The Promise in a Kiss (Cynster 0.50)

He pointed at a pair of narrow doors opening to a small paved area. Helena leaned back to whisper, “A small parlor.”

Sebastian slid his fingers to her hand and gripped, then signaled with his head to Phillipe. Drawing Helena with him, he cut through the intervening garden and slid into the shadows close by the house.

She’d followed without protest, but now she asked, “Why this?”

Sebastian studied the narrow doors. “Watch.” He bent his knees, set his shoulder to the place where the two halves came together at the lock, braced his upper arm along the join. Then he gave a sharp shove.

With a click, the lock popped. The doors swung ajar.

Helena stared. “How . . . simple.”

Sebastian pushed the door wide, bowed her in, then followed. Phillipe joined them; Sebastian shut the door, then looked around. The room was small, neat, and quietly elegant. He joined Helena by the main door, put a hand on her wrist to stop her from opening it. “How far to your sister’s chamber?”

“Not as far as it would have been—the chamber she usually has is in the central wing.”

He considered, then looked at Phillipe. “You go first, but go slowly. We’ll follow. Stroll along; don’t skulk. If any servants should appear, they’ll think you’ve just returned.”

Phillipe nodded. Sebastian let Helena open the door. Phillipe led the way as directed; they flitted in his wake like ghosts.

They had to climb the main stairs; Helena breathed easier when they reached the top and entered the long gallery. The moon had at last risen. Silver light poured through the many long windows, mercilously illuminating the long room. She and Sebastian hugged the inner wall as they followed Phillipe, who at Sebastian’s wave hurried through the gallery.

They slowed again as they entered the maze of corridors beyond. Helena’s tension eased as panic left her and eagerness and anticipation took hold. In minutes she would see Ariele again, know she was safe. See that she was.

Sebastian tugged on her hand, then lowered his head to whisper, “Where are Fabien’s apartments?”

“That way.” She waved back. “At the end of the gallery, he goes the other way.”

Ahead, Phillipe stopped before a door. He looked back and waited until they joined him. “Is this it?”

Helena nodded.

Sebastian closed his hand on her arm. “You go in. We’ll wait here until you’re sure she won’t take fright.” He tightened his grip briefly, then released her. “Make sure she understands the need for silence.”

Helena nodded. She held his gaze, then closed her hand briefly over his. Turning to the door, she eased up the latch and slipped in.

Chapter Thirteen

HELENA forced herself to pause inside the door until her eyes adjusted. Then she rounded the curtained bed, knowing Ariele would be sleeping facing away from the door. Quietly parting the curtains, she looked in, saw the mound under the covers, saw the sheen of Ariele’s honey-brown hair splayed across the pillows, saw the pale sliver of one white cheek.

Smiling, tears threatening, Helena stepped closer.

“Ariele? Ariele—wake up, mon petit chou.”

Brown lashes flickered, lifted; eyes greener than Helena’s peeked out, then Ariele smiled sleepily. Her lids fell again.

Helena reached out and shook her gently.

Ariele’s eyes opened fully. She stared at Helena, surprised wonder in her face. Then, with a cry of joy, she threw herself into Helena’s arms. “It is you! Mon Dieu! I thought you were a dream.”

“Sssh.” Helena hugged her fiercely, closed her eyes for one rapturous moment, and gave thanks. Then she pushed Ariele away, held her at arm’s length. “We have to leave. Vite. Phillipe and another—the Englishman I am to marry—are waiting beyond the door. But we must hurry. You must dress—dark clothes.”

Ariele had never been slow-witted. She’d scurried from the bed even before Helena had finished speaking. She ran to her armoire, searched, pulled out a brown gown, showed it to Helena.

“Yes—that’s perfect.”

“Where are we going?” Ariele scrambled into the gown.

“To England. Fabien . . . he is mad.”