The letter in Sebastian’s hand was inscribed with a fine girlish script. He laid it down, lit the lamp, turned the wick high, then picked up the second letter.
He recognized Fabien’s heavy hand even though it had been years since he’d last
seen it—since the last offer for the ceremonial dagger. From memory, that had been the tenth such offer, each grudgingly increased over the years. Each had made him smile. He’d taken great delight in exceedingly politely refusing them all.
So Fabien had devised another scheme to make him pay for his temerity. He supposed he should have expected it.
He hadn’t expected the guise, yet perhaps he should have anticipated that, too.
Fabien had a nice feel for irony, as did he.
He set down Fabien’s letter and picked up the other. “You received these letters after you arrived here.” It wasn’t a question. “From whom?”
Helena hesitated, then replied, “Louis.”
The confusion in her tone made him smile, even though he knew she couldn’t see. She still didn’t believe, still did not understand.
No matter—eventually she would.
He read through the letter from her sister—read every word. It was important he glean every bit of information; anything could be important in what was to come.
Finishing the first letter, he opened the second. The threat from Fabien. Even knowing what it would contain, even having guessed from the note Ariele had added at Fabien’s request what the nature of the threat would be, he still saw red. His hands shook. He had to look away—stare into the lamp flame until he had his rage under control again. Fabien wasn’t here for him to take apart with his bare hands. That could come later.
When he’d regained control, regained the ability to deal with his reaction to what Helena had been put through—all for a ridiculous dagger!—he finished the letter, then laid it down.
Paused for an instant to get all the facts straight in his mind. To see the whys behind her reactions, to draw comfort, reassurance, from her internal strife—from the fact that she’d dragged her heels, put off the moment of betrayal, clung to him for as long as she could. Even though it had been her sister, the one person she held most dear in her life, whose well-being had been set so deliberately on the other half of the scale.
Helena had guarded Ariele for many years; her reaction to any threat to her sister was instinctive, deeply ingrained. Fabien, as always, had chosen well.
Unfortunately for him, a higher power had been dealt into the hand.
Quickly, with the facility that had been his from birth, honed to excellence by the world in which he’d played for so many years, he assembled the basics of a plan. Noted the important facts, the essential elements.
Absentmindedly refolding the letters, he put them back by Helena’s jewel case, then turned and walked to the bed. Picked up his robe from the floor beside it and shrugged into it.
Met Helena’s gaze.
After a moment she asked, “Will you give me the dagger?”
He hesitated, wondered how much to tell her. If he declared that Ariele was safe, that Fabien’s threat was all bluff, designed and executed with an exquisite touch purely to force Helena to do his bidding, would either Helena or Phillipe believe him? He hadn’t met Fabien for over half a decade, but he doubted men changed—not in that regard. He and Fabien had always shared the same tastes, which was in large part the cause of their rivalry.
It was also the reason Fabien had sent Helena—he’d known how to bait his trap. Unfortunately, in this case, the prey was going to bite the trapper; Sebastian did not feel the least bit sad.
However, quite aside from triumphing yet again over his old adversary, there was another, much more important, issue to consider. Unless Helena believed he could defeat Fabien, she would never, ever, feel totally sure, completely and absolutely free.
She might even remain, in the future, a prey for Fabien—and that he would not, could not, allow.
“No.” He belted his robe, cinched it tight. “I will not give you the dagger. That is not the way the game will be played.” He saw Helena’s face fall, sensed the dimming of her gaze. “We will go to Le Roc and rescue Ariele.”
The sudden reversal of her expression, the hope that flooded her face, made him smile.
“Vraiment?” She leaned forward, eagerly scanning his face, his eyes.
“You are in earnest?” Phillipe had started up at his refusal; now he stared at him with a painful intensity Sebastian didn’t like to see. Didn’t like to be reminded existed. Would he have looked the same if it had been Helena at Le Roc?
“Indeed.” Turning back to Helena, he continued, “If I give you the dagger and you take it back to Fabien, what will you gain?”
She frowned at him. “Ariele.”