Page 265 of Lodestar

Ignoring her last message and turning to Conor, I let loose a heavy exhalation. “Everything okay?”

“No one’s incoming. We’re still safe.”

“Good. That’s a relief.”

He snagged my hand and, with the other, tucked something into my fingers, saying, “Here.”

My lips twitched at the candy corn he’d slipped me. As I eyed the bag that he rattled like a maraca, I asked, “This is to keep me perked up?”

“Fitting considering what just happened.” Something slithered into his eyes, something that had me accepting the candy and popping it between my lips.

“I don’t want you to say yes or no,” he murmured. “I just want you to wear something for me. Would you do that?”

“What is it?” was my wary reply.

Conor snorted. “It’s not a gimp suit or anything like that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Good to know.”

His hand was back in his pocket but this time, he retrieved a small box. Averysmall, very velvet-covered box.

Eyes wide, I watched as he opened it and without any ceremony, took my hand and slipped the ring onto my finger.

My mouth worked as I studied the unusual piece of jewelry, a very unobvious engagement ring, then I whispered, “Why now?”

“Because we’ll have a tomorrow and I don't want to spend it with anyone but you.”

The words were simple, and in his eyes, there was a warmth that blasted some of the frost settling in my bones that had started to form after learning of O’s death.

Heartburn.

Major fucking heartburn.

I rubbed my thumb over the emerald in the setting. “You were just carrying this around? By chance?”

“Not exactly by chance,” he dismissed. “Da gave it to me in his will. It’s been in the family for a long time.”

“It was your ma’s?”

“No. My grandmother didn’t like Ma.” So, she had great taste then. “Normally, she would have given it to Da when he proposed, but she didn’t give it to him until she died as part of her estate.”

That had my brows lifting. “He gave it to you? Not Aidan Jr.?”

“No. He seemed to think…” His words waned, then he shrugged. “It’s mine and I want you to have it.”

I stared at the strangely antique setting. It was a cabochon emerald with a woman’s face etched into the stone. The cameo was still fresh despite its antiquity, while the yellow gold had scratches from wear and tear.

It wasn’t me at all.

Yet… I loved it.

“Who’s the woman?” I asked softly.

“There’s a story there,” he promised, “and one day, I’ll tell you. But not yet, okay?”

“Why not? Was she the first highwaywoman in Ireland or something?”

His lips curved. “No, nothing like that.”

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