Page 1 of An Enchanting Dare

Chapter 1

Louis,

Paris grows dull in your absence. I am bored and in need of distraction. Will you not return for a visit and see how your protégé goes on before he does something rash? My empire needs little of me, save for some growling and posturing on the rare occasion people forget with whom they deal. Our foes are all vanquished, on this side of La Manche, at least. I think I shall cross that narrow body of water and see what trouble I can stir up, for life is dull and I shall grow prematurely fat and old if I do not keep my wits and my weapons sharp. I should like to see the ladies gasp and whisper behind their fans. Will I spoil your newly shined and pretty reputation if I come? You think it is a joke, perhaps, but I will make good on my promise one day. I should like to see the place that was my birthright.

Do you think there are any remaining that would cut my throat for my father’s crimes? My own are of little consequence across the channel, I think. My late, unlamented father’s legacy is such I think I should sleep with one eye open on English soil. I believe I shall look forward to it.

Damn you, Louis, it is late, and I grow maudlin like a boy without his pa. You were always wise far beyond your years and I need your instincts and your surety to guide me straight, for my path becomes increasingly tangled. I do not truly wish to cause you trouble, but I miss you, and your too kind-hearted brother as well. I miss the days when we caused mayhem together. You are the only family I have known, and I wish to be reunited. Shall you come to visit me soon? Or shall I do something dreadful to demand your attention, like the wicked spoilt boy I know too well how to play?

―Excerpt of a letter to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen, from Wulfric ‘Wolf’ De Vere.

27th April 1841, Cavendish House, The Strand, London.

“D'anam don diabhal!”

The words she’d thrown out with such frustration were still ringing in Aisling’s ears. Wishing Sylvester Cootes’ soul to the devil might be satisfying, but apparently it didn’t actually achieve anything. The wretched man was still watching her as if she were some newly discovered species, as if he was determined to understand everything about her, to learn all her secrets. Well, he’d said as much, and wasn’t that a terrifying thought? What might he discover, and how might he judge her if he knew? Her stomach twisted unpleasantly, and Aisling swallowed hard lest the meagre amount of food she’d forced past her lips curdled and her stomach rebelled.

All around her was merriment and celebration, and Aisling felt like a little dark cloud, hovering about and making everyone uncomfortable. She reached up and gently massaged her throbbing temples.

Why hadn’t she told him to leave her alone? This, more than anything, troubled her. He’d offered to leave her be, and she’d felt certain the offer was a genuine one, yet she’d not taken it. Why? Why would she not snatch an opportunity to make him go away?

Because you don’t truly wish him to, taunted a little voice in her head. She rejected it, irritated. Why would she not wish a man she could not stand to go away? Perhaps because she felt brave in front of him, in a way she never did with anyone else. Not any longer. He made her so furious she forgot her nerves, her doubts, and her own failings. She let her temper rule her and… and that felt good after so long. It was also dangerous. He was dangerous.

“Are you well, mademoiselle?”

Aisling turned to find a pair of startling blue eyes regarding her with concern. The Comte de Villen was too beautiful to sit comfortably beside and, much to her consternation, Aisling felt a blush climb her throat.

“Just a h-headache, monsieur,” she managed, struggling to meet his worried gaze.

“Is there anything I can do? Should I fetch the countess to—”

“Oh, no, th-thank you. Some fresh air, I think, if… excuse me—” Aisling got up and hurried off, relieved to be away from the man, though he’d been nothing but kind and patient, trying his best to converse with her when he got little more than a word or two in reply.

Aisling pushed through the house, past busy servants bearing trays, and burst out into the garden to drink in the cool, sweet air. Her temples throbbed harder, and she wished she could go home. Not to the elegant town house her parents owned here in London, but home to Trevick Castle. She wanted to walk and walk until her legs ached, to find her peace in the woodlands, to bury herself in the little corner of the world where she could be herself and shut out everything and everyone else. Soon, she promised herself. No one here would ever offer for her, and that would be another season over and done. In another year or two, maybe she could give up the pretence that she was even trying to find a husband, for it became increasingly difficult to keep up the facade.

“Aisling? Are you well?”

Aisling looked up, relieved to see Vivien’s twin brother, Ash. She had loved Ash since she was a very little girl, and he was one of the few men she did not feel uncertain around. Once upon a time, many years ago, she had hoped he might offer for her, but he regarded her as a sister, nothing more, and she had long since come to terms with that. She could never marry, not now, and even if things were different, she could not imagine ever trusting another man enough to give herself into his keeping.

“Just a headache,” she said, accepting the arm he offered her. “I needed some fresh air.”

“Shall I take you to Nani Maa and have her mix one of her foul potions?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

Aisling stared up into his handsome face, feeling some of her anxiety drain away. Ash always made her feel calmer, safer. “I don’t think so. Just a turn about the garden and some quiet for a moment should do it.”

Another male voice cut through Aisling’s fragile peace and set her nerves jangling. “Then you ought to have a chaperone. I’m happy to oblige.”

She turned, scowling, though she knew well enough who had appeared behind them.

“Mr Cootes, I do not require your chaperonage for a stroll in the garden in broad daylight with my friend, and you hardly qualify for the role in any case.”

Mr Cootes shrugged and strolled closer. “When your friend is such a handsome and eligible young fellow, I’m afraid I must beg to differ, and I am better than nothing.”

Ash beamed, the rat. “He has a point, Aisling,” he said with mock gravity. “It seems unlikely any young lady could spend five minutes alone with me without wanting to tear my clothes off. It’s for your own good.”

“Ash!” Aisling exclaimed, mortified.

Ash only winked at her, a friendly, teasing smile at his lips before he turned to Mr Cootes. “Do join us for a stroll about the garden. The spring colour is very fine, and this poor lady has a headache and needs some air.”