Page 65 of An Enchanting Dare

Monsieur,

I write this in haste, as the house is in chaos. We are leaving. Papa has taken it into his head that we shall do some travelling, though he won’t tell me where. Last night I was accepting invitations for the coming week and this morning I am told to cancel everything. He’s behaving most oddly and will not tell me where we are going or for how long, but I think we will be absent for some months. I have tried asking Mama, but she just smiles and tells me it's for the best.

I do not understand what is happening. I think they’ve both gone mad. They won't listen to reason. I don't want to travel or miss the season. I am sorry to leave for so long without saying goodbye properly, but they give me no choice. When I get the chance, I will try to write to you again, but I think it may be difficult.

― Excerpt of a letter from Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.

15th February 1842, Heathcote Manor, Warwickshire.

Aisling squealed with laughter as Sylvester swung her up into his arms and carried her over the threshold of their new home. It was a handsome red brick building built in the previous century, and Aisling loved its symmetry and elegance. More than anything, however, she loved the man in whose arms she was carried, the man who had made everything right again, as impossible as that had seemed such a short time ago.

“Put me down before you hurt yourself,” she protested as he headed for the staircase.

“Hurt myself?” he retorted indignantly. “Are you casting aspersions about my manly physique, wife?”

She snorted, holding onto his neck. “No, only about your good sense. Sylvester, I’m too heavy.”

“I’ve carried you before, sodden skirts and all,” he pointed out, ignoring her and carrying on up the stairs.

“And whose fault was that?” she demanded.

“Yours.”

“Mine?”

“Of course it was your fault.”

“You pushed me in,” she said indignantly.

“I did no such thing. You tripped over your own feet.”

“I would never be so clumsy.” Aisling stuck her nose in the air with a disdainful sniff, even though he was right.

“That was the first time you kissed me,” Sylvester mused, turning to push open the door to their bedroom.

“You mean you kissed me?” Aisling corrected him.

Sylvester shook his head, setting her down with care. “No, I don’t.”

“Oh, yes, you do! You kissed me first. I distinctly remember that—”

His mouth covered hers, and Aisling sighed, relaxing into his embrace as his arms went about her. He kissed her thoroughly, his tongue teasing and caressing as a pleasant warmth simmered beneath her skin.

“I did kiss you first,” he admitted, when he finally drew back. “Most intelligent thing I ever did in my life.”

“I kissed you back,” Aisling admitted, sliding her arms about his neck.

“I know.” He grinned at her, his hands at her waist as his hungry gaze skimmed up and down her body. “This is a beautiful gown, love.”

“It is,” she agreed, not taking her eyes from him.

“Take it off.”

“Yes,” she murmured, not moving, but gazing up at him. Lord, but he was handsome, and all hers. A sense of possessive pride swept over her, and she felt quite giddy with wanting him.

“Lord, don’t look at me like that, love. I’m dying here as it is.”

“Like what?” she murmured, as he turned her around and began undoing the fastenings on her gown with deft fingers.