The promise in a kiss

apologies, comtesse.”

She did nothing, said nothing, regarding him as coldly as Sebastian.

“As mademoiselle has grown weary of your company, I suggest you leave.” Sebastian, ever graceful, walked forward; Markham backed, glanced around wildly, then edged toward one path. “One thing—I take it I don’t need to explain how . . . unhappy I would be if any mention of this incident or, indeed, of mademoiselle la comtesse at all were to be traced to you?”

“No need at all.” His face set, Markham looked at them both, then nodded curtly. “Good night.”

He left; they heard his footsteps striding along, faster and faster, then they paused; the door opened, shut, and he was gone.

Helena let out a shuddering sigh of relief; crossing her arms, she shivered.

Sebastian had halted two feet away; he turned his head and his gaze to her. “I think,mignonne, that you had better tell me just what you are about.”

The evenness of his tone did not deceive her; behind his mask he was angry. She lifted her chin. “I do not like such crowds. I thought to walk in less stifling surrounds.”

“Perfectly understandable. What is somewhat less understandable is why you chose Markham as your escort.”

She threw a frowning glance in the direction the viscount had gone. “I thought he was trustworthy.”

“As you have discovered, he is not.”

When she didn’t respond but continued to frown distantly, Sebas-tian ventured, “Do I take it you’ve struck him off your list?”

That got her attention; she turned her frown on him. “Of course! I do not like to be mauled.”

He inclined his head. “Which brings me back to my original question—what are you about?”

She considered him, then drew herself up. “My actions are no concern of yours, Your Grace.”

“Except that I choose to be concerned. I repeat, what game are you playing with your prospective suitors?”

Her chin rose another notch; her eyes flashed. “It is none of your business!”

He merely arched a bored brow and waited.

“You cannot”—she gestured at him with both hands as she searched for the word —“compelme to tell you just because you wish to know!”

He said nothing, simply looked at her—let his intent reach her without words.

She met his gaze, read his eyes, then flung her hands in the air. “No! I am not some weak-willed pawn in some game. I am not part of any game of yours. This is not some battle you must win.”

His lips curved, his smile wry. “Mignonne,you know what I am—precisely what I am. If you insist on standing against me, then . . .” He shrugged.

The sound she made was one of muted fury. “I will not tell you, and you cannot make me.” She folded her arms and glared at him. “I doubt you carry thumbscrews in your pockets, Your Grace, so perhaps we should adjourn this discussion until you have had time to find some.”

He laughed. “No thumbscrews,mignonne. ” He caught her irate gaze. “Nothing but time.”

Her thoughts flitted through her eyes, which then widened. “That’s preposterous. You cannot mean to keep me here . . .”

She glanced at the nearest path.

“There is no possibility whatever that you will leave this clearing until you tell me what I wish to know.”

She glared at him, belligerently furious. “You are abully .”

“You know very well what I am. Equally, you know that you have no choice, in this instance, but to concede.”

Her breasts rose; her eyes sparked. “You are worse than even he!”

“He who? Your guardian?”

“Vraiment!He is a bully, too, but he would never admit it.”

“I regret that my lack of duplicity offends you,mignonne. However, unless you wish to feature in a scandal, even at this last gasp of the year, you would do well to start explaining. You have been absent from the ballroom for twenty minutes.”

Helena shot him a furious look but knew she had no choice. “Very well. I wish to narrow my list to one by tomorrow night, before the ton leave for their estates. There were four gentlemen to consider—now there are only three.”

Sebastian nodded. “Were, Athlebright, and Mortingdale.”

She stared at him. “How did you know?”

“Acquit me of ignorance,mignonne —you told me your guardian’s criteria, and I guessed yours some nights ago.”

“Eh, bien!”She put her nose in the air. “Then you know all, so we may return to the ballroom.”

“Not quite.”

She glanced at Sebastian; he caught her eye.

“I know why those three and Markham were on your list. I know why Markham no longer is. I do not know what other quality you have chosen to assess, only that you’ve chosen something and that is what brought you here.”

She looked toward the path. “I merely wished for a moment’s peace.”

Sebastian’s long fingers slid around her chin and firmed; he turned her face to his. “It’s pointless to lie to me,mignonne. Despite all you say, you are much like those you run from—powerful men. You are enough like me that I can see at least part of what is in your mind. You are coolly and calmly assessing these men as your suitors. You care nothing for those three, only that they meet your needs. I am . . . concerned, if you wish, over what the final need you’ve focused on is.”

Her temper unfurled—she felt it spread its wings; she lunged and tried to drag it back, but it shrugged aside her will and flew free.

It wasn’t simply the fact that he did indeed understand her well—as well as Fabien had always seemed so effortlessly to do; while she might, in some cool part of her mind, admit that he was right in comparing her to them, she did not like the notion at all, did not like hearing it so calmly stated as truth. But it wasn’t that that loosed her fury.

It wasn’t even that, this close to him, she was acutely aware of the weight of his will, a tangible entity pressing her to submit.

It was her reaction to his touch, to the heat of his fingers cradling her chin—the instantaneous leaping of her heart, the tightening of her breathing, the sudden focus on him, the wash of heat within. The flare of recognition, the flash of a fire as old as time.

Her suitors were as nothing to her. Fabien’s touch did not set her heart racing. But this man—his touch— did.

Madness.

“Since you are so boorish as to insist, I will tell you.” Madness to do so; impossible to resist. “I have decided to test that each gentleman’s touch does not repel me.” She lifted her chin from his fingers, her eyes locked challengingly on his. “That is, after all, a most pertinent consideration.”

His face hardened, but she could read nothing in his eyes, blue on blue, oddly shadowed. He lowered his hand.

“Were—does his touch repel you?”

His tone had deepened; a lick of caution skittered up her spine. “I have danced with him, walked with him—I feel nothing when he touches me.”

Satisfaction glimmered briefly in Sebastian’s eyes; she deliberately added, “So Lord Were, at present, is the only one who has attained my final list.”

He blinked; his focus remained on her as he thought, weighed, considered . . .

“You will not attempt to test Athlebright or Mortingdale.”

Those who knew him not might have assumed the comment to be a question; Helena recognized it as a