The Promise in a Kiss Read Free

seven years had made her an expert; power was, to her, as blatant as the color of skin.
    Fabien de Mordaunt, comte de Vichesse, the aristocrat who’d exploited various family connections to have himself declared her guardian, exuded the same aura. The last seven years had left her both weary and wary of powerful men.
    â€œ Eh, bien . How goes it, ma cousine ?”
    Helena turned; she nodded coldly. “ Bon soir, Louis.” He wasn’t her cousin, not even distantly related; she refrained from haughtily reminding him of the fact. Louis was less than nothing; he was her keeper, no more than an extension of his uncle and master, Fabien de Mordaunt.
    She could ignore Louis. Fabien she’d learned never to forget.
    Louis’s dark eyes were roving the room. “There are some likely prospects here.” He leaned his powdered head closer to murmur, “I’ve heard there’s an English duke present. Unmarried. St. Ives. You would do well to garner an introduction.”
    Helena raised her brows faintly and glanced about the salon. A duke? Louis did have his uses. He was devoted to his uncle’s schemes, and in this instance she and Fabien were pursuing the same agenda, albeit for different reasons.
    For the past seven years—almost from the time the Englishman had kissed her—Fabien had used her as a pawn in his games. Her hand was a prize much sought after by the powerful and wealthy families of France; she’d been almost betrothed more times than she could recall. But the volatility of the French state and the vicissitudes in the fortunes of the aristocratic families, so dependent on the king’s whims, had meant cementing an alliance through her marriage had never been an option sufficiently attractive to Fabien. More attractive had been the game of dangling her fortune and person as a lure to draw those with influence into his net. Once he’d gained from them all he wanted, he would cast them out and again send her into the Paris salons to catch the attention of his next conquest.
    How long the game would have gone on she dreaded to think—until she was too gray to be a lure? Luckily, at least for her, the increasing disaffection in France, the groundswell of discontent, had given Fabien pause. A natural predator, his instincts were sound—he didn’t like the scent on the wind. She’d been certain he was considering a shift in his tactics even before the attempt to kidnap her.
    That had been frightening. Even now, standing beside Louis in the middle of a fashionable salon in a different country, she had to fight to quell a shiver. She’d been walking in the orchards of Le Roc, Fabien’s fortress in the Loire, when three men had ridden up and tried to take her.
    They must have been watching, biding their time. She’d fought, struggled—to no avail. They would have kidnapped her if it hadn’t been for Fabien. He’d been riding past, had heard her screams and come galloping to her aid.
    She might rail against Fabien’s hold over her, but he protected what he regarded as his. At thirty-nine, he was still in his prime. One man had died; the other two had fled. Fabien had chased them, but they’d escaped.
    That evening she and Fabien had discussed her future. Every minute of that private interview was engraved in her memory. Fabien had informed her the men had been hirelings of the Rouchefoulds. Like Fabien, the most powerful intrigants knew that a storm was coming; each family, each powerful man, was intent on seizing all estates, titles, and alliances they could. The more they built their power, the more likely they would be to weather the storm.
    She’d become a target. Not just for the Rouchefoulds.
    â€œI have received strongly worded requests for your hand from all four of the major families. All four.” Fabien had fixed his dark eyes on her. “ As you perceive, I am not aux anges. All four constitutes an unwelcome