Lady in Red by Karen Hawkins

tray below. “Oh dear! What was I thinking?” She reached for one of the linen napkins not soaked with tea. Just as her hand closed over it, Treymount reached over and clasped his hand about hers.
    Honoria sat shock-still. His hand enveloped hers, large and masculine and surprisingly warm. His fingers were long and tapered, his nails perfectly pared and trimmed, and yet that did nothing to disguise the pure strength of the man.
    Her heart hammered against her chest, the unexpected touch sending the strangest heat through her body. She was going mad. She’d faced the marquis time and again at numerous auctions and never had she felt this tug of attraction. But it was more than a tug. It was a powerful wave, pure and primal. It washed over her, crashing through her thoughts and leaving her confused and disoriented.
    In her bemused state, she could only stare wide-eyed as the marquis pulled her hand to him, causing her to lean forward, over the small table. His hand slid to her arm, his warm fingers encircling her wrist.
    “My lord,” she gasped. “What are you—”
    “That’s my ring.” His eyes blazed into hers, accusation and anger flickering brightly in their depths. “And I came to get it back.”
    Chapter 4
     
     
     
    Life is about taking chances. Without them, our existence is just an airless, closed box of naught. I, for one, would prefer to die a horrid, painful death than pollute my lungs with the fetid fumes of nothingness.
    Lord Melton to Lady Albermarle, while enjoying her ladyship’s bed (and her ladyship) during Lord Albermarle’s annual visit to his southern holdings in Yorkshire
     
     
    Your ring?“ Honoria could only stare, first at the marquis and then at the silver band about the third finger of her left hand.
    “Mine.” The marquis’s voice, deep and rich, snapped through his teeth, his grasp on her wrist tightening imperceptibly.
    She winced and wriggled her fingers. “My lord, please! My fingers are numb.”
    His hold slackened, but he didn’t let go. “I want my ring.”
    “And I want a new gown, a set of emeralds, and some jeweled slippers, but that is not going to happen, either.” She sniffed. “Life is not so easy that we always get what we wish.”
    His brow lowered. “Miss Baker-Sneed, you don’t seem to understand. This ring belongs to me, to my family.”
    “This ring belonged to your family. Now it is mine; I won it at a house party in S—”
    “Scotland. Where you went as a guest to a certain Lady Talbot.”
    She blinked. “Why… yes! How did you know that?”
    “I have been searching for this blasted ring ever since my brother’s fiancée lost it at that very party.”
    His certainty touched her, and she gazed down at her hand, at the warm band of silver. “So this is your ring…” In the back of her mind a faint memory stirred. A rumor of the St. Johns and a ring and a curse of some sort. Or was it a blessing? She could not remember, try as she would. “So this is the St. John talisman ring,” she murmured.
    “Yes,” he said shortly. “And now you know why you must return it to me.”
    Must was such a harsh word, especially coining from him. Honoria closed her fingers into a fist, remembering each and every time Treymount had outbid her at an auction, ignored her presence with a thoroughness that had even caused others to comment, and generally behaved in a way that could only be categorized as self-centered.
    A strange tingle warmed her fingers, traveling across her palm, through the tender veins on her wrist right where Trey-mount’s hand was clasped. The sensation was both bold and exotic, like the stroke of a warmed feather on her naked skin. She shivered, trying to pull her erratic thoughts together. “I’ve heard of the talisman ring. I always thought it would be bejeweled. This ring seems so simple.”
    “It is very, very old.”
    “I thought so from the first time I saw it.” She leaned for-ward to peer at it more intently. “Well! If