Page 48 of An Enchanting Dare

“Women,” Barnaby said with a heavy sigh. “Lady Millicent has been besieged by a duke, a viscount, and a cit who could likely buy Derbyshire with his pocket change. I am outclassed.”

“Then you’re in good company,” Sylvester replied darkly and mirrored their stance, leaning upon the balustrade and staring out into the darkness.

“The best,” Barnaby said with a crooked grin, chinking his glass against Sylvester’s and then Louis’.

“Must be nice to be titled and rich,” Sylvester muttered before turning a quizzical gaze upon Louis. “Oh, and to look like a fallen angel. Bearing in mind, you are titled, disgustingly rich, and renowned for being the handsomest man on three continents, I find it hard to believe someone turned down your advances.”

“Oh, well, it’s—” Barnaby began only to make a strangled sound as Louis elbowed him. “Private,” Barnaby wheezed succinctly, rubbing his ribs.

“Fair enough,” Sylvester replied, taking a large swallow of his wine.

“Mr Cootes?”

Sylvester turned at once to see Aisling standing in the open doorway.

“My lady,” he said, setting down his glass.

“Might I speak with you? In private.”

“Of course.” He hurried towards her, aware of Barnaby and Louis’ murmurs of ‘good luck.’ Not that it would do him any good.

“Come with me,” she said, guiding him back into the ballroom and out into a crowded corridor. Sylvester followed her, and she hurried along until they came to the long picture gallery. There were one or two people milling about, and she took his arm. “Pretend to look at the portraits,” she whispered.

Puzzled, but willing to do as she asked, he regarded a large family portrait. It was a recent one, and the artist had caught the wary, haunted look in Aisling’s eyes. She looked fragile and lovely, and his heart seemed to be squeezed within his chest. He wanted to be the man to take that look from her eyes, to protect her and help her find peace and happiness. He sighed.

“It’s a good likeness.”

“What?” she said absently, tearing her gaze from the couple who were just leaving the gallery. “Oh, yes, I suppose so. Come along, quickly.”

She tugged at his arm, guiding him into an alcove and pressing her hand against a small square in the panel. There was a click, and a concealed door swung open. Sylvester looked at it and then at Aisling.

“There’s a lot of hidden passages and rooms,” she said, interpreting his look of surprise. “It’s an ancient building. Come on.”

Sylvester hesitated. As much as he wanted to be alone with her, he was not blackguard enough to think it was a good idea. “Aisling, I’m not sure—”

“Oh, do hurry,” she said crossly. “Before someone sees.”

The sound of footsteps behind them galvanised him into action, and he stepped through the opening, relieved to discover a lamp and tinderbox. He made quick work of lighting it before Aisling stepped through and closed the door behind her.

“It’s this way.”

Sylvester held the lamp aloft and followed her down the narrow corridor as it twisted back and forth, sometimes branching out in different directions. It was a maze with no defining features and he admitted himself impressed she knew the way so well. Finally, she stopped and opened a door, which turned out to be another hidden panel, this time leading into a small parlour. The room was dark, but the lamp gave out a friendly, warm glow that made it feel cosy and intimate.

Aisling closed the panelled door and Sylvester set the lamp down on a side table, wondering what she wanted to say. He waited as she turned to face him, but she seemed as uncertain as he was. She clutched her arms about her middle, staring up at him.

“I don’t know whether to kiss you or hit you,” she said at last, the frustration in her voice audible.

Sylvester laughed. “A common reaction, I fear, though the latter seems the most popular option.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she grumbled.

“I’m sorry, love. I couldn’t lie to you,” he said, because it was obvious enough why she was cross with him.

“I don’t want you to lie!” she exclaimed, her eyes flashing. “I just… It’s been a part of my life for a long time, Sylvester, and… and I want you to keep an open mind.”

Sylvester rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with her demand. “If it means believing you are responsible for the death of the late marquess, I’ll hold on to my scepticism. Thank you very much.”

She frowned at him, shaking her head. “I have a lot to make up for, Sylvester. I did a wicked thing.”