Page 43 of An Enchanting Dare

“How much does he know?” he asked her, taking his drink and returning to his seat. “Does he know you’re a witch?”

“I know,” Sylvester said before she could answer, his voice firm, as if daring Kilbane to get on and make whatever threat he’d come to deliver.

Kilbane inclined his head, regarding her with interest. “You don’t look like a witch,” he mused. “At least, not the kind that appeared in the stories I read as a child. You’re far too pretty. More like a succubus,” he added with a wink.

“Shut your damned mouth. Unless you want to give me an excuse to shut it for you,” Sylvester growled, his hand gripping hers so tightly it almost hurt.

“Such animosity.” Kilbane tsked, looking reproachful. “What exactly have I done to deserve it?”

“You sent the lady a threatening note,” Sylvester pointed out.

Kilbane pursed his lips and shrugged. “Was it threatening?” he queried mildly. “I only said that I knew what she’d done, and I do.”

“What do you want from me?” Aisling said, sick of this dancing about. If he’d come to seek revenge, or blackmail her, she’d just as soon know about it.

Kilbane laughed, staring at her with delight. “My dear young woman, I want nothing from you.”

“Then why the bloody hell are you here?” Sylvester demanded in fury.

Kilbane got to his feet, looking genuinely amused. “Why, to thank her, of course, and to take a look at the woman who destroyed such a powerful man. You may despise me all you like, Mr Cootes, and with my blessing, but rest assured, my brother was far worse. I am a mere babe in debauchery in comparison. Lady Aisling did me and the world, a great favour.”

Aisling blinked at him, uncertain she’d heard him correctly. “To th-thank me?” she whispered.

Kilbane nodded and downed his drink in one large swallow. “Precisely that. I don’t know how well you got to know my brother the summer he stayed here with you? He could present a charming façade when he wished to, I know. A talent we share. For your own sake, I hope you saw little more than the façade, though I assume something provoked you badly enough to want him dead. Not that I blame you. I despised him. He was a sadistic, evil bastard, and that’s coming from me,” he said with a wicked grin.

Aisling swayed, and Sylvester’s arm went around her. “Sit down, love. You’ve had a shock.”

She allowed him to guide her to a chair and sat down before her knees gave out. Sylvester straightened and turned back to Kilbane. “I want to know precisely what happened,” he gritted out, and Aisling had the feeling he was holding onto his patience by a thread and would not endure much more.

Kilbane shrugged and went to pour himself another drink. This time, he filled a second glass and crossed the room, holding it out to Aisling. “Drink it up, child,” he instructed.

Aisling took it, bristling a little at being called a child for they must be close in age, yet there was something about Kilbane that made him seem older than his years, a world-weary, cynical air of dissipation that hardened his handsome features and made her believe he could be cruel when he wanted. She didn’t trust him an inch. A pity she’d not felt the same way for his brother.

He took the chair opposite hers and sat down, his sharp gaze never leaving her.

“I would like to know precisely what happened, too,” he said pleasantly, arranging his long limbs in an elegant sprawl. “Do tell.”

Aisling regarded him stonily. “I met your brother when I was fifteen, my lord. He’s been dead these eight years. Why the sudden interest?”

Kilbane inspected his nails for a moment, as if deciding whether to indulge her, and then gave a despondent sigh. “Our family life was not a pleasant one,” he said with a tragic air, and then gave such a beatific smile she knew he meant to unsettle her, and yet she could hear the truth in his words and suspected that was a monumental understatement. “I have not set foot on the family estate since my father died. It’s a ghastly place and as I loathed my brother, I felt no need to call upon him after dear old Papa shuffled off. Even after my brother died, I could not bring myself to return to that be damned mausoleum. If I could be bothered to exert myself, I’d have the entire place torn down. Yet, my steward would nag and nag until I thought I would run mad. The tenants were revolting—well, as if I didn’t know it. So, I went home, and discovered my brother’s er… writings. His death was hushed up, of course. A tragic accident, and the staff are too terrified of me to breathe a word about what really happened.”

“Writings?” Sylvester repeated, staring at him.

“You don’t know how he died,” Kilbane mused, regarding Sylvester curiously. “You know she was responsible, but no more. Interesting.”

“Just get on with it,” Sylvester snapped, folding his arms.

Kilbane turned to Aisling, refusing to be hurried. “You told him you killed my brother,” he guessed.

Aisling nodded, and Kilbane’s lips quirked into a smile. “Yes, Mr Cootes, my brother’s writings. He kept a diary, but towards the end that did not seem to be enough for him, so he wrote upon the walls, the ceiling, and the floor of his bedroom. He scratched words into the furniture, even into the window glass. He filled every inch he could, and when he was done, he shot himself in the head.”

“Oh, God.” Aisling covered her mouth with her hand as nausea roiled in her stomach. She had only known the story put about by the family: a tragic accident whilst cleaning his gun. She’d felt sure that was not the truth, however, and here was the confirmation of her suspicions. It had been her doing.

“What on earth are you looking so wretched about?” Kilbane demanded in consternation. “You wanted him dead as much as I did, and he is. I’m inclined to dance a jig, but weeping seems rather ungrateful. Embrace your victories, I say, no matter how they came about. You don’t know when you’ll have another.”

“W-What did he write?” Aisling stammered, ignoring his provoking words, wanting to know the truth as much as she wanted to run away and never hear it.

“The witch killed me,” Kilbane said succinctly, watching her reaction.