The Promise in a Kiss (Cynster 0.50)

He sat on the bed, leaned back against the corner post. Watched her. “But you would still be under Fabien’s rule—both of you.” He glanced at Phillipe. “All of you. Still his puppets, dancing to his tune.”

Phillipe frowned, sat down, then nodded. “What you say is true, yet . . .” He looked up. “What is the alternative? You do not know Fabien.”

Sebastian smiled his predator’s smile. “Actually, I do—in fact, I know him rather better than either of you. I know how he thinks, I know how he’ll react.” He looked at Helena. “As you so elegantly phrased it, mignonne, I know well the games powerful men play.”

She studied him, cocked her head. Waited.

Sebastian smiled again, this time indulgently. “Gather around, mes enfants. You are about to have an education in the games of powerful men.”

He glanced at Phillipe, confirmed he had his attention. “First rule: He who seizes the initiative has the advantage. We’re about to take it. Fabien believes Helena will return on Christmas Eve with the dagger. He won’t look for her before that.” He glanced at Helena. “Regardless of any feelings you may or may not have developed for me, he’ll expect you to defy him that much and dally to the last day. As Louis is with you, Fabien will feel certain that nothing unexpected will occur without his being informed of it—in good time to take any necessary measures.”

Sebastian glanced at Phillipe, wondered if he should tell him he’d been manipulated by a master, that his presence here was simply another of Fabien’s little touches—decided against it. He looked back at Helena. “So, at present, monsieur le comte is feeling rather smug, fully expecting that his plans are proceeding exactly as predicted and all will fall out as he wishes.”

She was watching him intently. He smiled. “Instead . . . let’s see. It’s the seventeenth today. We can be in France by tomorrow morning if the wind blows fair. Le Roc is—correct me if I err—less than a day’s fast travel from the coast, say, from Saint-Malo. We will arrive on Fabien’s doorstep long before he expects us. Who knows? He might not even be in residence.”

“What then?” Helena asked.

“Then we’ll discover some means of removing Ariele from the fortress—you really cannot expect me to give you a detailed plan before I see the fortifications—and then we leave at an even faster pace than that at which we arrived.”

Helena stared at him, then asked, “Do you truly think it’s possible?”

Looking into her eyes, he knew she wasn’t referring simply to the rescue of Ariele. Reaching out, he clasped her hand, gently squeezed. “Believe me, mignonne, it is.”

He would free her, and her sister, and Phillipe as well, from Fabien’s coils. He could understand that after all these years she would find that hard to imagine.

She eased back a little but left her hand in his.

The chiming of clocks throughout the house distracted them all. Three chimes—three o’clock. Sebastian stirred. “Bien, there is much we have to do if we wish to be in France by tomorrow morning.”

They both looked to him. Quickly, concisely, he outlined the specific points they needed to know. His tone was patient—blatantly paternalistic; for once Helena did not take umbrage. Along with Phillipe, she hung on his every word, followed where his mind led, saw the victory he painted.

“With Louis thus kept in ignorance, Phillipe and I will leave and drive to Newhaven—”

Helena jerked upright. “I am coming, too!”

Sebastian met her outraged gaze. “Mignonne, it will be better if you remain here.” Safe.

“No! Ariele is my responsibility—and you do not know Le Roc as I do.”

“Phillipe, however, does . . .” Sebastian glanced at Phillipe to find the young man shaking his head.

“Non. I do not know the fortress well. Louis has spent years there, but I’ve only recently joined my uncle’s service.”

Sebastian grimaced.

“And,” Phillipe tentatively added, “there is a further problem. Ariele. She does not know what we know. I do not think, were I to appear to her in the dead of night, or any other time, that she would come with me. But Helena—she will always do exactly as Helena says.”

Helena pounced on the point. “Vraiment. He speaks the truth. Ariele is sweet but not stupid—she won’t leave the safety of Le Roc except for good reason. And she knows nothing of Fabien’s schemes.”

She considered Sebastian’s hard face, read his opposition very clearly. She leaned closer, curling her fingers, gripping his. “And it’s likely you will wish to leave without any fuss, any noise—and without too much baggage, n’est-ce pas?”

His lips twisted briefly. He returned the pressure of her fingers. “You play hard, mignonne.” Then he sighed, “Very well. You will come, too. I’ll have to think how to ensure that Louis is delayed.”

Sebastian added that item to the list in his head. When he’d thought of Helena’s witnessing his defeat of Fabien, he had been thinking figuratively. His instincts argued she should be left behind in safety, but . . . perhaps, in the long run, it would be better if she accompanied them. This way she would share in Fabien’s defeat; looking to the future, for one of her temperament that might be important.

The clocks chimed the half hour. He stirred, rose. “There is much to do and not much time to do it.” Crossing the room, he tugged at the bellpull. He glanced at Phillipe. “I will have you shown to a bedchamber—ask for whatever you need.” He looked across at Helena. “You will both oblige me by re

maining in your chambers until I send for you. Dress for traveling—we’ll leave at nine o’clock.” His gaze rested on Helena. “You will be able to pack only a small bag, nothing more.”