Page 32 of An Enchanting Dare

She smiled, nodding. “I was.”

“What happened?”

Aisling stared down at the handkerchief he’d given her and traced the embroidered initials, SC. It was a boring design, and she wondered if he would like it if she made him some new ones. She smoothed out the rumpled cotton and folded it neatly. “We had a lot of guests staying at the castle in the weeks leading up to the ball. I was excited because it was nearly my sixteenth birthday, and I was determined that everyone should see how grown up I was. I hoped then Mama’s guests might suggest I come out earlier than planned.” She hesitated, glancing up at him.,

“There was a young man?” he prompted, for it was not so terribly hard to guess that much, was it?

Somehow that made it even more depressing, that she had done what so many foolish girls had done before and would continue to do until the end of time.

Aisling nodded. “I was utterly dazzled. He was eight years older than me and dreadfully handsome, quite unlike anyone I had ever met. I thought him dreadfully sophisticated and couldn’t believe such a fine man would seek me out when there were so many beautiful women, and he could have had any one of them. He was always moving, full of energy, and he could not bear to sit still for a moment. I was enchanted by his lively mind, the speed with which he leapt from subject to subject and the interest he showed in everything. Especially in me. It was dizzying.”

“You fancied yourself in love with him.”

His voice was gentle, and Aisling gave a soft huff of laughter. “I was unforgivably naïve. My word, if only I could go back and give myself a hard shake and the benefit of what I know now. Mama had taught me the rules, as had my governesses. I’d had plenty of lessons instructing me on the proper behaviour for a lady. How not to get myself into situations I could not handle. Harleston and Papa had warned me, too, but I thought I knew better. I thought I was in love and that he loved me, that he would never hurt me. We met in secret, and he was so sweet, holding my hand and reading me poetry, telling me how lovely I was. He intimated that he wanted to speak to Papa after the ball and I assumed he would offer for me. In my head, I had our future all planned out, our honeymoon and where we would live. He knew I wasn’t allowed to go to the ball, and so when he asked me to sneak out and meet him, I agreed, fool that I was.”

“You were fifteen, Aisling. A child,” Sylvester said, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Aisling could not respond to his kindness, for she would cry and not finish what she had begun. “I put on my prettiest dress and my favourite perfume and made my way down here, to the riverside. He was waiting for me and at first it was everything I had dreamed it would be. He had set out a picnic blanket with candles all around it, and he’d brought champagne. I felt so sophisticated, sitting in the moonlight and drinking champagne with a handsome man who loved me wildly.”

Aisling stopped, not wanting to say the rest, not wanting to speak the words that she had told no one before. Biddy knew the truth. Aisling had run to her afterwards, too ashamed to face anyone else, and she had guessed the next part. Aisling had never had to say it.

“What happened?”

There was a note to Sylvester’s voice that she could not judge. It was anger, undoubtedly, but whether for her stupidity or for the man who had taken advantage of her, she could not be certain.

“I drank far too much champagne. He kept filling my glass, and I didn’t protest, and then he kissed me. He kept kissing me and… and I let him…. I was aware it was going too far, and I asked him to stop, but he said I was a tease, that he’d tell everyone I’d led him on. He said there would be a dreadful scandal.”

Aisling swallowed hard as nausea churned in her stomach.

“I had no choice then. I knew my parents would be devastated, that it would ruin Cara’s chances of making a good match. I told myself to endure it, that it would be over and I need never see him again, but then he told me I must meet him again the next night. His voice was cold, and he treated me like I was nothing, like I was of no importance to him. I didn’t understand why he was treating me so coldly, and I started to cry, but he just got angry with me, and I felt so stupid. When I told him I wouldn’t meet him, he said if I didn’t, he’d tell my parents I was a little slut. He said I was his whore now, and he’d use me as and when he wanted, and if I didn’t let him, he’d tell everyone about me, about how easy I’d been. He said I’d led him on, and what had I expected to happen if I came down here alone with him?”

Her voice quavered, and she stopped talking. She would not allow herself to cry any more this night. She’d been a stupid little fool, and that was her own doing.

Sylvester was silent, his body stiff and unyielding, and Aisling glanced up at him uncertainly.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

His dark eyes met hers, and she had the sensation he was wrenching himself from some far-off place to return to her. He swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was rough and not entirely steady.

“Who?” he asked, that one word containing a world of rage. “You don’t need to be sorry, Aisling, not for anything. He was a grown man, and you were innocent. He took advantage, and for that I’ll make him sorry he was ever born. Tell me who it is. Give me the name of the bastard who hurt you, and I will kill him.”

Aisling blinked back tears, struggling to get the words out, forcing her confession out into the open so that he might understand just how bad this truly was. “You c-can’t do that.”

“I can and I bloody will!” he said, the words no less determined by how quietly he spoke them.

“No!” Tears slipped down her cheeks, and Aisling shook her head, wishing it had been Sylvester she’d met that summer, wishing she’d not been such a reckless little fool. “You can’t kill him, Sylvester, b-because I already did.”

His expression might have been amusing if it weren’t so appalling. He looked stunned, truly horrified, and Aisling could not remain in his arms a moment longer, though she wanted to. She wanted to cling to him and beg him for his forgiveness for the wicked thing she’d done, but she could not ask that of him. He might have raged about killing the man, but he didn’t mean it literally. Even if he did, it would have been a duel, an affair of honour with both combatants armed and ready to take their chances. It had not been like that for her. She had acted without thinking, and her opponent had not stood a chance.

Regret clawed at her heart, a ragged thing by now after so many years of shame and sorrow that she had fought so hard to hide from the world. She was always hiding, always pretending. God, but she was sick of it. But some truths were too terrible to face. Aisling scrambled up and away from him, desperate not to see the revulsion in his eyes, that awful moment when the scales fell and he saw her for what she truly was.

She ran then, not looking back, not stopping when he called her, pleaded with her to stay. Because he could not mean it, he could not forgive her, nor ever care for her now. Not after the vile thing she’d done, not after everything she had become. She was ruined, she was a murderess, and she was a liar too. Good God, she’d once told her friends she didn’t have a violent bone in her body and kept a straight face. What kind of creature could kill a man and say such a thing? What man could find anything to love in a wicked woman like that?

Chapter 12

Vane,

You seem to think there is some choice in the matter. I am afraid I must disabuse you of that notion. Get me what I want, or your private affairs will not remain private for much longer, and don’t get it into your head to call me out. You know which of us is the better shot. I should hate to kill you, old friend.