with herâsheâs the most enervatingly astute woman I know.â
Helena debated whether to ask for an explanation, then realized sheâd spent most of her evening thus far with him, learning more about him, becoming more fascinatedâwhich was not necessary at all. She lifted her head, looked around. âIs Lord Were here, do you know?â
An instantâs hiatus ensued; she could have sworn Sebastian tensed. But then he murmured, âI havenât seen him.â
Was she imagining it, or was there steel beneath his smooth tones? âPerhaps if we stroll . . .â
He steered her along the side of the room, skirting the crowd congregating at its center about a monstrous decorative piece formed of gilded, star-shaped lanterns surrounding and supporting a gilt and porcelain setting of the Nativity. Viewing the closely gathered ladies, Helena noticed that, presumably in celebration of the season, many had taken to wearing bright red or forest green.
Among the throng she spied Louis, keeping an eye on her. Dressed as usual in black, emulating his uncle Fabien, he stood out against the multihued crowd. He was usually hovering somewhere in sight. Despite Sebastianâs reputation, Louis hadnât overtly interfered in his squiring of her.
They were nearing the end of the room. She couldnât see past the outer ranks of the crowd; she knew that Sebastian could. âCan you seeââ
âI canât see anyone you would wish to meet in furthering your goals.â
To her surprise, he drew her on and then to the side, to where an alcove partially screened by potted palms looked out over gardens. The alcove was deserted.
The day had been fine; the night was, too, cold and frosty. Beyond the glass, the shrubs and walks were bathed in silver-white moonlight, the barest touch of snow crystallizing like diamond frosting on each leaf, on each blade of grass. Helena drank in the view; it shimmered, touched by a natural brilliance infinitely more powerful, more evocative of the season, than the effort of mere mortals at her back. The scene, so reminiscent, whisked her back to that moment seven years beforeâthe moment theyâd first met.
Quelling a shiver, she turned to find Sebastian regarding her, his expression indolent, his gaze intent.
âIt occurs to me, mignonne, that you have not yet favored me with a complete list of your guardianâs stipulations concerning the nobleman he will accept as your husband. Youâve told me this paragon must bear a title the equal of yours. What else?â
She raised her brows, not at the questionâone she was ready enough to answerâbut at his tone, for him unusually clipped and definite, quite different from his customary social drawl. Much more like the voice in which he spoke to his sister.
His lips quirked, more grimace than smile. âIt would help in determining your most suitable suitor.â
Heâd softened his tone. Inwardly shrugging, she turned back to the windows. âTitle Iâve mentioned. The other two stipulations my guardian made concerned the size of my suitorâs estate and his income.â
From the corner of her eye, she saw Sebastian nod. âEminently sensible conditions.â
Hardly surprising he thought so; he and Fabien could be brothers in some respectsâwitness his despotic attitude to his sister, even if he was moved by caring rather than some colder reason. âThen, of course, there are my own inclinations.â She stopped. There was no need to tell him exactly in which direction her inclinations lay.
A wolfish smile touched his lips. âNaturally.â He bowed his head. âYour inclinations should not be forgotten.â
âWhich is why,â she said, turning from the windows, âI wish to seek out Lord Were.â
She intended to return to the room and do so.
Sebastian stood in her way.
Silence stretched, suddenly tense, unexpectedly
Alan Cook
Unknown Author
Cheryl Holt
Angela Andrew;Swan Sue;Farley Bentley
Reshonda Tate Billingsley
Pamela Samuels Young
Peter Kocan
Allan Topol
Isaac Crowe
Sherwood Smith