Cynster - The Promise In A Kiss Part 26

Helena held to Marjorie's side as they entered and greeted their hostess. An unexpected tension, an apprehension, stretched her nerves taut. Moving into the considerable crowd, awash with laughter and good cheer, she searched with her eyes, with her senses, and breathed a tight, small sigh of relief when she could detect no glimmer of Sebastian's presence.

After some minutes of chatting, then moving on, she parted from Marjorie and ventured on alone. She was a.s.sured enough, now well known enough, to make her way with confidence. Although unmarried, she was so much older, so much more experienced than girls in their first or even second season, that she was accorded a different status, one permitting her greater social freedom. Speaking to this one, then that, she worked her way through the crowd.

She still had three names on her list, but only Were was confirmed. Were Athlebright and Mortingdale present? Quite how she might engage with them to a.s.sess the effect of their touch in the middle of a crowded salon where talk and not dancing, certainly not touching, was the princ.i.p.al aim was a problem-one at which her mind boggled and failed.

Turned too readily aside. After last night, her mind had more troubling thoughts to ponder.

d.a.m.n Sebastian!She had constantly, throughout the night, through the silent hours in which she'd tossed and turned and tried to forget, tried to wipe from her mind the sensation of his lips on hers, the warmth of his nearness, the allure of his touch.

Impossible.

She'd spent hours lecturing herself, pointing out how directly against her careful plans falling victim to such a man would be-only to wake from l.u.s.tful dreams of doing precisely that.

Shocked, she'd sat up, risen from her bed, washed her face and hands in cold water, then stood before her window staring out at the black night until the cold had forced her back to her quilts.

Madness. He had sworn never to marry. What was she thinking of?

It was impossible, more than impossible, for a woman such as herself-an unmarried n.o.blewoman of old family-to become his mistress. Yet to marry a complaisant husband knowing herself driven by a need to be free to engage in an illicit but socially acceptable liaison with another-that, too, was unthinkable. At least to her.

Sebastian, she was sure, had thought of it, but that had never been part of her plans.

Still wasn't.

Which left her with one very large problem-he surprised her by appearing in the doorway to an adjoining salon just as she approached it.

"Mignonne."He took the hand she instinctively raised to ward him off, bowed, and raised it to his lips.

Her eyes met his over her knuckles as she belatedly bobbed a curtsy; what she saw in the blue depths made her lungs seize.

"Your Grace." Cursing her breathlessness, she struggled to marshal her wits as, still holding her hand, he urged her back from the doorway toward the side of the room. Forced to comply, she reminded herself of how dangerous he was-only to have another part of her mind airily point out that with him, she knew she was safe.

Dangereuxon the one hand, knight-protector on the other. Was it any wonder she was confused?

"Indeed, I am very glad I met you." Attack suited her more than defense. She faced him, head high. "I wished to say good-bye and to thank you for your a.s.sistance through these past weeks."

She could tell nothing from his expression-the polite mask he so often wore-but she saw his eyes widen a fraction. At least she'd surprised him. "I understand that the masquerade tonight will be very crowded, so it's possible we will not meet again."

She stopped there, bit her tongue against a nervous urge to babble on. If what she'd already said didn't put him in his place-didn't tell him how she'd decided to react after last night-nothing would.

He was silent for some minutes, his unnerving blue gaze locked on her eyes, then his lips curved, just enough to tell her that the smile was indeed genuine.

"Mignonne,you never fail to surprise me."

Briefly, she glared. "I am honored that I amuse you, Your Grace."

His smile only deepened. "You should be. There's so little these days that amuses such a jaded soul as I."

There was sufficient self-deprecation in his tone to make it difficult to take offense. Helena contented herself with another glare-then felt heat shoot up her arm as his fingers shifted and one stroked her palm. He'd lowered their hands but hadn't released hers; his fingers curled protectively around hers, their linked hands hidden from all by her wide skirts.

"But there's no reason to bid me farewell. I'll be by your side tonight."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You will have to find me in all that crowd, and then be sure it is me."

"I will know you,mignonne -in exactly the same way you will know me."

His confidence grated. "I will not tell you my costume."

"No need." He continued to smile. "I can guess."

He'd guess wrong, along with all the others. She'd been to masquerades before. Supremely confident, she looked about at the crowd."Eh, bien -we shall see."

After a moment she glanced at him. He was studying her face. He hesitated, then asked, "Have you spoken with Thierry this morning?"

She blinked. "No. He is out of town but should return this evening."

"Ah. I see." That, Sebastian realized, explained why she didn't know of his invitation. Relieved his concern that she might indeed know but had decided to resist, to play even more difficult to win. Hard to imagine, but . . .

"Why such an interest in Thierry?"

He refocused to find Helena regarding him suspiciously. He smiled. "Merely an interest I have that concerns him. I will no doubt see him tonight."

The suspicious light didn't leave her eyes, but her gaze suddenly moved past him.

"There's Lord Athlebright!"

"No."

She looked at him. "No?No what?"

"No, you cannot try to ascertain how his lordship's touch affects you." Lifting her hand, he turned her in the opposite direction. "Believe me,mignonne, you do not need to work on your list of prospective husbands any further."

She heard the steely note in his voice. Puzzled, she searched his face. "You are not making any sense-no, you are making evenless sense than usual."

"Acquit me of any wish to confuse you,mignonne, but am I right in a.s.suming you will not agree to leaving this uncomfortably overcrowded salon with me to seek a quieter place where we might talk?"

She'd instantly stiffened. "You a.s.sume correctly, Your Grace."

Sebastian sighed. "You are the devil's own daughter to seduce,mignonne. "

The smile that curved her lips suggested she approved of the epithet.

"For all that, you'll still be mine."

The smile vanished. She flashed him a look of righteous fury; if he hadn't still held her hand, she would have whirled, curtsied, and flounced off. But the instant she started to move away, he drew her back. "No-don't leave me." He covered the simple, far-too-heartfelt plea with an easy smile. "You're safer with me than with any other-and together we're better entertained than we otherwise would be." He caught her eye. "A truce,mignonne -until tonight."

He'd intended to speak with her of his intentions, the purpose behind his invitation. He'd counted on Thierry's having received his letter and having told her of his request-she would have agreed readily to a private discussion after that. But . . . not knowing of his invitation, she would not go apart with him-and it was impossible for him to mention the word "marriage" in such a crowded place; he would bring all conversation to a halt.

She was searching his eyes, well aware of the caveat-that when he said "until tonight," he meant just that. That tonight he would come for her, andthen they would see.