The Promise in a Kiss Read Online Free Page A

Winning free of Fabien, free of all powerful men, was an attainable goal.
    â€œWell met, my dear comtesse.”
    Gaston Thierry appeared beside her. In deference to her rank he bowed low, smiling genially as he straightened. “If you are free, I have received a number of requests for introductions.”
    The twinkle in his eye made Helena smile. The chevalier was a spendthrift, but an engaging one. She readily gave him her hand. “If madame your wife will excuse me . . .”
    With gracious nods to Marjorie and the others of their group, she let Gaston lead her away.
    As she’d suspected, the requests had come from a number of gentlemen, but if she had to spend time in Lady Morpleth’s rooms, then she might as well be entertained. They all did their best to accommodate her, putting themselves out to engage her, relating the latest on-dits , describing the most recent Christmas extravaganza planned by some inventive hostess.
    Inquiring as to her plans.
    On that subject she remained vague, which only increased their interest, as she well knew.
    â€œAh, Thierry—do introduce me.”
    The languid drawl came from behind her. Helena didn’t recognize his voice, yet she knew who it was. She had to fight not to whirl and face him. Slowly, smoothly, she turned, polite distance infusing her expression.
    Sebastian looked down into the madonnalike countenance he had not forgotten despite the passage of seven long years. Her expression was as aloof, as self-contained as he remembered, a blatant challenge for such as he, although he doubted she knew it. Her eyes . . . he waited until her lids lifted and her gaze rose to his face.
    Green. Palest green. Peridot eyes utterly startling in their crystal clarity. Eyes that tempted, that would allow a man to see into her soul.
    If she permitted it.
    He’d waited seven years to see those eyes. Not the slightest trace of recognition showed in them, or in her expression. He let his lips curve appreciatively; he’d seen her watching him, knew she’d recognized him. Just as surely as he’d recognized her.
    It was her hair that had caught his attention. Black as night, a froth of thick locks framing her face, brushing her shoulders. His gaze had roved, taking in her figure, provocatively displayed in a sea green silk gown with brocade overskirt and petticoat. His mind had been assessing, considering . . . Then he’d seen her face.
    The silence had grown strained. He glanced at Thierry and raised a brow fractionally, well aware of the reason for the man’s reticence. The chevalier shifted his weight like a cat on hot coals.
    Then the lady threw Thierry a glance and raised a commanding, rather more pointed brow of her own.
    â€œAhem.” Thierry waved. “Monsieur le duc de St. Ives. Mademoiselle la comtesse d’Lisle.”
    He held out his hand; she laid her fingers on his and sank into a deep curtsy.
    â€œMonsieur le duc.”
    â€œComtesse.” He bowed, then raised her. Quelled an urge to close his hand about her slender fingers. “You have lately come from Paris?”
    â€œA sennight since.” She glanced around, as assured as he remembered her. “It is my first visit to these shores.” Her glance touched his face. “To London.”
    Helena assumed he’d recognized her, but there was nothing to confirm it in his face. His angular, chiseled features resembled a stony mask, eradicating all telltale expression; his eyes were the blue of a summer sky, impossibly innocent, yet framed by lashes so long and lush they dispelled any thought of innocence. His lips held a similar contradiction, long and thin, embodying more than a hint of ruthless will, yet, relaxed as they presently were, they suggested a subtle sense of humor, a dryly appreciative wit.
    He was not young. Of those currently about her, he was unquestionably the most senior, definitely the most mature. Yet he exuded a vibrant,