Free The Promise in a Kiss by Stephanie Laurens

aside. However, to her satisfaction, as they chatted and the topic shifted to Christmas and the entertainments planned, she found herself much more in tune with Were’s views. He was an amiable if unexciting soul, solid and somewhat doggedly unassuming. That, she told herself, was a welcome relief from others who were too well aware of their worth.
    Catching Marjorie’s eyes, she let an unspoken question infuse hers. Marjorie smiled meaningfully and inclined her head. She, too, approved of Lord Were.
    Sebastian entered Lady Hunterston’s ballroom to be met by the sight of Helena smiling delightedly up at Were. He noted it, paused to sweep an elegant bow to her ladyship, then, for once ignoring the smiles directed his way, made straight for the group outside the card room.
    He walked through the crowd, his attention riveted on Helena; inwardly, he canvassed his options. He could tell her he wished to marry her, deliberately dazzle her and draw her to his side, but . . .
    That “but” held considerable weight. Any hint to the ton that he’d changed his mind and decided to make her his duchess would cause a sensation and focus all eyes, every last one, on them. And the thoughts going through the minds behind the eyes, and the consequent whispers, would not all be felicitious. Some, indeed, would choose to be blind and speculate that his intention wasn’t honorable at all. Such rumors would not be to his liking—nor hers, and even less her guardian’s.
    He’d received a report from his Parisian agent; her maternal uncle, Geoffre Daurent, had become her guardian on her father’s death. Thierry presumably stood in Daurent’s shoes, but calling formally in Green Street was impossible. Impossible to keep such a meeting secret, not in the heart of the ton.
    A discreet invitation to visit his principal estate, Somersham Place, when the ton dispersed from the capital in just under two weeks was his preferred way forward. No one beyond the Thierrys and Louis de Sèvres would need to know; he himself would tell only his aunt Clara, who acted as his hostess at his ancestral home. In privacy he could speak—and persuade if need be.
    That last grated. Helena enjoyed his company but did not, so her peridot eyes declared, consider him a potential husband.
    Yet.
    The fault might be his, with his antipathy to marriage so publicly declared; that didn’t prevent him from viewing her dismissal as a challenge.
    â€œComtesse.” He halted by her side. She’d seen him approach but had feigned ignorance. Now she turned and, with a cool smile, held out her hand. He took it, bowed over it. Before she could retrieve her fingers, he locked his about them. “Madame.” He acknowledged Mme Thierry’s curtsy with a nod, then inclined his head to Were. “If you’ll excuse us, there’s a matter of some import I wish to convey to mademoiselle la comtesse.”
    Skepticism flared in Mme Thierry’s eyes, but none dared gainsay him—not even Helena. Her expression studiously serene, she allowed him to lead her away, down the long room.
    â€œAnd what is it you wish to tell me?”
    Her voice held a haughty chill. She glided beside him, her gaze fixed ahead, her expression betraying not the slightest perturbation.
    â€œThat Were is not for you.”
    â€œIndeed? And why is that?”
    He could not lie about a friend. “Suffice to say I believe your guardian would not approve.”
    â€œHow odd. From all I have learned, the estates Lord Were will shortly inherit are extensive and the income sound.”
    Not as extensive nor as sound as his own.
    â€œHis lordship is all things amiable,” she continued. “I foresee no problem at all.”
    Sebastian bit back a retort to the effect that she didn’t foresee the half of it. Her dismissal of his caveat had been delivered with a regal air—an air few would attempt with him.
    The fact