Page 22 of An Enchanting Dare

“You can put me down now,” she protested as they arrived at the entrance hall.

“What, and see you spend the next half hour trying to drag those wet skirts up the stairs? I think not. I shall deposit you outside of your room.”

She toyed with the idea of strangling him with his cravat. “You’re very sure of yourself, Mr Cootes.”

“High-handed,” he agreed cordially. “You can hit me if you want to.”

“Oh, may I? With something heavy?” she asked sweetly, and then blanched with horror.

Lord, what was wrong with her? She ought not to say such vile things, even in jest, but she had a wicked, violent streak that could not be trusted. Her stomach lurched, but he only chuckled, and the sound rumbled through his chest and into her, which was most disconcerting.

“Certainly, providing you kiss my bruises better afterwards.”

Aisling blushed and began to struggle, and he set her down at once. “Well, you’re only a few paces from your door. Honestly, I’m amazed I got you this far.”

He was smiling at her, and Aisling did not know what to do, what to say to him, how to feel. She was in such a muddle and that frightened her, and she hated to feel afraid, had sworn she would never be afraid again. Anger rose, and that at least was safe. She could wrap herself in anger and protect herself from harm, from him. Though who would protect him from her? Yet she glanced up at him again to see concern in his eyes and her anger became a fragile, ethereal thing. Oh, drat the man!

With no idea how she ought to deal with him, Aisling settled on retreat, and fled to her bedroom without another word, slamming the door behind her.

Chapter 8

Dearest Kathleen,

I do understand truly, but you must see what a scare you gave us? You disappeared without a word and not for the first time, I understand. Your poor father was beside himself and I do not blame him for denying you the right to visit the school for a while. Your charitable impulses are to be admired, but not when they put your life at risk. The Seven Dials is not a place for a young lady without an escort.

You have a family who loves you. You must think of them if not of yourself. There is much that can be done to help the desperate people who live in such vile conditions without taking such hazardous chances.

I shall see you again soon once your father has remembered how to breathe again.

―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Elizabeth Demarteau (daughter of their graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) to Miss Kathleen de Beauvoir (adopted daughter of Inigo and Minerva de Beauvoir).

26th June 1841, Trevick Castle, Warwickshire.

Sylvester stared at the door Aisling had just slammed in his face. His heart was doing an erratic dance in his chest, and had been from the moment she had appeared beside the ornamental pond. He swallowed and let out a shaky breath, feeling the corners of his mouth tilt up.

He’d kissed her.

Some lunatic impulse had overtaken him, and he’d kissed her. Better yet, she’d kissed him. That was… that was too delicious for words. He had hoped, of course, but if she’d slapped his face and told him to go to hell, he wouldn’t have been entirely surprised. Oh, but she had tasted sweeter than anything he could dream of, and the way she had responded to him, immediately and instinctively, made shivers run down his spine. He swallowed again, forcing down a laugh that threatened to make him look positively unhinged should anyone see him standing there, gazing at her door.

Sylvester made himself move away, albeit reluctantly, for he wanted to see her again. Now. This moment… even if she clearly did not wish to see him. The look in her eyes as she’d slammed the door had been unreadable, but he suspected the kiss had shocked her far more than it had him. He’d known he wanted to kiss her even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it at first, but Aisling…. She was afraid, though apparently not of him, which was a relief. She would not bicker with him so delightfully if she were afraid of him, but she was afraid nonetheless. He suspected she still did not recognise, or refused to see, what was between them. Aisling did not know how to read the tension, and did not understand why he bothered her so. Not yet, at least.

He made his way back to his room, grinning inanely until he let himself back into the lavish chamber and reality reasserted itself. Reality was a miserable bitch, he decided, staring about at a room so opulent and luxurious he could not imagine what it had cost to furnish. He only knew he could not come close to this. Sylvester Cootes, estate manager, had no business going about kissing the daughter of an earl, especially as he’d not been invited to do so. What if she’d not responded? What if she’d complained to her father? What if her father had seen and wanted him driven from the estate at gunpoint?

He might have truly frightened her, and poor Alana would be mortified and heartbroken if she could not be friends with Cara, and he would have dragged Raphe into some humiliating scene as head of the family….

Sylvester fished about in his coat pocket for his flask and took a fortifying swallow, telling himself not to be so dramatic. She hadn’t objected, and no one had seen. He’d know by now if they had. That did not change the facts, though. Aisling was out of reach, and he’d do well to remember that. Perhaps he ought to go home after all.

It was a thought he pondered for the next few hours, but he could not convince himself to leave.

Later that day, the countess invited Sylvester to take tea with her. Despite telling himself there was no way she knew about the kiss, and he was not about to be escorted from the estate by a legion of footmen, he was unaccountably nervous. He followed the butler, who had issued the invitation-command, to a small, sunny parlour that overlooked a rose garden.

The countess set aside the book she was reading and smiled warmly as the butler announced him, and Sylvester felt able to breathe again.

“Lady Trevick. This is a pleasure, thank you.”

“A trial, more like. I can imagine you have been cursing me and wondering what the devil I want with you,” she said, with such startling candour Sylvester could only laugh.

“No, I assure you—”