Page 2 of An Enchanting Dare

“With pleasure,” Mr Cootes replied, offering Aisling his arm so she was sandwiched between them.

Aisling narrowed her eyes at him, but could hardly refuse. Reluctantly, she placed her hand on his sleeve.

They strolled around the extensive grounds, arm in arm, with Mr Cootes and Ash exchanging pleasantries whilst Aisling simmered in silence.

“This is a lovely spot,” Mr Cootes observed as they came across a large ornamental pond. It was round with a three-tiered fountain at the centre and sheltered from the wind by hedges with openings that gave out onto prettily framed views of the garden. Aisling sat down on a bench, strategically positioned to give a glimpse of an antique statue of some naked male through the fountain’s spray.

“My mother’s favourite spot,” Ash agreed. “Oh, and speaking of the same, there she is. Well, there are plenty of people coming out to enjoy the garden now, so propriety is served. If you’ll excuse me.”

Ash bowed to Aisling and hurried away before she could protest, leaving her alone with Sylvester blasted Cootes. Aisling glared at her friend’s retreating back, wondering if she could be rude enough to follow him and abandon Mr Cootes without another word.

Before she could decide, Mr Cootes sat down beside her. “Is it true you are in love with him?”

Aisling gasped at the bold question. She glared at him, but he just watched her placidly. Deciding this might be a good way to be rid of his attentions, she didn’t prevaricate.

“Yes. It’s true,” she said, chin up and defiance in every word.

He nodded, as if it were no surprise. “I thought as much.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, hearing the amusement in his words.

He sat back, crossing his long legs and stretching one arm along the back of the bench. He looked totally at ease, and she noticed his eyes were a light hazel, flecked with gold.

“Only that he is the kind of man you would form a tendresse for.”

“How so?” she demanded, too irritated by the observation to tell him his opinions were of no consequence to her, which would have been the sensible thing to do.

His expression was serene, his gaze upon her unwavering. “You’ve known him a long time?”

Aisling nodded. “All my life,” she admitted, for she saw no reason to deny it.

“He’s been a good friend to you?” he guessed, and Aisling nodded again. That much was obvious.

Sylvester just smiled at her, his gaze direct, as if willing her to figure it out for herself.

“You think it’s a childish crush, that I’m being foolish,” she said, her voice curt, irritation simmering as it always did in his presence.

“I don’t think loving a dear friend is foolish,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I’m only pointing out the possibility that you have mistaken the love you have for a dear friend for something else.”

“You do think me a fool!” Aisling folded her arms, her cheeks flaming. The arrogant devil. How dare he tell her what she thought, how she felt?

Sylvester sighed, shaking his head. “Perhaps I’m wrong. Only you can decide the truth, but I have watched you together on several occasions and I do not see any spark in you. You do not light up when you are with him as you might if you were deeply in love. I’ve had a chance to observe that emotion at close hand of late, and even you, as secretive as you are, might struggle to hide such a deep regard. You love him as a dear friend, as a brother, not as a man. There is no passion in your regard for him, no desire.”

Aisling’s mouth dropped open, but she was too stunned to say a word. She wanted very much to give him a scathing set down that would leave his ears ringing and his ego in tatters. The trouble was, she recognised the truth that rang in his words. Aisling knew why she had accepted the fact that Ash would never offer for her with such acquiescence. She just hadn’t wanted to examine her own feelings. Her emotions had been too troublesome, so she had buried them deep, had become too used to ignoring them. Now, she took her love for Ash out and inspected it in the bright light of Sylvester’s observations. It was so apparent she did not trouble herself to wonder how he’d noticed. It was obvious. She loved Ash very much, but it was not the passionate desire of a woman for a man she wanted to be her lover, her husband. Not that she was about to admit it to Mr Cootes, the arrogant devil, though she could admit it to herself. For she knew in her heart she could not feel that kind of passion for any man. Those feelings were dead and gone, and she was glad of it.

“You do not know what you’re talking about,” she said, once she had wit enough to speak again. “You know nothing of my feelings.”

“Perhaps not, but I suspect I understand more than you think. You could trust me.”

Aisling snorted. An unladylike sound, but the idea of trusting the man beside her was so outlandish she could not help her reaction.

He returned a smile that managed to be both boyish and wolfish at the same time. Oh, he was not to be trusted.

“I know you think that a ridiculous idea, but it is true. Why don’t you just unburden yourself of whatever keeps you apart from the world, from life, even from your friends? Sometimes it is easier to confide in a stranger than someone close to you.”

“From my friends?” she echoed, stunned by the suggestion. “What—”

He leaned closer, so close that her words snagged in her throat. His scent tickled her nose, shaving soap and freshly laundered linen, a trace of peppermint. No expensive, overpowering cologne, no waft of brandy, just clean male skin.