"Promise first." With her hand on his shoulder.
He reached up; the long, cold fingers stroked the shapely, warm ones. "One should never leap into the dark with a promise," he answered. "Especially to a woman."
"Not even when that woman is one's own daughter?" she asked, sliding to the arm of the chair.
He regarded the bright face now thoughtful; the lips, usually laughing, set sensitively. "Is it another trip to the court, or do you wish to turn this stern old Mount again into a palace of pleasure? To invite once more the Paris lords and ladies—the King, himself, perhaps? It would not be the first time a monarch has been entertained at the Mount—or a Marquis, either, eh? Shall we ask the Marquis?"
She made an impatient movement. "I want you to promise to break up the terrible iron cage, and—"
"Tut!" Jocosely he pinched the fair cheek. "A girl's thoughts should be of the court and the cavaliers."
She turned away her head. "You treat me like a child," she said with a flash in her eyes.
"No, no! Like a woman," he laughed. "But the Marquis—perhaps he could not come here; perhaps he is too much concerned with the gaieties of Paris!" Her figure straightened; she was about to walk away, when—
"You ride this afternoon?" he asked.
"I had not thought of it."