Sebastian fought to keep his expression impassive. What was going on? He was tempted to pursue the matter—why a man supposedly sent to protect Helena was offering instead to assist in what, for all he knew, was to be her seduction—but at that precise moment, he had a more imperative goal.
“I wish to speak privately with mademoiselle la comtesse, but she is proving elusive.”
“I see, I see.” De Sèvres nodded, frowned harder.
“Perhaps if I were to set a location and wait there, you might endeavor to persuade her to join me?”
Looking into the crowd, de Sèvres considered, calculated; eyes narrowed, he chewed his lower lip. Sebastian would have taken an oath he wasn’t worrying over the propriety of his actions but rather how to persuade Helena to comply. Then de Sèvres nodded. “What location?”
Not why did he wish to speak with her—for how long, how privately . . . Sebastian made a mental note to investigate de Sèvres a great deal more closely once he’d secured Helena’s hand.
“The library.” A sufficiently formal setting, which would likely make Helena less suspicious; Sebastian had little faith in de Sèvres’s powers of obfuscation. He nodded to a doorway across the ballroom. “Go through there, turn right, then follow the hall to a long gallery. The library is the main room giving off that. If you wish to assist me, bring mademoiselle there in twenty minutes.”
At this hour the library should be empty, although as the evening progressed, others, too, would seek out its amenities.
De Sèvres tugged on his waistcoat. “I will bring her.” With a nod, he moved off in the direction Helena had gone.
Sebastian watched him go and inwardly shook his head. Later . . .
He turned—and found himself facing Martin.
One look into his eyes and his brother grinned. “It is you! Now, where is she?” He glanced around. “You wouldn’t believe it, but I’ve found three Helen of Troys so far, and none of them are she.”
“If you’re referring to mademoiselle la comtesse, she’s here, but not as Helen of Troy.”
“Oh?” Martin frowned. “Then who . . . ?”
He cocked a brow at Sebastian—who considered him, then shook his head. “I know for a fact that you received a classical education. I wouldn’t want to inhibit the exercising of your intellect.” He clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Think hard, and the answer will come to you.”
With that, Sebastian strolled on, leaving Martin scowling good-naturedly after him.
The library was indeed deserted when he reached it. He surveyed the long room, then strolled to the large desk set out from one corner. Beyond it, in the corner of the room, sat a commodious armchair. Sebastian sat, stretched out his legs, folded his hands, and waited for his duchess-to-be to appear.
Helena didn’t notice Louis hovering until she turned from chatting to Therese Osbaldestone and saw him step toward her. She inclined her head, expecting to pass him by.
Instead, he put a hand on her arm. “You must come with me—quickly.”
Louis’s manner was agitated. He was glancing around.
“Why? What is it?”
“There is someone Uncle Fabien requires you to meet.”
“Fabien? What is this?” Thrown off balance, Helena allowed Louis to draw her to the side of the room. “Who does Fabien know here?”
“That is not important. I will explain all later. But I can tell you this—Fabien wishes you to meet with this gentleman and hear him out.”
“Hear him out?”
“Oui.” Louis continued tugging, surreptitiously dragging her to a doorway. “This man will have a request to make—an invitation. You are to listen, then accept! Comprends?”
“I don’t understand anything,” Helena complained. “Stop pulling.” She wrenched her arm free, stopped Louis with a glare, then straightened her gown. “I do not know whom Fabien wishes me to meet, but I will not meet anyone en déshabillé!”
Louis gritted his teeth. “Vite, vite! He will not wait forever.”
Helena heaved a resigned sigh. “Very well, where am I to meet him?” She followed Louis through the doorway into a corridor.
“In the library.”