Page 21 of An Enchanting Dare

“I didn’t mean what I said. At least, I meant the part about not being a fortune hunter. I’m not. I don’t give a damn for your blasted money, and I know I’m not good enough for you, and I do want to know what you’re hiding, and… and I swear you can trust me, even if I’m just your friend, Aisling, but… oh, to hell with it.”

He kissed her.

Aisling was too stunned to even close her eyes for a moment. She simply froze as he pressed his mouth to hers. He pulled back, such a startled expression in his eyes she almost laughed, until she saw anxiety there.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to… did I frighten…”

It was a moment of madness, perhaps only a desire to shut him up, but she lifted on her toes and pressed her mouth to his, stopping his words before he could annoy her. He obliged, kissing her again, tenderly now, with exquisite care. His lips were soft and warm and suddenly the kiss was not a kiss, but a dozen little kisses. Her eyes fluttered shut and, without conscious thought, her hand came up to grasp his neck as the other clutched at his lapel. She sighed, leaning into him, into his warmth and his strength as he let go of his hold on her, only to wrap his arms about her and pull her closer. She went, melting into his embrace as though it were inevitable, as though they’d both known this was the only place she could be all along. He teased at her mouth, parting her lips and deepening the kiss, and Aisling let him, without even a murmur of protest. She knew she ought to protest, ought to slap his face or find something suitable to hit him with, but… but….

He drew back, gazing at her warily, his chest rising and falling as if he’d been running for miles. Aisling blinked, staring up at him as whatever spell he’d cast over her dissipated and sanity returned.

“Oh, no,” she said faintly, letting go of him like he’d burned her and stumbling away. “Oh, no, no, no. This is bad. Oh, this is very bad.”

“Now, Aisling—”

“Don’t,” she said, holding up a warning finger. “Do not speak. Whenever you open your mouth, you only make it worse.”

“It was only a kiss, love, and you kissed me too, I might add,” he retorted, looking adorably rumpled and just as confounded as she felt. Wait. Adorable? Was she insane? Sylvester Cootes could not come close to adorable, even if he was smothered in kittens and fluffy bunnies and wrapped in a pink bow. That was it. She was losing her mind.

Aisling made a small sound of annoyance and stamped her foot. “No. Talking,” she insisted.

Drat the man. Couldn’t he hold his tongue? Like she didn’t know she’d kissed him back. Oh, good heavens, she’d kissed him back! Another panicky sound escaped her, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, come now, it’s not that bad,” he said, clearly affronted by her horror.

“Can’t,” she managed, shaking her head and stumbling away from him as her horrid wet skirts flapped about her legs and dragged at the bodice of her dress. “Can’t,” she said again, hauling the sodden material with her as best she could.

“Good heavens, what a drama you make of things. I wanted to kiss you, so I did. You liked it, so you kissed me back. It's simple biology. There’s no need to take a hysterical fit over it.”

“I am not hysterical,” Aisling retorted, sounding just a wee bit hysterical.

“Well, you are soaked to the bone,” he observed. “And it’s going to take you an hour to get back to the house at that rate. Come here.”

Before Aisling could inform him she had no intention of going anywhere with him, he swept her up into his arms. She gave a little squeal that made her sound like a five-year-old with ringlets and a pout rather than a grown woman, which did not help her temper. Oh, why did he always make her feel so out of sorts? Usually, she was a placid creature who bothered no one, but he turned her into a raving lunatic with a volcanic temper. It was most disturbing.

Rather than risk the hysterical fit he had accused her of, Aisling forced herself to suffer his attempt at chivalry with silent endurance.

“You’re planning ways to murder me in my sleep, aren’t you?” he said, glancing down at her with amusement.

Aisling struggled to hold her tongue, for the desire to ring a peel over him was far too tantalising, but she would not give him the satisfaction of arguing with him. He enjoyed it too much.

“I am sorry,” he said again, and she heard sincerity in his voice. “For last night. You were right, of course. You offended me, which is ridiculous, but a fellow has his pride. I live in a small cottage on my brother’s estate. I earn my living working as his estate manager and, though he is generous, it hardly makes me a fine prospect for any young lady. You hit a nerve, and I suspected you did it on purpose to put me in my place.”

Aisling gasped, glaring at him. “You think I would do such a horrid thing? I was merely curious, that’s all.”

He nodded. “I realised that too late. You enjoy scolding me, but I have never known you to be cruel. Am I forgiven?”

She scowled, not wanting to forgive him. Things were far easier when she hated him.

He laughed, shaking his head as he studied her expression of consternation. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll give you another reason to be angry with me in short order.”

“I am not your love,” she objected.

“See?” he replied, his hazel eyes twinkling.

Aisling made a disgruntled sound but stole a glance at him once he’d turned his attention back to the path. He was too handsome, she decided, that was the trouble. He was trouble. His jaw was too strong – a warning of his stubborn nature, his hair was a dark gold and glinted in the sunlight, and his hazel eyes were warm and kind. Worse, his mouth… oh, his mouth was soft and looked always to be on the verge of smiling. Sylvester Cootes was a dangerous man, and she needed to keep away from him or she would turn into a brainless ninny all over again. She ought to know by now she was susceptible to handsome men and glib words. They made one feel important and pretty and as if they mattered more than anyone else in the world, and then they…. No. She would not think about that.

They were almost back at the castle now. Her skirts and petticoats alone weighed a ton now they were soaked through, but he carried her with apparent ease.