The Promise in a Kiss (Cynster 0.50)

Lady Almira Cynster froze on the threshold of the drawing room and stared—stunned—at Sebastian. Then she colored. “Sebastian! Well! I thought you were in the country or . . .” Her words trailed off as she took in their party. She dismissed Phillipe and Ariele with a cursory glance; her gaze darkened as it fixed on Helena. Her face set in uncompromising lines.

“What are you doing here, Almira?”

Sebastian’s soft, almost menacing tones brought Almira’s gaze back to his face. Helena quelled a shiver; it had been weeks since she’d last heard such tones from him.

“I . . . ah, well . . .” Almira gestured vaguely, coloring even more.

After a brief, uncomfortable pause, Sebastian murmured, “Doyle, please show mademoiselle and M. de Sèvres to the library . . . ah, no, I forget—perhaps the parlor will be more to their taste—and serve them suitable refreshments. Mademoiselle la comtesse and I will join them shortly. We will be leaving within the hour for Somersham.”

“Indeed, Your Grace.” Doyle bowed, then ushered Ariele and Phillipe down the long hall and away.

“Now, Almira, perhaps we might continue in my drawing room, rather than the hall.”

She turned with a humph and flounced ungracefully back to plump down in the middle of a silk-covered sofa. Accepting that if she was to become Sebastian’s wife she would have to deal with the woman, Helena suppressed the urge to slink cravenly away with Ariele and Phillipe; instead she let Sebastian lead her into the drawing room.

A footman materialized and shut the door behind them. If it had been any other lady, Helena would have felt dismayed to be seen in her brown gown, washed and with the hole at the shoulder repaired by Ariele, but still crumpled and stained. Almira, however . . . she simply couldn’t consider the woman as one whose opinion should worry her.

As they neared the sofa, she saw that the table before it supported teapot, cups and saucers, and two plates with biscuits and cakes. There were four cups set out, all with tea in them, three untouched.

Sebastian regarded the display and faintly raised one brow. “I repeat—what are you doing here, Almira?”

His tone was softer, less frightening.

Almira humphed. “I’m practicing, aren’t I? I’ll have to do it someday—indeed, we should be living here now. Scandalous to have such a great house with no lady to run it.”

“I agree—at least with your last statement. So you’ll be pleased to hear that Mlle d’Lisle has consented to become my wife. My duchess.”

Reaching for her teacup, Almira stilled, then looked up. “Don’t be daft!” Her face filled with dismissive contempt. “They all said you were going to marry her, but you’ve just spent the better part of a week gadding about alone with her.” She snorted and picked up her cup. “You won’t catch me with that. You can’t marry her—not now. Think of the scandal.”

The thought of the scandal clearly heartened Almira; she smiled gloatingly as she lowered her cup.

Sebastian regarded her, then sighed. “Almira, I don’t know why you fail to perceive it, but as I’ve told you before, there’s a vast difference between the unwritten laws that govern the conduct of one such as I, or Mlle d’Lisle, and those that apply to the bourgeoisie.” His tone left little doubt as to the difference. “Hence, you will most definitely be required to attend our wedding, and that in the not overly distant future.”

The delicate cup cradled between her hands, Almira stared blankly at him. Then she suddenly set down the cup. “Charles! You must see him.”

She surged to her feet. Sebastian stayed her with an upraised hand. “You will bring him to Somersham as usual—I’ll see him there.”

Almira pouted. “There’ll be others there. He’s your heir—you must spend more time with him. Besides, he’s here.”

“Here?” The single word was loaded with foreboding. “Where? No—silly question. I take it he’s in the library?”

“Well, what of it? It’ll be his one day . . .”

Sebastian whirled and strode for the door.

“Well, it will!” Almira hurried after him.

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nbsp; Towed along, her hand locked in Sebastian’s, Helena heard him mutter as he hauled open the drawing room door, “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

The library was two doors along; a footman saw them coming and flung the door wide. The scene they came upon would have been farcical if it hadn’t been so strange. Three footmen stood in a wide ring around a toddler, who was sitting on a rug some way before the hearth. The little boy simply sat, face glum, and stared woodenly at the dark shelves lining the long room.

The child was instantly recognizable as Almira’s—the same round face and receding chin, the same ruddy complexion.

She rushed past them and swept the boy up in her arms. To Helena’s surprise, the child showed no reaction, but simply turned his wooden gaze on Sebastian and her.

“See!” Almira all but thrust the boy at Sebastian. “You don’t have to marry her—there’s no need! You already have an heir—”