His lips curved, his smile wry. “Mignonne,you know what I am—precisely what I am. If you insist on standing against me, then . . .” He shrugged.
The sound she made was one of muted fury. “I will not tell you, and you cannot make me.” She folded her arms and glared at him. “I doubt you carry thumbscrews in your pockets, Your Grace, so perhaps we should adjourn this discussion until you have had time to find some.”
He laughed. “No thumbscrews,mignonne. ” He caught her irate gaze. “Nothing but time.”
Her thoughts flitted through her eyes, which then widened. “That’s preposterous. You cannot mean to keep me here . . .”
She glanced at the nearest path.
“There is no possibility whatever that you will leave this clearing until you tell me what I wish to know.”
She glared at him, belligerently furious. “You are abully .”
“You know very well what I am. Equally, you know that you have no choice, in this instance, but to concede.”
Her breasts rose; her eyes sparked. “You are worse than even he!”
“He who? Your guardian?”
“Vraiment!He is a bully, too, but he would never admit it.”
“I regret that my lack of duplicity offends you,mignonne. However, unless you wish to feature in a scandal, even at this last gasp of the year, you would do well to start explaining. You have been absent from the ballroom for twenty minutes.”
Helena shot him a furious look but knew she had no choice. “Very well. I wish to narrow my list to one by tomorrow night, before the ton leave for their estates. There were four gentlemen to consider—now there are only three.”
Sebastian nodded. “Were, Athlebright, and Mortingdale.”
She stared at him. “How did you know?”
“Acquit me of ignorance,mignonne —you told me your guardian’s criteria, and I guessed yours some nights ago.”
“Eh, bien!”She put her nose in the air. “Then you know all, so we may return to the ballroom.”
“Not quite.”
She glanced at Sebastian; he caught her eye.
“I know why those three and Markham were on your list. I know why Markham no longer is. I do not know what other quality you have chosen to assess, only that you’ve chosen something and that is what brought you here.”
She looked toward the path. “I merely wished for a moment’s peace.”
Sebastian’s long fingers slid around her chin and firmed; he turned her face to his. “It’s pointless to lie to me,mignonne. Despite all you say, you are much like those you run from—powerful men. You are enough like me that I can see at least part of what is in your mind. You are coolly and calmly assessing these men as your suitors. You care nothing for those three, only that they meet your needs. I am . . . concerned, if you wish, over what the final need you’ve focused on is.”
Her temper unfurled—she felt it spread its wings; she lunged and tried to drag it back, but it shrugged aside her will and flew free.
It wasn’t simply the fact that he did indeed understand her well—as well as Fabien had always seemed so effortlessly to do; while she might, in some cool part of her mind, admit that he was right in comparing her to them, she did not like the notion at all, did not like hearing it so calmly stated as truth. But it wasn’t that that loosed her fury.
It wasn’t even that, this close to him, she was acutely aware of the weight of his will, a tangible entity pressing her to submit.
It was her reaction to his touch, to the heat of his fingers cradling her chin—the instantaneous leaping of her heart, the tightening of her breathing, the sudden focus on him, the wash of heat within. The flare of recognition, the flash of a fire as old as time.
Her suitors were as nothing to her. Fabien’s touch did not set her heart racing. But this man—his touch—did.
Madness.
“Since you are so boorish as to insist, I will tell you.” Madness to do so; impossible to resist. “I have decided to test that each gentleman’s touch does not repel me.” She lifted her chin from his fingers, her eyes locked challengingly on his. “That is, after all, a most pertinent consideration.”
His face hardened, but she could read nothing in his eyes, blue on blue, oddly shadowed. He lowered his hand.
“Were—does his touch repel you?”
His tone had deepened; a lick of caution skittered up her spine. “I have danced with him, walked with him—I feel nothing when he touches me.”
Satisfaction glimmered briefly in Sebastian’s eyes; she deliberately added, “So Lord Were, at present, is the only one who has attained my final list.”
He blinked; his focus remained on her as he thought, weighed, considered . . .
“You will not attempt to test Athlebright or Mortingdale.”
Those who knew him not might have assumed the comment to be a question; Helena recognized it as a decree, an order not to be disobeyed. Supremely assured—flown on temper—she lifted her head. “But of course I shall test them. How else am I to decide?”
With that eminently rational response, she turned to the path leading back the way she’d come. “And now, as I have told you all, you will hold by your word and allow me to return to the ballroom.”
Buoyed by even so mild a triumph, she stepped out.
“Helena!”
A growl—a clear warning. She didn’t stop. “Mme Thierry will be growing worried.”
“Damn it!” He broke from his stance by the pool and stalked after her. “You can’t be so witless—”
“I am not witless!”
“—as to imagine, after yoursuccess with Markham, that encouraging men to take you in their arms is a good idea!”
He was speaking through his teeth—a most wonderful sound. “I did not encourage Markham to be so . . . outré. He engineered the incident and grabbed me. I did not know he was no true gentleman.”
“There are many things you don’t know.” She only just caught Sebastian’s mutter, although he was following close behind her. The next instant he said, “I want you to promise me you won’t plot to get Athlebright or Mortingdale alone—that anytesting you do will be done in the middle of a damn ballroom in sight of the entire ton.”
She pretended to consider, then shook her head. The glass-paned doors lay before her. “I do not think I can promise that. I am running out of time.” She shrugged. “Who knows what I may need to—”
She had no chance to gasp, to scream. Sebastian’s hand closed about hers; he swung her to face him, backed her toward the wall beside the door. A narrow ledge ringed the room, running around the base of the wall; she stumbled as, eyes wide, fixed on his, she backed into it.
He caught her other hand, lifted both, steadying her as, instinctively, she stepped up, back—her shoulders and hips hit the wall.
She caught her breath, opened her lips—
He raised her hands on either side until they were level with her head, then pressed them to the wall—and deliberately stepped nearer.
Leaned nearer.
Caged her.
Trapped her.
She could barely breathe, didn’t know if she dared. His strength surrounded her, held her—imprinted itself on her senses. No more than an inch separated their bodies; she could feel his heat the length of hers.
Because of the step, all he needed to do was lower his head to look her in the eye. He did; his gaze locked with hers. His features could have been hewn from granite. “You will promise me you will do no more testing—not unless it’s in public.”
Her temper returned with a vengeance. She let it burn in her eyes as she tested his grip, more out of instinct than expectation. His fingers tightened, just enough for her to feel their steely strength, to know she couldn’t break free, but he wasn’t gripping tightly—she couldn’t claim he was hurting her. She didn’t dare shift her body away from the wall. If she did, she’d move into him.