Page 8 of An Enchanting Dare

Mr Cootes sighed and folded his arms. Unwillingly, Aisling’s eyes drifted to his arms, and especially to the way the material clung to his broad shoulders and biceps. He seemed different since she’d last seen him at Christmas. She realised then that he had filled out and his clothing was of better quality than before. She had noticed when he’d stayed at Rowsley Hall that he was a little too lean for his build, his cuffs were fraying, and the fabric on some of his coats was shiny with age. Now he was impeccably turned out, and whilst he was hardly to be counted among those trend setters and fashionable gentlemen who turned all the heads, he looked… good. Very fine, actually.

“You are most unkind to me, my lady,” he observed.

Aisling nodded, unperturbed. “Yes. So you really ought to bother some other young lady who will be nice to you.”

“But I like bothering you,” he said, his voice pitched lower now, far too intimate in the cramped confines of the bookshop.

A shiver skittered down Aisling’s spine, and she took a step away, only to find the overburdened shelves at her back. She glanced down the aisle to the front of the shop, but they were hidden from view here and no one was in sight.

“You bother me too,” he added, taking a step closer.

“Well, I don’t do it on purpose,” she retorted. Goodness, but he was large. He seemed to take up all the room, not that there was much to spare. Her gaze drifted to his mouth, which was wide and sensual, made for laughing and… No. She would not think about kissing. It would be utter madness. Besides which, she did not want to kiss the aggravating creature. His mouth curved upwards, and Aisling glanced at his face to discover him watching her staring at his lips.

Drat and bother and blast.

He leaned in, placing one hand on the shelf beside her. Aisling watched him as a mouse watches a cat settle in for a long wait outside its hidey hole.

“What’s in the book, my lady?”

Aisling shook her head.

“You are an awful puzzle, you know.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I disagree.”

“Well, I disagree with you,” she retorted, aware that they were squabbling like children but quite unable to stop herself.

“I like you.”

“No, you don’t,” she said at once, the words out before she could think better of them.

He looked at her with interest. “But I do, and why shouldn’t I? You are intelligent, funny, and that sharp tongue of yours is fascinating. I adore the way you scold me, and besides all of that, you are quite extraordinarily lovely.”

“Average,” she said, wishing her words were not so breathless. Why couldn’t she breathe? “No more than average. Passably pretty.”

“What rot!” he exclaimed, looking at her in outrage. “False modesty is unbecoming in a lady.”

Aisling glared at him, indignant. “I’m friends with Vivien Anson—I mean Mrs Lane-Fox—and Lady Rosamund Adolphus, and you’ve seen Greer and Elspeth, and—”

He pressed a gloved finger to her lips, silencing her. Aisling froze, galvanised by the touch of his hand against her mouth.

“Little fool,” he whispered. “Don’t argue when a fellow says you’re beautiful. You are, you know.”

Ridiculously, Aisling felt tears sting her eyes. She had been beautiful once, perhaps, but that was before. Now, whenever she looked in the mirror, she only saw the past looking back, and it was ugly. Her experience and her actions had tainted her, and no one would ever want her if they knew. He certainly wouldn’t. Not that anyone would ever know. It was her secret to bear, hers to atone for.

His expression softened, and he dropped his hand, taking a step back.

“My lady?” he said, regarding her with earnest concern and sounding appalled. “Did I frighten you?”

Aisling shook her head, wanting only to be away from him.

“I would never… I did not mean—”

“You did not frighten me. I just want to buy my books,” she said, forcing the words out and fighting for calm. If she did not get out of here, get away from him, she would scream.

“What is it?” he demanded. “Won’t you tell me?”