The Promise in a Kiss (Cynster 0.50)

And, very clearly—very obviously to his highly attuned senses—she’d been subjected to her guardian’s manipulations for too long, too consistently, too much against her unexpectedly strong will.

He could understand far better than most that enforced submission to another’s will, especially coupled with awareness of the means of ensuring such submission—an awareness of the manipulation practiced on her—would have grated on Helena’s proud and stubborn soul. Would ultimately have become unbearable. Her will was a tangible thing, not to be underestimated—as he’d discovered last night.

Spoiled by ladies who would at the most have pouted at his strategy, then allowed him to cheer them up, he’d been completely unprepared for Helena’s fury. Her revelations, however, were what had given him pause.

They were what had him here, taking refuge in brandy and silence, hoping some solution would spontaneously emerge. As things stood . . .

He could hardly pretend he was not what he was, and if she’d set her stubborn mind against all liaisons with men such as he, if she could not bear to be the wife of a man such as he . . . what, indeed, could he do?

Other than brood. The occupation was unfamiliar. He didn’t appreciate the hold she had on his mind, on his senses, on his thoughts, let alone his dreams.

Somewhere along the line, simple pursuit had transmuted to obsession, a state with which he’d had until now no serious acquaintance. His previous conquests, predatory though they might have been, had never really mattered.

Despite her eminently clearly stated position, he couldn’t turn away and let Helena go. Simply let her disappear from his life.

Accept defeat.

Allow her to go through life never knowing what it would be like to scale the heights with him.

He watched her through the crowd at Lady Devonshire’s drum and inwardly shook his head. At himself. If Helena heard his last thought, she’d have his entrails for garters, yet . . . it was, underneath all else, how he felt.

Her life would be so much less if she didn’t live it to the full—and she would never do that other than at the side of, in her terms, a powerful man. If he didn’t make some push to rescript her thinking—to introduce the notion of compromise into her disdainfully dismissive mind, the idea that compromise with him might have bonuses beyond what she’d yet experienced—then she looked set to throw her scintillating self away on some mild and unsuspecting nobleman.

r /> Her interest in Were and his ilk was now explained, the reason for her uninterest in him patently clear. She was as adept at manipulation as he was; she’d have Were, or any like him, in the palm of her small hand. She was determined no longer to be a puppet; to ensure that, she intended being the one who pulled the strings.

With him, that would never work.

With Lord Chomley, who she was currently charming, it might.

Keeping his expression impassive while gritting his teeth was not easy. Engaging in the usual social discourse while his attention remained riveted six yards away was, however, well within his abilities. Lady Carstairs had not yet realized he’d heard not one word of her story.

Helena touched Lord Chomley’s sleeve and spoke to him; his lordship flushed, bowed extravagantly, then turned toward the refreshment room.

Sebastian refocused on Lady Carstairs. “I’ve just seen my brother. I must catch him. Do excuse me.”

He bowed; her ladyship, thrilled that he’d remained listening for so long, released him with a smile.

Merging with the crowd, he circled to come up behind Helena, who was standing, waiting, by the side of the room. “Mignonne,” he murmured, taking her hand as he stepped around her, “I would like a word with you.”

She’d jumped, stiffened. Now she looked haughtily at him as he bowed, then she bobbed a curtsy and tugged. He hesitated but let her fingers go without kissing them. She straightened and looked past him, head high.

“I have no wish whatever to speak with you, Your Grace.”

Sebastian sighed. “You cannot avoid me forever, mignonne.”

“Luckily, you will repair to your estates shortly and be gone from my life.”

He couldn’t stop his voice from hardening. “While you may believe you’ve had the last word, there’s more that must be said between us, and of some of that you are as yet unaware.”

She considered, then shifted her gaze to meet his eyes. “I do not trust you, my lord.”

He inclined his head. “That I understand.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Of what nature are these things of which I am ‘as yet unaware’?”

“They’re not the sort of things it would be wise to discuss in a crowded ballroom, mignonne.”

“I see.” She nodded, her gaze going beyond him. “In that case, I do not believe we have anything to discuss, Your Grace. I will not, not for any reason, go apart with you.”