Sebastian sighed. “My dear comtesse, allow me to present my brother, Lord Martin Cynster.”
“Enchanté, mademoiselle.” Martin took the hand she offered and raised it to his lips. “Little wonder my brother’s been so hard to find.”
His smile was open, amused, and devil-may-care. Helena smiled back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
Martin was considerably younger than Sebastian, yet from his manner it was clear he stood in no awe of one whom all others she’d thus far met approached with a degree of circumspection.
“I had meant to ask,” Sebastian drawled, drawing Martin’s gaze from her, “whether you had recovered from your night at Fanny’s.”
Martin flushed. “How the dev—deuce—did you hear about that?”
Sebastian merely smiled.
“If you must know,” Martin continued, “I ended the night ahead. Dashed woman marks the cards, though—take my word for it.”
“She always has.”
Martin blinked. “Well, you might have warned me.”
“And spoil your fun? I’m not such a curmudgeon and am no longer, thank God, your keeper.”
Martin grinned. “It was fun, I must admit. Took me awhile to see through her tricks.”
“Indeed.” Sebastian glanced at Helena. “But I fear we’re boring Mlle d’Lisle.”
“Well, this isn’t exactly a scintillating venue.” Martin turned to Helena. “It’s a pity you’ve arrived so late in the year, too late for Vauxhall or Ranelagh. Mind you, there’s old Lady Lowy’s masquerade coming up—that’s always a night to remember.”
“Ah, yes, I believe we have a card. The costumes will be intriguing.”
“What character will you be masquerading as?” Martin asked.
Helena laughed. “Oh, no, I’ve been warned not to tell.”
Martin took a step back, eyeing her as if committing her physical characteristics
to memory.
“You needn’t bother,” Sebastian informed him.
“How else am I to find her?”
“Simple. Find me.”
Martin blinked twice. His lips formed an “Oh.”
“Ah, there you are, ma petite.” Marjorie came up, smiling but, as always, wary in Sebastian’s presence. She smiled more easily at Martin and gave him her hand, then turned again to Helena. “We must go.”
Reluctantly, Helena made her adieus. Sebastian bowed over her hand. “Until tomorrow night, mignonne.”
His murmur was too low for the others to hear; the look in his eyes was likewise for her alone.
Helena rose from her curtsy, inclined her head, then turned and, wondering, left him. Joining Marjorie, she glided into the crowd.
Martin stepped to Sebastian’s side. “I’m glad I found you.” All levity had flown. “I don’t know how much more of Almira’s nonsense you can stomach, but George and I have had enough. Her behavior’s insupportable! The way she’s carrying on, you’re already underground, and Arthur, too, come to that. God knows why he ever married her.”
“We know why.” Sebastian looked down, straightening the lace at one cuff.
Martin snorted. “But the why never eventuated, did it? She never was pregnant—”