“One.”

The answer came from Sebastian. Helena glanced up to find his gaze fixed on the crowd behind her.

“And unless I miss my guess—”

He stepped sideways, reaching through the crowd to close his fingers about the elbow of a lady flitting past.

Tall, elegantly dressed, with her brown hair piled high, the lady turned, brows rising haughtily, ready to annihilate whoever possessed the temerity to lay hands on her. Then she saw who it was. Her expression changed in a blink to one of joy.

“Sebastian!” The lady clasped his hand in both of hers and stepped free of the crowd. “I hadn’t expected to find you still in town.”

“That, my dear Augusta, is patently obvious.”

Augusta wrinkled her nose at him, at his censorious tone, and let him draw her to join them. She grinned at George. “George, too—how goes it, brother dear?”

“So-so.” George grinned back. “Where’s Huntly?”

Augusta waved behind her. “Somewhere here.” Her gaze had come to rest on Helena. She glanced briefly at Sebastian.

“Augusta, Marchioness de Huntly—Helena, comtesse d’Lisle.” Sebastian waited while they exchanged curtsies, then added to Helena, “As you’ve no doubt gathered, Augusta is our sister. However”—his gaze shifted to Augusta and sharpened—“what I fail to understand, Augusta, is why you’re gadding about London given your present state.”

“Don’t fuss. I’m completely all right.”

“You said that last time.”

“And despite the panic, it turned out perfectly well in the end. Edward’s thriving. If you must know—and I suppose you’ll demand to—I was quite moped in Northamptonshire. Huntly agreed just a little socializing would do no harm.”

“So you travel to London to attend balls and routs.”

“Well, what would you? It’s not as if there’s any socializing in Northamptonshire.”

“It’s hardly the far end of the world.”

“In terms of entertainment it might as well be. And anyway, if Huntly doesn’t mind, why should you?”

“Because you wound Herbert around your finger before you were wed and have yet to set him loose.”

Far from denying it, Augusta replied, “It’s the only way to keep a husband, dear Sebastian, as I think you well know.”

He caught her gaze, held it. Augusta tilted her chin at him but shifted, then glanced away.

Helena stepped into the breach; she caught Augusta’s gaze. “You have a child?”

Augusta beamed at her. “A son—Edward. He’s at home at Huntly Hall, and I do miss him.”

“A situation easily rectified,” Sebastian put in.

Helena and Augusta ignored him.

“Edward’s just two. He’s a scamp.”

“He takes after his mother.” When Augusta pulled a face at him, Sebastian’s lips curved; he tugged a lock of her hair. “Better that than prose on like Herbert, I suppose.”

Augusta pouted. “If you’ve a mind to be disagreeable over dearest Herbert—”

“I was merely stating a fact, my dear. You must admit that Huntly is singularly lacking in, er . . . devilment, while our family is, if anything, overendowed.”

Augusta laughed. “You can talk.”

“Indeed. Who better?”

Helena listened as, between them, Sebastian and George extracted a list of Augusta’s likely engagements and the date she planned to return to Northamptonshire.

“Then we’ll see you at Christmas at Somersham.” Augusta glanced at Sebastian. “Do you want me to bring Edward?”

Both her brothers looked at her as if she’d grown two heads.

“Ofcourse you’ll bring him!” George said. “We’ll want to see our nephew, won’t we?”

“Quite,” Sebastian said. “But I apprehend you’ve been talking to Almira. Pray discount anything she may have said regarding my wishes over Christmas or anything else. I’ll naturally be expecting Edward at Somersham—aside from all else, Colby’s been searching out a present for him and would be disappointed if he didn’t appear to claim it.”

Helena watched Augusta’s expression change from guarded to relieved to happy, but at the mention of Colby’s name she frowned at her brother. “Nota horse—he’s too young. I’ve already forbidden Huntly even to think about it.”

Sebastian flicked a speck of lint from his sleeve. “Herbert did mention your restriction, so I’ve instructed Colby to look for a pony—one small enough for Edward to sit on and be led. He’s old enough for that.”

Helena hid a smile as Sebastian pretended not to notice Augusta’s struggle between maternal delight and maternal disapprobation. Then he slanted her a sidelong glance. “You may thank me at Christmastime.”

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 willy-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 assuming 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.”