Part 51 (1/2)

His lips twisted briefly. He returned the pressure of her fingers. ”You play hard,mignonne .” Then he sighed, ”Very well. You will come, too. I'll have to think how to ensure that Louis is delayed.”

Sebastian added that item to the list in his head. When he'd thought of Helena's witnessing his defeat of Fabien, he had been thinking figuratively. His instincts argued she should be left behind in safety, but . . . perhaps, in the long run, it would be better if she accompanied them. This way she would share in Fabien's defeat; looking to the future, for one of her temperament that might be important.

The clocks chimed the half hour. He stirred, rose. ”There is much to do and not much time to do it.” Crossing the room, he tugged at the bellpull. He glanced at Phillipe. ”I will have you shown to a bedchamber-ask for whatever you need.” He looked across at Helena. ”You will both oblige me by remaining in your chambers until I send for you. Dress for traveling-we'll leave at nine o'clock.” His gaze rested on Helena. ”You will be able to pack only a small bag, nothing more.”

She nodded.

A tap sounded on the door. Sebastian crossed to it, opened it just a little way, blocking the doorway with his body. He instructed the sleepy footman to send Webster up, then shut the door.

He turned to Phillipe. ”My butler, Webster, is entirely trustworthy. He'll put you in a bedchamber and tend to you himself. The fewer who know of your presence here, the less likely Louis and his man are to learn of it.”

Phillipe nodded.

Sebastian paced before the dying fire until Webster arrived, then handed Phillipe into his care. Webster accepted the charge placed on him with his customary imperturbability; he led Phillipe away.

Helena watched the door close, watched Sebastian turn and pace back to the bed. Her mind was in turmoil; she couldn't focus her thoughts. Her emotions held sway-immense relief, puzzlement, uncertainty. Guilt. Excitement. Disbelief.

He slowed, absentminded as he planned; his gaze was distant when he glanced at her, then he focused. ”That declaration you extracted from your so-dear guardian,mignonne . May I see it?”

She blinked, surprised by the tack. She pointed to her trunk, sitting empty in the corner. ”It's behind the lining on the left side of the lid.”

He went to the trunk, opened it, felt in the lining. She heard the rip as he tore it free, the crackle as he extracted the parchment. Rising, he returned to the dressing table, unfolded the doc.u.ment, smoothed it out, then read it in the light of the lamp.

Watching his face in the mirror, she saw his lips quirk. Then he smiled and shook his head.

”What is it?”

He glanced at her, then waved the parchment. ”Fabien-he never ceases to amaze me. You say he simply sat down when you asked and wrote this?”

She thought back, then nodded. ”Oui.He considered for but a moment . . .” She frowned. ”Why?”

”Because,mignonne, in writing this and giving it into your hands, he was risking very little.” He studied the doc.u.ment again, then glanced at her. ”You did not tell me he'd used the words 'more extensive than your own.' ”

”So?”

”So . . . your estates are in the Camargue, a wide, flat land. Of what size are your holdings?”

She named a figure; he smiled.

”Bon. We are free, then.”

”Why?”

”Because my estates are 'more extensive than' yours.”

She frowned, shook her head. ”I still don't see.”

He set down the doc.u.ment, reached for the lamp. ”Consider this-England is a much smaller country than France.”

She watched the light dim, watched him turn to the bed. Thought furiously. ”There are not many English lords whose estates are more extensive than mine?”