The Promise in a Kiss by Stephanie Laurens Page A

the throng. One glance at his brother’s face was enough to tell him Martin had opened his lips to one person at least.
    George’s delight was unfeigned; he beamed at Helena and didn’t wait for an introduction. “Lord George Cynster, comtesse.” He bowed extravagantly over the hand she extended. “I’m enchanted to meet you, quite enchanted.” The light in his eye declared that no lie.
    â€œAnd I am equally glad to make your acquaintance, my lord.” Amused, Helena shot Sebastian a glance. “How many brothers do you have, Your Grace?”
    â€œFor my sins, three. Arthur, Almira’s husband, you’ve yet to meet. Arthur and George are twins. Martin’s the youngest.”
    â€œNo sisters?” Helena shifted her gaze to George. He was not quite as tall as Sebastian but of similar build. He had darker hair but the same blue eyes. The same somewhat dangerous aura hung about him. In Martin that had been less pronounced; in Sebastian it was more powerful, more blatant. Helena concluded that the characteristic developed with age and experience—she judged George to be in his early thirties.
    â€œOne.”
    The answer came from Sebastian. Helena glanced up to find his gaze fixed on the crowd behind her.
    â€œAnd 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.
    â€œSebastian!” 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.”
    â€œThat, 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?”
    â€œSo-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.
    â€œAugusta, 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.”
    â€œDon’t fuss. I’m completely all right.”
    â€œYou said that last time.”
    â€œAnd 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.”
    â€œSo you travel to London to attend balls and routs.”
    â€œWell, what would you? It’s not as if there’s any socializing in Northamptonshire.”
    â€œIt’s hardly the far end of the world.”
    â€œIn terms of entertainment it might as well be. And anyway, if Huntly doesn’t mind, why should you?”
    â€œBecause 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.”
    â€œA situation easily rectified,” Sebastian put in.
    Helena and Augusta ignored