The promise in a kiss

She didn’t say anything. The stubborn set of her lips gave him her answer.

Sebastian knew he was close to losing his temper. It had been a very long time since anyone—let alone a slip of a woman—had dared deny him so stubbornly. And for once in his life, his intentions were honorable.

“Mignonne—”He instantly knew he’d chosen the wrong tone; her spine stiffened like a poker. He exhaled, then stated, “I give you my word that you will be safe with me. I do need to speak with you.”

The stubborn set of her chin eased; her lips shifted, twisted, grimaced lightly. But . . .

Briefly she returned the clasp of his fingers, then shook her beautiful head. “Non.I cannot . . .” She drew breath, lifted her chin. “I dare not go apart with you, Your Grace.”

Helena watched his eyes darken, although his face changed not at all.

“Do you question my word,mignonne ?”

The words were soft, steely.

She shook her head. “No—”

“You don’t trust me?”

“That is not it at all!” It wasn’thim she didn’t trust—but she couldn’t tell him that. Too revealing, too much an acknowledgment of her susceptibility, her vulnerability—her weakness over him. “It is just that . . . No. I cannot go apart with you, Your Grace.” She tugged. “Sebastian, let me go!”

“Helena—”

“No!”

Their altercation, albeit conducted in hissed whispers and low growls, was starting to attract attention. Gritting his teeth, Sebastian forced himself to release her. “We are not finished with this discussion.”

Her eyes blazed. “Weare finished entirely, Your Grace.”

She turned and stormed off—an imperial termagant leaving a conqueror, dismissed, in her wake.

Sebastian stood perfectly still for three minutes before he got his temper back under control. Even then he had to stop himself from snapping when some unfortunate lady thought to offer him solace. Then he glimpsed Martin, a corsair, through the crowd. He started to prowl, his mind fixed on one object—and on how to achieve his goal.

He hadn’t prowled far when he was approached by a pirate.

“Monsieur le duc, I do hope my cousin is not”—a vague gesture punctuated the pirate’s words—“being difficult?”

De Sèvres. Biting back the urge to articulate just how difficult his cousin was indeed being, Sebastian drawled, “Mademoiselle is an extremely stubborn woman.”

“Vraiment.”

De Sèvres was wearing a half-mask; Sebastian could see his worried frown.

“If I could help in any way . . . perhaps be of some assistance . . . ?”

Sebastian fought to keep his expression impassive. What was going on? He was tempted to pursue the matter—why a man supposedly sent to protect Helena was offering instead to assist in what, for all he knew, was to be her seduction—but at that precise moment, he had a more imperative goal.

“I wish to speak privately with mademoiselle la comtesse, but she is proving elusive.”

“I see, I see.” De Sèvres nodded, frowned harder.

“Perhaps if I were to set a location and wait there, you might endeavor to persuade her to join me?”

Looking into the crowd, de Sèvres considered, calculated; eyes narrowed, he chewed his lower lip. Sebastian would have taken an oath he wasn’t worrying over the propriety of his actions but rather how to persuade Helena to comply. Then de Sèvres nodded. “What location?”

Not why did he wish to speak with her—for how long, how privately . . . Sebastian made a mental note to investigate de Sèvres a great deal more closely once he’d secured Helena’s hand.

“The library.” A sufficiently formal setting, which would likely make Helena less suspicious; Sebastian had little faith in de Sèvres’s powers of obfuscation. He nodded to a doorway across the ballroom. “Go through there, turn right, then follow the hall to a long gallery. The library is the main room giving off that. If you wish to assist me, bring mademoiselle there in twenty minutes.”

At this hour the library should be empty, although as the evening progressed, others, too, would seek out its amenities.

De Sèvres tugged on his waistcoat. “I will bring her.” With a nod, he moved off in the direction Helena had gone.

Sebastian watched him go and inwardly shook his head. Later . . .

He turned—and found himself facing Martin.

One look into his eyes and his brother grinned. “Itis you! Now, where is she?” He glanced around. “You wouldn’t believe it, but I’ve found three Helen of Troys so far, and none of them are she.”

“If you’re referring to mademoiselle la comtesse, she’s here, but not as Helen of Troy.”

“Oh?” Martin frowned. “Then who . . . ?”

He cocked a brow at Sebastian—who considered him, then shook his head. “I know for a fact that you received a classical education. I wouldn’t want to inhibit the exercising of your intellect.” He clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Think hard, and the answer will come to you.”

With that, Sebastian strolled on, leaving Martin scowling good-naturedly after him.

The library was indeed deserted when he reached it. He surveyed the long room, then strolled to the large desk set out from one corner. Beyond it, in the corner of the room, sat a commodious armchair. Sebastian sat, stretched out his legs, folded his hands, and waited for his duchess-to-be to appear.

H

elena didn’t notice Louis hovering until she turned from chatting to Therese Osbaldestone and saw him step toward her. She inclined her head, expecting to pass him by.

Instead, he put a hand on her arm. “You must come with me—quickly.”

Louis’s manner was agitated. He was glancing around.

“Why? What is it?”

“There is someone Uncle Fabien requires you to meet.”

“Fabien?What is this?” Thrown off balance, Helena allowed Louis to draw her to the side of the room. “Who does Fabien know here?”

“That is not important. I will explain all later. But I can tell you this—Fabien wishes you to meet with this gentleman and hear him out.”

“Hear him out?”

“Oui.”Louis continued tugging, surreptitiously dragging her to a doorway. “This man will have a request to make—an invitation. You are to listen, then accept!Comprends? ”

“I don’t understand anything,” Helena complained. “Stop pulling.” She wrenched her arm free, stopped Louis with a glare, then straightened her gown. “I do not know whom Fabien wishes me to meet, but I will not meet anyoneen déshabillé !”

Louis gritted his teeth. “Vite, vite!He will not wait forever.”

Helena heaved a resigned sigh. “Very well, where am I to meet him?” She followed Louis through the doorway into a corridor.

“In the library.”

“Allons!”Helena waved Louis on. She had little confidence in Louis, but set much more store in Fabien’s good sense. Her guardian was not a man to put at risk anything that was of value to him. If Fabien wished her to meet some gentleman, there would be some sane explanation. Although she railed against Fabien’s hold on her, she was too wise not to humor his wishes until she was free of him.

Louis led her to a long gallery, then somewhat hesitantly opened a door and peered in. He stood back. “Bon—this is it. The library.” He waved her in.

Helena glided forward.

Louis lowered his voice. “I will leave you together, but I will not be far, so I can conduct you back to the ballroom if you wish.”