Part 37 (1/2)

Time had not been on her side. Before she'd had a chance to relieve her despair, give vent to her fury-to rail, to weep, to wail, then, perhaps, to calm and think-a maid had come scratching at her door, reminding her it was already late. She'd thrust the letters under her jewel box, then had to rush to get gowned, to show the maid how to dress her hair.

Rage, despair, and fear were a potent mix. She had to keep the roiling emotions bottled up, find strength, dredge deep, and put on a good show-had to manufacture smiles and small laughs, force her mind to follow the conversations rather than succ.u.mb to her feelings. Her performance was made more difficult by Sebastian, a shrewd observer. He sat relaxed in his huge chair, fingers lightly curled about the stem of his winegla.s.s, and watched her from beneath his hooded lids.

The thing she remembered most of that hour was the sapphire he wore on his right hand, how it winked in the candlelight as his fingers languidly caressed the gla.s.s. The jewel was the same color as his eyes. Equally mesmerizing.

Then dinner was over. She could remember nothing of what had been said. They all rose, and she realized that the gentlemen would remain to pa.s.s the port. Relief swamped her. The smile she gave Sebastian as he released her hand came more easily.

She retired with Clara and Marjorie to the drawing room. By the time Sebastian entered with Thierry and Louis twenty minutes later, she had herself under control. She made herself wait until the tea trolley was brought in, until they'd all sipped and chatted. She increasingly fell silent.

When Sebastian came to relieve her of her empty cup, she smiled weakly-at him, at them all.

”I fear I have a headache, too.” Louis had already retired, claiming the same ailment.

Thierry, Marjorie, and Clara all murmured in sympathy. Sebastian merely watched her. Clara offered to get her a powder.

”If I retire now and get a good night's sleep,” she replied, still smiling faintly but rea.s.suringly, ”I am sure I will be recovered by morning.”

”Well, if you're sure, dear.”

She nodded, then looked up at Sebastian. He took her hand, helped her to her feet. She curtsied to the others, murmuring her good nights, then turned to the door. Her hand still in his, Sebastian turned with her, walked with her.

He paused before they reached the door. She halted, glanced up at him. Met his blue eyes, felt them search hers. Then he raised his other hand, smoothed a fingertip across her brow.

”Sleep well,mignonne. You will not be disturbed.”

There was something in his tone, in his gaze, as if he would tell her, rea.s.sure her . . . She was too drained, too exhausted to fathom his meaning.

Then he lifted her hand, turned it, pressed his lips to the point where her pulse fluttered at her wrist. Let his lips linger until she felt the heat flow. Raising his head, he released her. ”Sweet dreams,mignonne .”

She nodded, bobbed a curtsy, then walked to the door. A footman opened it; she sailed through. The door shut softly behind her; only then was she free of Sebastian's gaze.

Wanting nothing more than a pillow on which to lay her aching head and the privacy to ease her heavy heart, to release her pent-up feelings, she climbed the stairs, crossed the gallery, and headed down the corridor to her room. Just before she reached her door, a shadow s.h.i.+fted; Louis stepped out to intercept her.

”What is it?” She made no effort to hide her anger.

”I . . . wanted to know. Will you do it?”

She stared at him blankly. ”Of course.” Then she realized. Fabien, as usual, was playing his cards close to his chest. Louis did not know with what his uncle had threatened her. If he had known, not even he would have asked such a stupid question.

”Uncle insistsyou fetch the item-not me.”

Louis's surly tone nearly made her laugh. Hysterically. He was sulking because Fabien was using her talents, not his.

But why? Her mind fixed on the point, turned it over-then she saw. Because she was a woman-a woman Sebastian wanted. He'd apparently been too strong for Fabien's persuasions, so Fabien, with his usual vindictive touch, had chosen as his thief one who would not only succeed in retrieving the dagger but who, in doing so, would also dent Sebastian's pride.

Fabien would do what he could to hurt Sebastian; that it would hurt her, too, would neither occur to him nor perturb him if it did. Indeed, he would probably view any hurt she suffered as due punishment for her temerity in forcing that letter from him.

Louis scowled at her. ”If you require any a.s.sistance, I'm to help you. But I would strongly suggest that until we leave, you keep St. Ives at arm's length-if you take my meaning.”

Helena stared at him. How did he know? She tipped up her chin and looked down her nose at him. ”I will retrieve your uncle's property as I see fit-you need not let my methods concern you.”