Augusta threw up her hands. "You're impossible." Leaning on his arm, she stretched up to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Utterly."

Sebastian patted her shoulder. "No, I'm merely your very much older brother. Take care," he said as she pulled away and drew back, nodding to Helena and George, "and do bear in mind that, should I hear you've been overdoing things, I'm quite capable of packing you off w.i.l.l.y-nilly to Huntly Hall." Augusta met his gaze, and he added, "I'm not Herbert, my dear."

Augusta wrinkled her nose at him, but all she said was, "I guarantee I won't put you to such inconvenience, Your Grace."

As she turned away, she murmured sotto voce to Helena, "He's a tyrant-beware!" But she was smiling.

"All very well," George grumbled watching Augusta disappear into the crowd, "but I'll keep an eye on her just in case."

"No need," Sebastian said. "Herbert might feel unable to rein Augusta in, but he's well aware I suffer from no such constraint. If he wishes her to retire from the capital early and she proves difficult, I'm sure he'll let me know."

George grinned. "He might be a prosy sort, but old Herbert does have his head screwed on straight."

"Indeed. Which is why I approved of Augusta's choice." Sebastian caught Helena's gaze. "You've been very patient, my dear. Shall we dance?"

She'd been perfectly happy listening, learning, drinking in their interaction and all it told her of him, but she smiled and gave him her hand, exchanged nods with George, then let Sebastian lead her into the nearest set.

As usual, dancing with him was a distraction-a distraction so complete she lost touch with the world and there existed only the two of them, circling, bowing, gliding through the figures, hands linked, gazes locked. At the end of the dance when he raised her, her heart was beating just a little faster, her breathing just a little shallower.

Her awareness as she met his gaze was more acute.

Acute enough to sense the thoughts behind the innocent blue of his eyes, behind the heavy-lidded gaze that dropped from her eyes to her lips.

Her lips throbbed; she looked at his, long, lean . . . and remembered, too clearly, what they'd felt like against hers.

The tension between them drew tight, quivered, then his lips curved. He turned her from the floor, glancing about them once more.

Helena barely had time to draw breath before another lady-this one black-haired and black-eyed-swept up.

"Good evening, St. Ives."

Sebastian nodded. "Therese."

The lady was in her early thirties, striking rather than beautiful, and dressed to take advantage of her unusual looks. As Augusta had, she stretched up and kissed Sebastian's cheek. "Do introduce me."

Helena sensed rather than heard Sebastian's sigh.

"Mademoiselle la comtesse d'Lisle-Lady Osbaldestone."

Her ladyship curtsied prettily; Helena curtsied back, conscious of her ladyship's sharp black gaze.

"Therese is a cousin of sorts," Sebastian added.

"A distant connection I take shameless advantage of," Lady Osbaldestone corrected, speaking directly to Helena. "Which is why, having heard that St. Ives's latest start was to introduce a comtesse into society, I had, of course, to meet you." She slanted a glance at Sebastian; Helena couldn't interpret the look in her black eyes. "So interesting."

Looking back at Helena, Lady Osbaldestone smiled. "One never knows what Sebastian will be at next, but-"

"Therese."

The softly spoken word held enough menace to halt the flow of Lady Osbaldestone's not-quite-artless discourse. She grimaced and turned to him. "Spoilsport. But you can hardly expect me to be blind."

"More's the pity."

"Anyway"-much of her ladyship's sharpness evaporated-"I wanted to thank you for your help in that small matter of mine."

"It's been settled satisfactorily, I take it?"

"Eminently satisfactorily, thank you."

"And would I be correct in a.s.suming Osbaldestone remains in blissful ignorance?"

"Don't be daft, of course he doesn't know. He's a man. He'd never understand."

Sebastian's brows rose. "Indeed? And I am . . . ?"

"St. Ives," her ladyship promptly retorted. "You're unshockable."

A faint smile curled Sebastian's lips. Lady Osbaldestone turned to Helena. "The mind boggles at the number of ladies' secrets he keeps."

Helena's mind boggled at the fact they trusted him with such secrets at all. The notion of any lady willingly trusting Fabien was beyond ludicrous.

She chatted with Lady Osbaldestone, who had recently visited Paris. It transpired they had acquaintances in common; despite her sharp tongue, her ladyship was both interesting and entertaining. Helena enjoyed the short interlude but was conscious that Sebastian was alert, his blue eyes beneath their heavy lids fixed on her ladyship.

Lady Osbaldestone proved equally aware; she eventually turned to him. "All right, all right, I'm going. But I take leave to tell you you're becoming transparent."

She bobbed a curtsy to him, bowed to Helena, then swept away.

Helena glanced at Sebastian as he retook her hand. Did she dare ask what about him was becoming transparent? "She seems very well informed."

"Unfortunately. I don't know why I bear with her-she's the most enervatingly astute woman I know."

Helena debated whether to ask for an explanation, then realized she'd spent most of her evening thus far with him, learning more about him, becoming more fascinated-which was not necessary at all. She lifted her head, looked around. "Is Lord Were here, do you know?"

An instant's hiatus ensued; she could have sworn Sebastian tensed. But then he murmured, "I haven't seen him."

Was she imagining it, or was there steel beneath his smooth tones? "Perhaps if we stroll . . ."

He steered her along the side of the room, skirting the crowd congregating at its center about a monstrous decorative piece formed of gilded, star-shaped lanterns surrounding and supporting a gilt and porcelain setting of the Nativity. Viewing the closely gathered ladies, Helena noticed that, presumably in celebration of the season, many had taken to wearing bright red or forest green.

Among the throng she spied Louis, keeping an eye on her. Dressed as usual in black, emulating his uncle Fabien, he stood out against the multihued crowd. He was usually hovering somewhere in sight. Despite Sebastian's reputation, Louis hadn't overtly interfered in his squiring of her.

They were nearing the end of the room. She couldn't see past the outer ranks of the crowd; she knew that Sebastian could. "Can you see-"

"I can't see anyone you would wish to meet in furthering your goals."

To her surprise, he drew her on and then to the side, to where an alcove partially screened by potted palms looked out over gardens. The alcove was deserted.

The day had been fine; the night was, too, cold and frosty. Beyond the gla.s.s, the shrubs and walks were bathed in silver-white moonlight, the barest touch of snow crystallizing like diamond frosting on each leaf, on each blade of gra.s.s. Helena drank in the view; it shimmered, touched by a natural brilliance infinitely more powerful, more evocative of the season, than the effort of mere mortals at her back. The scene, so reminiscent, whisked her back to that moment seven years before-the moment they'd first met.