The Promise in a Kiss (Cynster 0.50)

Chapter Four

THE next morning Helena paced her bedchamber; eyes narrowed, she considered the night before.

Considered the unexpected tack Sebastian had taken.

Remembered her dreams.

Wondered again what it would have felt like to spread her hands over his chest, beneath the silk and satin of his coat, to feel the width and weight of his muscles . . .

“Non, non, non, et non!”

Furious, she whirled, kicking her skirts before her. “That is why he did it!”

To make her dream, yearn, desire . . . want. To make her come to him, surrender like some witless lovelorn maid.

A sneaky, underhanded conquest.

Safe and alone in her bedchamber, she could admit it might have worked.

“But not now.” Not now that she’d realized his true goal. She was twenty-three—no starry-eyed innocent when it came to the games men played. A seduction could be achieved by more than one route; monsieur le duc assuredly knew every road.

“Every twist in every road. Hah!”

He would not catch her.

There was only just over a week to go before the ton left London; she could assuredly hold him at bay until then.

“Mignonne, it is customary to pay some attention to the gentleman who partners you in the dance.”

Helena shifted her gaze to Sebastian and widened her eyes. “I was merely taking note of the ladies’ jewels.”

“Why?”

“Why?” She stepped around him, circled, then returned to face him, her gaze straying once more to the ladies nearby. “Because the quality here is quite remarkable.”

“Given your heritage, you must possess a king’s ransom in jewelry.”

“Oui, but I left most of it in the vault at Cameralle.” She gestured at the simple sapphire necklace she was wearing. “I did not bring the heavier pieces—I did not realize the need.”

“Your beauty, mignonne, outshines any jewels.”

She smiled, but not at him. “You have a very quick tongue, Your Grace.”

Helena was at the breakfast table the next morning when a package was delivered.

“It’s for you.” Louis dropped it beside her plate as he joined her.

Marjorie peered up the table. “Who is it from?”

Helena turned the package in her hands. “It doesn’t say.”

“Open it.” Marjorie set down her cup. “There will be a card inside.”

Helena tore open the wrappings and reached in. Her fingers touched the plush cover of a jeweler’s case—a frisson of presentiment raced over her skin. She stared at the open package, almost afraid to draw out the contents. Then she steeled herself and pulled.

A green leather case. She set aside the paper, opened the case. Inside, on a bed of deep green velvet, nestled a very long double strand of the purest pearls. The st

rands were interrupted at three points by single stones, each a perfect rectangle, cut very simply to showcase their color. At first she guessed peridot, but as she lifted the necklace and draped it between her hands, the stones flashed and the light caught them; their depth of color was revealed. Emeralds. Three large pure emeralds more vividly green than her eyes.