The Promise in a Kiss (Cynster 0.50)

She lifted her head. Met his gaze. Saw, clearly, because he allowed her to see, the vulnerability behind the words. Raising a hand, wonderingly, she touched his lean cheek. “I won’t.”

Stretching up, she touched her lips to his—invited the kiss, gave it back.

For one instant that sweet power welled between them, then he lifted his head. They parted; he handed her to the bed, and she wriggled up to sit. He went past the bed to the porthole and looked out, toweling his hair dry.

She didn’t repeat her question, just waited.

“We can’t put in, not with the seas running like this. Not against the wind.”

She’d guessed as much. Her heart sank, just a little, but she was determined. “Can we not run with the wind and put in somewhere else?”

“Not easily. The wind will more likely blow us onto the rocks.” He glanced at her. “Besides”—he nodded to the porthole—“that’s Saint-Malo. It’s the closest, most convenient port to Le Roc. Once we land, it’ll take a day, perhaps a little more, to reach Montsurs.” He glanced at her. “Le Roc is close to there, I understand?”

“Half an hour, no more.”

“So . . . these storms never last long. It’s nearly midday—”

“Midday?” She stared at him. “I thought it was just dawn.”

He shook his head. “We were still north of the islands at dawn and sailing free. This blew up only after we’d entered the gulf.” He dropped the towel on the bed, then came to sit beside her. “So we have to weigh our chances. To get free of this wind, we’d have to either run north and pray the wind dies farther up the coast—which it may not—or go west and potentially have to round Brittany entirely to lay in to Saint-Nazaire. Either option leaves us farther from Le Roc than Saint-Malo.”

She considered, drew in a breath, felt the tightness in her chest. “So you’re saying it would be best to stay and wait for the storm to pass.”

He nodded. After a moment, he added, “I know you’re worried, but we have to weigh each hour carefully.”

“Because of Louis?”

He nodded again, this time more curtly. “Once he realizes we’ve gone and he leaves Somersham, his route will be clear. He’ll go to Dover and cross to Calais. It’s unlikely this storm will affect him.”

She slid her hand into his. “But then he’ll have to drive down to Le Roc—that will slow him.”

“Yes, and that’s why I think we should sit tight through today. Louis could have left Somersham only this morning—a few hours ago at best. He won’t have succeeded in leaving before that, not with so many set on delaying him.”

She thought, considered, then sighed. Nodded. “So we have time.” She glanced at Sebastian. “You are right—we should wait.”

He caught her gaze, searched her eyes, then raised a hand to frame her face. Bent his head to brush her lips with his. “Trust me, mignonne. Ariele will be safe.”

She did trust him—completely. And, deep in her heart, she felt that Ariele would indeed be safe. With him and her acting together, determined on that outcome, she couldn’t imagine that the rescue wouldn’t come to pass.

Yet while they waited and the hours rolled by, another worry surfaced. Here Sebastian was, an Englishman preparing to slip into the heart of France and steal a young French noblewoman away from beneath her legal guardian’s nose—all for her. What if he were caught?

Would his rank protect him?

Could anything protect him from Fabien, were he to fall into his hands?

The discussion on what guise they would adopt to travel through the countryside to Le Roc did nothing to quiet such nascent fears.

Phillipe had joined them for lunch at the table in the stateroom. The cabin boy served them; at a signal from Sebastian, he left and closed the door.

“I think it would be best if, once we leave the yacht, we have some overt reason for our journey. I suggest that you”—with his head, Sebastian indicated Phillipe—“should be the youthful scion of a noble house.”

Phillipe was listening intently. “Which house?”

“I would suggest the de Villandrys. If any should ask, you are Hubert de Villandry. Your parents’ estate lies in—”

“The Garonne.” Phillipe grinned. “I have visited there.”

“Bon. Then you can be convincing should the need arise.” Glancing at Helena, Sebastian waved languidly. “Not that I expect any difficulties. I’m merely making contingency plans.”