“No. You cannot run from me. We need to talk, you and I, but before we go further, there’s something I want of you.”
Searching his eyes, blue on blue, Helena was certain she didn’t need to hear what it was. “You have read my intentions wrongly, Your Grace.”
“Sebastian.”
“Very well—Sebastian. You misunderstand. If you think—”
“No, mignonne. It is you who fail to realize—”
The curtain over the archway rattled. They both looked. Sebastian’s hand fell from her waist as Were, smiling genially, looked in.
“There you are, m’dear. It’s time for our dance.”
They could hear music wafting from behind him. One glance at his open expression was enough to tell them both that he suspected nothing scandalous. Helena stepped around Sebastian and swept forward. “Indeed, my lord. My apologies for keeping you.” She paused as she reached Were’s side and looked back at Sebastian. “Your Grace.” She curtsied deeply, then rose, placed her fingers on Were’s hand, and let him lead her out.
Were grinned at Sebastian over her head. Despite all, Sebastian smiled and nodded back. He and Helena had not been apart, alone, for long enough to give the gossips sufficient cause to speculate, and Were had, intentionally or otherwise, covered the lapse.
The curtain fell closed; Sebastian stared at its folds.
And frowned.
She was resisting—more than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t sure he understood why. But he was certain he didn’t approve. And he definitely did not appreciate her quick-wittedness in avoiding him.
Society had grown used to seeing them together—they were now growing used to seeing them apart. That was not part of his plan.
From the shadows of his carriage drawn up by the verge in the park, Sebastian watched his future duchess animatedly holding court. She’d grown more confident, even more assured; she controlled the gentlemen around her, with a laugh, with a grimace, with one look from those wonderful eyes.
He couldn’t help but smile, watching her listen to some anecdote, watching her manipulate the strings that made her would-be cavaliers extend themselves to entertain her. It was a skill he recognized and appreciated.
But he’d seen enough.
Raising his cane, he rapped on the door. A footman appeared and opened it, then let down the steps. Sebastian descended to the ground. The carriage he’d used was not his town carriage; this one was plain black and bore no crest on its panels. His coachman and footman were also in black, not his livery.
Which explained why he’d been able to sit and watch Helena without her noting him and taking flight.
She saw him now, but too late to take evasive action, to discreetly avoid him. Social constraint was, for once, working to his advantage—she was too proud to create a public scene.
So she had to smile and offer him her hand. She curtsied deeply, and he bowed, raised her. Then raised her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
Temper flared briefly in her eyes. She fought to quell her reaction, but he felt it. Increasingly haughty, she inclined her head. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Have you come to take the air?”
“No, my dear comtesse, I came for the pleasure of your company.”
“Indeed?” She was waiting for him to release her hand, too wise, after their recent meetings, to tug.
He looked around the circle of gentlemen, all younger, far less powerful than he. “Indeed.” He glanced at Helena, met her gaze. “I believe these gentlemen will excuse us, my dear. I have a wish to view the Serpentine in your fair company.”
He saw her breasts swell—with indignation and a hot-bloodedness he found unexpectedly alluring. Glancing around the circle again, he nodded generally, confident none would be game to cross swords with him.
Then he saw Mme Thierry. She’d been part of the group but until then blocked from his sight. To his surprise, she smiled at him, then turned to Helena. “Indeed, ma petite, we have stood here in the breeze long enough. I’m sure monsieur le duc will escort you back to our carriage. I’ll wait for you there.”
Sebastian could not have said who was the more surprised—he or Helena. He glanced at her, but she’d masked her reaction to the unexpected defection. However, her lovely lips set in a rather grim line as, after making her adieus to her cavaliers, she let him turn her down the walk to the water.
“Smile, mignonne, or those interested will believe we have had a falling-out.”
“We have. I am not pleased with you.”
“Alas, alack. What can I do to make you smile at me once more?”