The Promise in a Kiss Read Online Free Page B

masculine vitality that threw the rest into the shade, made them fade into the wallpaper.
    Dominant. She was accustomed to being in the presence of such a man, used to holding her own against a powerful will. She lifted her chin and regarded him calmly. “Have you visited Paris recently, my lord?”
    Eyes and lips gave him away, but only because she was watching so closely. A gleam, a faint quirk, that was all.
    â€œNot in recent years. There was a time when I spent part of every year there, some years ago.”
    He placed subtle emphasis on the last three words; he had definitely recognized her. A frisson of awareness raced over Helena’s skin. As if he sensed it, his gaze left her eyes, lowered to brush her shoulders.
    â€œI confess I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”
    She waited until his gaze returned to her eyes. “I visit Paris infrequently. My estates lie in the South of France.”
    The ends of his lips lifted; his gaze rose to her hair, then returned to her eyes, then lowered again. “So I had surmised.”
    The comment was innocent enough—her coloring was indeed more indicative of the south rather than the north of France. His tone, however . . . it was deep enough, murmurous enough, to slide through her, striking some chord within, leaving it resonating.
    She flicked a glance at Gaston, still nervously standing by. “Your pardon, Your Grace, but I believe it is time we left. Is it not so, monsieur?”
    â€œIndeed, indeed.” Gaston bobbed like a jack-in-the-box. “If monsieur le duc will excuse us?”
    â€œOf course.” Amusement lurked in the blue eyes as they returned to Helena’s face. She ignored it and curtsied. He bowed, raised her; before she could retrieve her hand, he murmured, “I take it you will be remaining in London, comtesse—at least for the present.”
    She hesitated, then inclined her head. “For the present.”
    â€œThen we will no doubt have the opportunity to further our acquaintance.” He raised her hand; his eyes on hers, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. Releasing her smoothly, he inclined his head. “Once again, mademoiselle, au revoir.”
    T o Helena’s relief, Gaston did not pick up that “once again.” He and Marjorie were so exercised over her meeting St. Ives at all—at his requesting an introduction—that they also failed to notice her abstraction. Failed to notice her fingers trailing over her knuckles where his lips had pressed. By the time they reached Green Street and entered the tiled hall, she had her reactions under control.
    â€œAnother evening gone.” She sighed as her maid hurried forward to take her cloak. “Perhaps tomorrow we will meet with more success.”
    Marjorie glanced at her face. “It’s Lady Montgomery’s drum—it will be packed to the rafters. Everyone who is anyone will be there.”
    â€œBon.” Helena turned to the stairs. “It will be a good venue to go hunting, I think.”
    She bade Gaston good night. Marjorie joined her as she climbed the stairs.
    â€œMy dear . . . monsieur le duc—he is not a suitable parti . It would not do to encourage him to dally by your side. I am sure you understand.”
    â€œMonsieur le duc de St. Ives?” When Marjorie nodded, Helena waved dismissively. “He was merely amusing himself—and I think he enjoyed discomfiting Thierry.”
    â€œ Eh, bien —that is possible, I grant you. Such as he . . . well, you are forewarned and thus forearmed.”
    â€œIndeed.” Helena paused by her door. “Do not trouble yourself, madame. I am not such a fool as to waste my time on a man such as His Grace of St. Ives.”
    â€œF inally—they have met!” Louis dragged his cravat from about his throat, threw it to his waiting valet, then loosened his collar. “I was starting to worry that I would have