always nearby. “Y—you frighten me, if you must know.”

  “How?” He touched her, and she allowed it, reveled in it despite her worry. Spreading his hand wide, he drew his fingers down the side of her face, along the length of her neck, before curling his hand into a loose fist and rubbed his knuckles gently against her throat. “You must trust me. I want nothing but the best for you. And I believe I can be the one to give it to you.”

  “But why now? After all these years?” She closed her eyes, her every nerve ending focused on where he touched her. He drew his curled fist down her front, across her chest, brushing his knuckles against her breasts.

  “I finally gave in to the need to admit my feelings.” She opened her eyes, saw all the stark need shining in the depths of his gaze. “What sort of man would I be if I cannot confess to the lady I want to make my wife how I feel?”

  “And how do you feel? Do you—do you love me?” She wanted to snatch the words back the moment they fell from her lips but it was too late. She’d said them.

  Such a silly, foolish girl.

  For once upon a time, not so long ago, she’d believed herself in love with Lord Henry Stuart. And she knew it wouldn’t take much for her to fall in love with him all over again.

  “Ah, Eleanor.” He smiled, looking rather boyish. She could only imagine him a young, mischievous child, full of life, giving his mama and nanny much trouble. How sweetly naughty he must’ve been. And oh, how he’d grown into a dark, deliciously wicked man. “You ask for so much.”

  “I simply ask for the truth.” Pressing her lips together, she tried to escape from his lap, but he tightened his arm about her waist, keeping her in place. “Let me go.”

  “I want to be honest with you.” He gave her a little shake. “Look at me.”

  She met his gaze at his roughly spoken command, a forbidden thrill sparkling through her at the sensation of his fingers pressed into her hip. Her body throbbed with his hands upon her. “What?”

  “Love is a very confusing thing. I know I like you.” Leaning in, he pressed a sweet kiss to her temple. “I know I desire you.” Another longer, lingering kiss to her cheek. “I enjoy being in your company and can think of nothing else but bedding you.” This time he kissed her mouth, his tongue tracing the outline of her lower lip.

  She gasped and pulled away. “Wanting to bed me and loving me are two different things.”

  “Do you love me, my lady?”

  “I . . .” The words died in her throat. She couldn’t say them. Couldn’t know if they were true. “I don’t know,” she said morosely.

  “Then we are both in agreement.” He pressed his cheek to hers, inhaling deep. “Meet me later tonight. After supper.”

  She shouldn’t. She was only asking for trouble. “Where?” she asked breathlessly. Could she not help herself? Such foolishness only brought trouble.

  “Here in my study. Please, Eleanor. Let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”

  How she wanted to believe him. Everything that was happening was so quick, so confusing, yet it was also her most secret wish coming true. “I don’t know.”

  “Say yes, my darling. Say yes.”

  Lifting her lids, she met his turbulent gaze. Reaching out, she rested her hand on his smooth cheek, trailed her fingers across his warm skin. “Yes.”

  Closing his eyes, he turned his head, pressed his hot mouth to her chilled palm. “You won’t regret it,” he murmured against her flesh.

  Eleanor could only hope he spoke the truth.

  Chapter Six

  ASHTON WAS AS hard as a rock all through supper. Tonight of all nights, his mother had seated Eleanor directly across from him, giving him a perfect view of this woman who tempted him beyond reason.

  The light of the candles cast a golden glow on her creamy skin. The midnight blue gown she wore had sleeves that fell from her shoulders, revealing smooth, delicate skin he wanted to kiss and nibble. A narrow strip of matching blue ribbon wound around her elegant neck yet again, driving him absolutely mad. Her breasts were pushed up most becomingly within her corset, plumping over the edge of her lacy bodice, and his cock twitched every time she bent over her plate.

  He’d give anything to tug the fabric down and bare her breasts for his eyes only. Suck her delectable nipples deep into his mouth until she writhed beneath him, begging for more. Begging for him . . .

  “You’re in a mood,” Tristan muttered. He sat to Ashton’s left, Lady Olivia directly across from him, and he sent a scowl toward the lovely young lady that would’ve sent rabid, crazed wolves running.

  Lady Olivia merely flashed him a secretive smile before resuming her conversation with her older sister.

  “So are you,” Ashton noted, setting his fork and knife across his plate. It was pointless to eat. His stomach had churned with nerves throughout the meal.

  What if she refused to meet him? He didn’t know what he might do.

  “Women.” Tristan shook his head, then gulped from his wineglass. “I don’t understand them.”

  “Neither do I, little brother.” Ashton shook his head with a soft chuckle. “Neither do I.”

  Tristan shot him a disbelieving glance. “I find that hard to fathom. You usually have to beat them off with a stick.”

  “They only want my title and everything that comes with it. A lady who truly loves me for me, well, she’s worth all the riches in the land,” he drawled.

  “You believe so?”

  “Absolutely.” Ashton nodded, sliding a look toward Lady Eleanor.

  She blatantly studied him, her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed. As if she contemplated him to the very depths of his soul and wasn’t sure she liked what she found. Unnerving, to say the least.

  “What of Lady Eleanor?” When Ashton glared at him, Tristan chortled. “You don’t have to speak of her for me to realize you still have feelings for the chit.”

  “And what is it to you?” Misery coursed through his veins, heavily mixed with irritation. Was he that obvious? He’d prefer not to be. He’d been accused more than once during his younger years of wearing his emotions for all to see.

  “I know you’re my older brother and the bloody duke and all that nonsense, but I worry about you.” Tristan paused, letting his words sink in. “You’ve carried a tendre for Lady Eleanor for years.”

  “I have, it’s true.” It was pointless to deny it. He’d embraced honesty, starting earlier with his confession to Eleanor.

  “And she turned you down once before.”

  “Because her father made her. I wasn’t the one with the title. And Robert hadn’t been interested.” His blood boiled at the thought of any man interested in Eleanor.

  He found her back in his arms, and already he’d laid claim to her.

  “And you don’t find it odd that she is in your life once more? Now you have the title and the wealth and the money to pay for her father’s outrageous debt?” Tristan�
�s brow rose in question.

  “I pursued her, Tristan. Let me make that clear. And she could’ve come after me the moment after Robert died. I’ve been the duke for well over a year. Not once did she so much as try to speak to me during that entire time.”

  “Perhaps she didn’t believe she had a chance with you. Once you made it known that indeed, she does, now she’s in hot pursuit.” Tristan shook his head and made a little tsking noise. “You’re taking a risk.”

  “Taking a risk is letting a woman know your feelings for her and not expecting anything in return,” Ashton said, his blood running hot. “What do you know of that, hmm?”

  “I know nothing,” Tristan answered flatly, his gaze unerringly returning to Lady Olivia, albeit briefly. “I don’t believe in love.”

  “I used not to either.” Their father had been a cold bastard, their eldest brother much the same. Their mother had learned to endure, and so she wasn’t one for showing emotions even in private. Only their little sister Serena was open and guileless.

  And that worried Ashton to no end.

  “What made you change your mind?” Tristan asked, jarring Ashton from his thoughts.

  “The right lady,” Ashton answered, his gaze flickering across the table.

  Found her watching him yet again, a sweet smile curling her lips, clutching her glass in her hand. God’s teeth, she’s beautiful.

  “She wants you?” Tristan sounded incredulous.

  “I believe she does.”

  “Then why are you wasting your time sitting here with me at this bloody boring dinner party?” Tristan sighed. “Go after her, man.”

  “I cannot pursue her in the middle of supper.”

  “Mother might become upset,” Tristan muttered with disgust.

  “I would imagine?” Ashton asked sardonically. He lowered his voice. “After dinner, we are to meet.”

  “Indeed?” Both of Tristan’s eyebrows rose. “Rather risky of you, isn’t it?”

  Ashton shrugged, idly rubbed the tablecloth with the tips of his fingers. “I’m wooing her.”