Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection Page 3

  “Yes, of course you are.” The gentleman bowed ever so slightly, but from the mischievous twist of his lips and the bland expression upon his face, Leonora was quite confident that he had no idea of who she might be. “Would you care to dance?”

  “With you?” she gasped, horrified by her unexpected question—a question she’d had no intention of voicing aloud.

  He grinned back at her as if she might be a juggler or a clown or some other person there for his entertainment. He might be handsome, but Leonora was quickly determining that he was also most annoying. Besides, she had a job to do. “As I’ve just explained to Mr. Grenly here, Lady Amy and I are otherwise engaged with Lords Bartram and Urnton. Our dance cards have been filled, and besides, we have not been formally introduced. It would be highly unseemly to —”

  “Forgive me, my lady.” He reached for her hand and lifted it toward his lips, placing a gentle kiss upon her knuckles. “Lord Redfirn at your service.”

  Chapter Four

  OH, SHE’D HEARD of him all right, but Lord Redfirn never ventured out into public when he visited Hallidan. He’d been abroad doing heaven knew what when she’d had her debut, then her mother had died, and she’d removed herself from society as well for . . . well, until now. And the things she’d heard. From what she understood, the man spelled ruin. His popularity was notorious—he was every gentleman’s friend and every woman’s ideal match. There were probably many diaries scattered all over England—their authors claiming to have fallen irrevocably in love with Lord Redfirn.

  Leonora made her decision then and there. She would not follow the herd.

  Schooling her features in the hope of looking as bland as he’d done earlier, she said, “Indeed?” She offered him a polite smile. “Well, I do hope that you enjoy the rest of your evening, Lord Redfirn—you too, Mr. Grenly. Perhaps we’ll meet again in the not-so-distant future.” And then, spotting an opening, she gave Amy’s arm a hard yank and stepped forward, only to find herself held back by she knew not what, but whatever it was, she felt exceedingly frustrated.

  Turning in the hope of discovering the hindrance, she grimaced when she saw that a portly gentleman had stepped back in order to offer space for another couple, and that in doing so, had planted the heel of his shoe directly on the hem of her gown.

  Lord help me.

  Lord Redfirn’s smile widened until she found him grinning at her with marked amusement—his perfectly white teeth gleaming as though his valet might have buffed those too after finishing with his lordship’s shoes. Meanwhile, Amy had gone completely still, indicating that she wished to shrink into obscurity, while Grenly turned his head away, quite keen to ignore the brewing altercation entirely.

  Eager to be on her way, or more to the point, remove herself from Lord Redfirn’s vicinity, Leonora angled around until she was able to give the man who’d caused all this trouble for her a gentle tap on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but would you kindly step forward a bit?” She dropped her gaze toward her trapped hemline. “I’d much appreciate it.”

  The man gushed a string of apologies, for which Leonora thanked him kindly before returning her attention to . . . What on earth? Where was Amy? She’d released her arm in order to draw the other gentleman’s attention, and now she was gone. It took her all but a split second to register that Grenly had vanished too, and who stood before her now but Lord Redfirn, smiling with a devilish sort of satisfaction that had the odd effect of both vexing her and making her stomach feel all jittery inside. Really, she had to get away from him—if for no other reason than to save Amy, and perhaps herself too, if she thought long enough about it.

  “Now then,” Redfirn said, moving a bit closer to her and taking her by the arm. “I do believe you promised to dance with me.”

  “I did no such thing,” she gasped. “And you’re not on my dance card, so you can’t—”

  “Let me see that.” And before Leonora had a chance to react, he’d snatched the card from her hand, examined it, and scrawled his name right next to one of the waltzes.

  Leonora was mortified. Not so much because of his rudeness but because after claiming how full her dance card was, Lord Redfirn now knew that it was entirely empty. At least he had the decency not to comment as he handed it back to her. “Shall we?” he asked instead, offering her his arm. “You look as though you might enjoy a glass of lemonade before our dance. We can walk past Bartram and Urnton on the way if you like.”

  Oh dear Lord. He might not have called her bluff directly, but he’d certainly alluded to it in a most forthright fashion. “That won’t be necessary, my lord,” she told him, gritting her teeth beneath a most benign smile. Somewhere along the line, Lord Redfirn had managed to tuck her arm into the crook of his own. There was no immediate escape in sight—the man was clearly determined. “In fact, I suddenly find myself quite parched.” And with that final statement, she allowed him to guide her forward, all the while ignoring the heat that was flowing from his body and into hers.

  Considering all of the womanly advice that her mother had given her before her much-too-early departure from the earth, Leonora quickly began reciting the Lord’s Prayer inside her head, hoping that it might have the same effect as a bucket of ice water.

  Regrettably, it did not.

  CONNOR WAS FEELING immensely satisfied with himself. He’d achieved his goal even though he had looked failure in the eye for the briefest of moments. But then the fates had stepped in and helped him in his cause, distracting the very stubborn and determined Lady Leonora just enough to allow Grenly and Lady Amy to make their escape. He could practically hear the wedding bells ringing already. Success was close at hand.

  Casting a discreet glance toward Lady Leonora as they made their way toward the refreshment table, Connor forced back the laughter that threatened to burst past his lips. She looked furious and, he decided, somewhat perplexed—as though she was desperately trying to find a way to escape his company. Well, she was welcome to try, but now that he had her safely by his side, she would have to put up one hell of a fight to accomplish it, and judging from her elegant demeanor, he was quite confident that she wouldn’t wish to draw that sort of attention to herself.

  She was a funny little thing really—not at all the sort of woman he would normally consider attractive. In fact, physically, she was quite the opposite in every way. Her hair was warm chestnut instead of blond, her eyes brown instead of blue, and her figure, as far as he could tell, was more curvaceous than what he was used to. This last attribute however, did not put him off in the least—on the contrary, it made her appear more womanly in some peculiar sort of way. Her bosom for instance . . . high and plump and . . . he forced his tarnished imaginings away from Lady Leonora’s body and tried to focus on his objective. He wasn’t there to seduce a young woman but to settle his debt by getting Grenly married.

  “My lady,” he said, as they arrived at the refreshment table and he offered her a glass of lemonade.

  She stared at it for a moment, her nose wrinkling a little while her mouth worked its way into a scrunch. Meeting his gaze, she finally surprised him by saying, “Frankly, my lord, I’m really not all that fond of lemonade. If you don’t mind, I’d much rather have a glass of Champagne.”

  Connor thought he might explode from laughter, but he managed to hold it back and simply incline his head. “Certainly,” he said, offering a smile that he hoped would look agreeable.

  She accepted the glass he offered her with grace, but her stiff posture coupled with her shifting eyes told him that she was still eager to run off in search of Lady Amy. “I’m sure your friend is quite all right,” he said as he raised his own glass to his lips and took a lengthy sip.

  “How can you possibly say that?” she asked, her eyes growing wide with indignation. “Mr. Grenly is hardly . . . well, he’s not . . .”

  “The man you had in mind for her?”

  Lady Leonora immediately clamped her mouth shut, her eyes narrowed, and it seemed as though she
tightened the grip on her glass. Hopefully, it won’t shatter, Connor thought as he eyed the delicate crystal with some concern. His companion was obviously struggling to keep her temper in check. “Mr. Grenly’s not so bad,” he finally told her, not because he believed it to be true but because he was starting to feel a little bit guilty about ruining Lady Leonora’s plans.

  “Oh really?” she asked, immediately lowering her voice to a whisper and stepping a little bit closer. She must have realized that this was not the sort of conversation she cared to have others listen to. All the same, Connor decided that he could have done without the proximity, for he was now forced to inhale the most sweet and intoxicating scent of jasmines. “Do you know him well enough to make such a claim?”

  “I barely know him at all,” Connor immediately told her. He doubted it would help his cause if she knew that he’d deliberately helped Grenly further his acquaintance with Lady Amy, much less that he planned for the two to embark on a hasty courtship followed by marriage. Judging from everything Lady Leonora had said so far, he hardly thought she’d approve.

  “Neither do I, save for my recent conversation with him.” She turned her head a little to indicate the spot where she, Grenly, and Lady Amy had been standing a short while earlier when Connor had interrupted them. “But it is my understanding that he’s not the sort of man I wish for my friend to associate with.”

  Feeling suddenly mischievous, Connor said, “How’s that?”

  Lady Leonora’s eyes widened, and her teeth bit into her lower lip with such aggression that Connor immediately wondered if it might not be wise to placate her a little before she caused herself permanent damage. Besides, her lips were rather full, he’d noticed. In fact, they looked delicious. It really wouldn’t do for her to tarnish them in a bout of anger. But before he managed to find the necessary words, she said, “He’s not handsome, or gallant. He can barely string two words together and he constantly looks out of place and . . . and . . .”

  Connor leaned closer.

  “Gangly.”

  Oh dear. Connor stifled yet another grin. “Well, it’s certainly quite apparent that you do not like the man.”

  “I never—”

  “It’s quite all right,” Connor told her as he gently removed the glass from her hand and set it on the table beside his own. “I’m not one to judge.”

  “We have to save her!”

  We? Interesting.

  “There will be plenty of time for that later, my lady, but right now, I do believe it’s time for our waltz.” And then he took her firmly by the arm and steered her in the direction of the dance floor.

  IF THERE WAS one thing that Leonora was certain of, it was that she’d never felt more confused in her life. On the one hand, she was terribly angry with Lord Redfirn for keeping her away from Amy. When she’d met with the Ring of Protectors shortly after the Duchess of Arbergail’s visit roughly one month earlier, she’d assured them all that they could trust her to make a brilliant match for Amy. She cringed to think how disappointed they’d all be with her at their next meeting. Dancing with Grenly would hardly facilitate marriage to a handsome and dashing young duke, marquess, or earl. On the other hand, her traitorous body had decided that it rather enjoyed being touched by Lord Redfirn’s warm hands as he rested his fingers against her elbow and guided her forward. She’d danced with quite a few men before though there was no denying that it had been a while, but none had caused such an uproar in her stomach or made her skin prickle and her heart beat faster. There really wasn’t any point in denying that whatever her duty toward Amy, and no matter how vexing she’d found Lord Redfirn’s company thus far, she wanted to know what it felt like to be held in his arms as he guided her around the dance floor.

  “Has it been a while?”

  His words jolted her out of her reverie, and she realized that they were now standing across from one another as they waited for the orchestra to get fully under way.

  “You look a bit nervous,” he added. “I thought perhaps—”

  “Yes,” she muttered as she looked up at him, her eyes locking onto his. She was determined not to be intimidated by his splendor, no matter how plain she felt right now in his company. “I’ve been socially absent for some time.”

  He must have deduced the cause for such an absence, for he did not press the matter any further and, to his credit, looked suddenly repentant. “Forgive me, my lady—that was badly done of me.”

  And there went her heart.

  The music started, Lord Redfirn bowed while Leonora curtsied, then he reached for her hand and pulled her toward him until his hand was resting against her lower back. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to sag against him in a delirious state of heavenly bliss. Never before had she been held with such combined assurance and grace. His body was solidly built, and yet he moved with undeniable elegance.

  Casting a hesitant glance toward his face, she saw that his eyes were indeed dark brown though perhaps with a hint of green, and while he might appear serious at a distance, she was close enough to spot a distinct tilt to the corner of his lips, as though he was purposefully suppressing a smile. “You dance remarkably well,” she said, feeling a sudden desire to hear his voice again.

  His eyes met hers. “A simple enough task when one has the right partner,” he murmured, as his gaze abandoned hers in favor of a spot just a little bit lower . . . Heavens! Is he staring at my lips? It certainly seemed so—and with a sudden neediness if she hadn’t completely misread him. But then he looked back up, his eyes drifting past her shoulder as if to study something off in the distance, and Leonora immediately realized that her brain must have gone on holiday—the man couldn’t possibly look more bored. “You dance very well too, I might add.”

  Leonora looked back up, surprised to find him watching her with that lopsided smile of his. “Thank you, my lord—it’s very kind of you to say so.”

  “I was wondering—If I call on you tomorrow . . . will you receive me?” He must have seen the appalled look upon her face, for he quickly added. “Unbelievable as it may seem, I find myself enjoying your company and was hoping to further my acquaintance with you. However, I have no desire to wait in line along with a dozen other men, so if you’d rather I stay away, then I’d be much obliged if you’d say so now.”

  Well, as far as forthright went, Lord Redfirn was certainly the very definition of the word. Perhaps he wasn’t as bored as she’d imagined. Warming to the easy tone of his voice, she couldn’t help but say, “A dozen? Will that really be all? Frankly, Lord Redfirn, I rather suspect they’ll be lined up all the way to Hallidan.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Not if your . . .” He coughed and let the words he might have spoken fade into oblivion.

  “Not if my what?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “You were saying, not if your . . .” She gave him a pointed stare.

  He frowned as if unsure of whether or not it would be wise to tell her what he’d been about to say. Eventually, he shrugged, lowered his head a little toward hers, and whispered, “Not if your dance card is any indication.”

  Aha! So he wanted to play that game, did he? Very well then. Without as much as a moment’s hesitation, Leonora misstepped just enough to place one foot on top of his.

  She was rewarded by a very loud wince along with a grimace. “You did that on purpose, you little minx.”

  “Not at all,” she countered. “If you recall, I’m quite out of practice—my apologies.”

  “Then perhaps it would be wise of me to keep a firmer hold on you.” And he pulled her closer—scandalously so.

  Leonora had never been one to swoon, but she felt certain that now might be an appropriate time to start. She felt energized and bold, not to mention giddy from the feel of him so close to her, coupled with the scent of sandalwood that floated in the air around him. There was no question about it—he’d ruined dancing for her forever, for no other man would ever measure up.

  She wonder
ed if he felt the same, or if she was the only one affected, but when she looked at him, he seemed once again distracted by something else. Oh bother. He’d said he’d call on her, but it was becoming abundantly clear that it would only be a courtesy call—not one that indicated any further interest on his part. It was torture, acknowledging how easily he’d swept her off her feet, but at least there was some comfort to be had in knowing that she didn’t own a diary and that her thoughts about Lord Redfirn would not be committed to posterity, as those of so many other ladies undoubtedly had been.

  Chapter Five

  LORD REDFIRN DID not make an appearance in Leonora’s drawing room the following day as he’d said he would. Nor did he make one the day after that though he did send her a box of chocolates along with a note of apology. And while she couldn’t help but admit that she was more than a little disappointed by his absence, Leonora was afforded little time to dwell on his lordship given that she still faced the task of finding Amy a suitable husband.

  “Why are you so opposed to Mr. Grenly?” Amy had asked the previous day, when Leonora had visited her for tea. “I quite enjoyed his company last night—he’s really quite amusing.”

  Regardless of her own assessment of Grenly, Leonora knew she ought to consider Amy’s opinion on the matter, but with a desperate desire to prove herself to the duchess and the other members of The Ring of Protectors, Leonora found herself saying, “You mustn’t misunderstand me, Amy—I’m sure he’s a lovely young man, but he’s not your only option.”

  They had then gone on to examine a list of other eligible gentlemen that Leonora had compiled earlier in the day. “So you see,” Leonora had finally concluded after Amy had agreed that Lord Winnfield and Lord Fulton were very handsome indeed. “It’s important to consider every potential candidate wisely. There’s no rush, and certainly no need for you to attach yourself to the first gentleman who asks you to dance.”