Page 67 of Just a Little Daring

“No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say yet,” he observed mildly, irritated that she’d not even deigned to turn her head.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her cheeks flushing the most becoming shade of pink. “Please, leave me be.”

Her chest was rising and falling far too quickly, and for a moment Sylvester toyed with the idea she was afraid of him. “Lady Aisling, I love nothing more than to tease you, and hearing you scold me is the highlight of my day, but… I would never hurt you. You do realise that?”

She looked at him then, a direct look that made him feel seen, in a way no one else ever really saw him. Which was ridiculous, and exceedingly disconcerting.

“Why must you persist?” she demanded, bewildered rather than angry, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Faint heart,” he said, giving her his most winning crooked smile.

She tsked and shook her head. “Really,” she said, clearly unconvinced, her voice flat. “Why?” she demanded again. He stared at her, his heart thudding far harder than the situation warranted.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Except that you’re not what you purport to be, my lady. I know it, and you know it, but I want you to admit it to me. I want to know the real Lady Aisling. The one who isn’t the least bit shy, the one who has dangerous secrets. I want all of your secrets. I would keep them safe for you.”

Her eyes widened at that, her colour heightening to dramatic effect.

“You’re deluded,” she said, but he heard the tremor in her voice, the breathless quality of someone who fears they have been found out. He held her gaze, aware he was standing a little too close for propriety, and vibratingly aware that she had not given ground, and stepped back.

“It’s you that’s deluded if you think I’m going to give up. Besides which, you don’t want me to.”

“What?” She stared at him in outrage.

Sylvester bent until his lips grazed her ear. “Tell me to leave you alone,” he whispered, aware of the way his breath had goosebumps shivering over her skin. “Tell me to go away and leave you be now, and I’ll do it.”

Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes. “D'anam don diabhal!” she whispered, the words furious if incomprehensible. With an angry swish of her skirts, she swept away to take her place at the table and Sylvester watched her go. For a moment he was too stunned to think, but then a slow, wicked smile curved over his lips.

She had likely wished him to the devil in some foreign tongue, but she had not told him to leave her alone.

Louis regarded the happy couple, something horribly like envy settling with an unwelcome weight in his chest. He frowned down into his wineglass, twisting the stem back and forth between his fingers. The desire to fill his glass again was overwhelming, but he could not get drunk at such an affair, and he was liable to become maudlin if he did not do a proper job of it. His gaze settled on his brother and his wife, leaning into each other, speaking softly, their hands touching. Loneliness yawned like a great wasteland inside him, promising him endless days of emptiness if he could not make Evie love him. His attention drifted back to the happy couple and the longing for the happiness they shared, the security of knowing someone cared for him, ate at his heart.

“Wonder what it would feel like, to be that happy and that much in love?”

Louis turned to see Barnaby Godwin was considering the bridal couple, much as he had done. Louis had been sitting between Lady Aisling and Mrs Bonnie Cadogan, but Lady Aisling had excused herself, complaining of a headache. Barnaby, who’d been sitting on her right, appropriated the lady’s seat and leaned in, his voiced dropping to a confidential tone.

“Makes you feel a bit… bereft, don’t it?” he said wistfully, and Louis heartily wished him to the other side of the room.

Yes, damn him to hell, it did, but he didn’t need someone to underline the point for him.

“You wish to marry, Barnaby?”

“Oh, yes,” Barnaby said, his face lighting up. “Like the idea of a little wife to toddle home to. Someone what’s pleased to see me… well, assuming I choose right, and she is pleased to see me. Though at the rate I’m going, it ain’t going to happen. I just don’t have a knack with the ladies. Not like you, though I suppose with a physiognomy like yours, you don’t even need a knack. They throw themselves in your path.”

Louis laughed bitterly and shook his head. “Non, ce n’est pas vrai. Women might be easy. The right woman is not easy at all,” he muttered, folding his arms and trying to keep his gaze from the far end of the table where Evie sat.

“Well,” Barnaby said, impressed by this observation. “If you can’t manage it, what hope is there for the rest of us poor blighters?”

Louis sighed and regarded the man, who was clearly disinclined to leave him in peace. “Who is the young lady you desire?”

Barnaby shrugged. “Don’t have a particular lady in mind,” he admitted.

Louis refrained from rolling his eyes heavenwards with difficulty. “Well, who do you fancy?”

Barnaby pondered this. “Miss Ackerson is a pretty sort.”

“Non.” Louis shook his head at once. Miss Ackerson was no better than she should be and had once groped Louis at a formal dinner when he’d been sat next to her. The wretched creature had been remarkably persistent and difficult to dislodge. She also had a sharp tongue and a nasty habit of spreading malicious gossip. Yes, Miss Ackerson seemed an unlikely choice to be the sweet-natured, loyal wife Barnaby fondly imagined.