He had returned briefly to his house by the Seine after leaving the tavern earlier, going inside to his bedchamber so that he might change into dark clothing, before going out again. He had ordered his groom to wait with the carriage several streets away from the Fleur de Lis, before wrapping his dark cloak about him to move stealthily through the pungent and filthy alleyways to the doorway across and down the street from the tavern.
The tavern was in darkness apart from a single candle burning in one of the bedchambers above, which, from the slightness of the silhouette of a person he could see pacing back and forth past the curtained window, might possibly be the bedchamber of the lovely Lisette.
When even that candle was extinguished just minutes later, the tavern was left in complete darkness.
And Christian with a feeling of disappointment.
It had been too much to hope for, of course, that Lisette would change her mind and join him for a late supper. She did not know him, nor did she seem the type of young lady who would sneak out of her aunt’s home in the middle of the night with the intention of dining alone with a gentleman. Even without her eagle-eyed aunt acting as her protector.
That look of innocence, and the tears that had shone in those huge blue eyes earlier when Lisette had told him she had ‘nowhere else to go’, could all be an act, of course. Nothing more than the clever machinations of an innocent-looking whore in search of a rich protector. Christian was sure he would not be the first gentleman to fall for such an act.
Yet there had been a sincerity to Lisette Duprée. An indication, perhaps, that her innocence might be genuine.
And Christian could just be the biggest fool in Paris for giving that young woman so much as a second thought. Indeed, Helene Rousseau’s warning earlier, in regard to his staying away from her niece, might all be part of the ruse to pique and hold his interest, rather than the opposite.
There was also that disturbing moment to consider when Helene Rousseau had initially spoken to him in English. A test, perhaps, to see if he would respond in kind? Or possibly because she already knew he was not the Comte de Saint-Cloud?
If that was the case, then Christian’s presence in Paris was a complete waste of time, and he would learn nothing. Except perhaps to feel the sharp end of a blade piercing his back when he least expected it.
Even more reason for Christian to concentrate on the meeting now taking place within the tavern, and the identity of the people present.
Rather than, as he had been doing, imagining how Lisette would look as she lay in her bed...
Would she be dressed demurely in a night-rail, or did she sleep naked?
Would her breasts be tipped by rosy nipples or darker plum-coloured ones?
And would the silky thatch between her thighs be as vibrant a red as the curls—?
‘Monsieur le Comte...?’
It would be an understatement, considering the direction of his thoughts, to say that Christian was startled to hear the sound of Lisette’s soft and huskily enquiring voice beside him.
Startled and not a little annoyed with himself for being so distracted by thoughts of this beautiful young woman that he had not even noticed her leaving the tavern, let alone approaching him. Such inattentiveness could easily get a man killed.
Christian gathered his thoughts as he turned to face her, approving of the fact that she at least wore dark clothing, as he did, the hood of her cloak pulled up over her bonnet, hiding the brightness of her hair. ‘I am gratified to see you have changed your mind about joining me for supper, mademoiselle,’ he answered her flirtatiously.
‘We cannot stay here, where we might be seen at any moment, monsieur,’ she came back urgently.
‘No, of course not,’ Christian readily accepted as he took a firm hold of her arm. He might now have to abandon his interest in the identity of the people who had so recently entered the tavern so surreptitiously but he had the next best thing: Helene Rousseau’s niece. ‘My carriage is waiting for us—’
‘Oh, no, monsieur, I cannot come with you. I wished only to—’
‘Hush!’ Christian warned sharply as he pulled her into his arms and pressed her back into the shadows of the doorway, having noticed that several cloaked figures were now leaving the tavern.
‘Monsieur!’ Lisette protested indignantly.
‘Hush—’
‘Monsieur, I must protest—’
Christian could think of only one way he might prevent Lisette from alerting others to their presence here with her verbal indignation at his manhandling of her.
He took it.
Lisette’s protests died in her throat, to be replaced by surprise and then pleasure, as the Comte took masterful possession of her lips with his own.
She had never been kissed before, nor had she ever dreamed that her first kiss would be with such a man as the handsome Comte de Saint-Cloud.
That he was an expert in such things came as no surprise to her; he was at least a dozen years her senior, and there was about him an air of ease and sophistication that spoke of his knowledge of women.
Even knowing that, Lisette was immediately lost to everything but the wonder of Christian Beaumont’s mouth on hers. His arms were firm about her as he held her against the hardness of his body, and the warmth of his tongue dared a caress across her lips to part them and deepen the kiss.
Heart pounding, Lisette’s hands moved to cling to the folds of his evening cloak, as she felt herself completely overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through her body: excitement and pleasure. The latter manifested itself in the tightening of the bodice of her gown, as if her breasts were swelling, the rosy tips tingling, and there was an unfamiliar but not unpleasant warmth blossoming between her thighs.
It was singularly the most wonderful experience of her short lifetime, beyond any imagining, beyond—
The Comte brought the kiss to an abrupt end as he lifted his mouth from hers. ‘Do not speak, Lisette,’ he warned softly against her ear. ‘Whatever happens, do not speak.’
Whatever happens...?
Lisette felt too dazed still to understand what he meant by that. What did he imagine was going to happen? A kiss was a kiss, but anything more than that was unthinkable. And if the Comte thought— If he imagined for one moment—
‘Feel like sharing, mon ami?’
‘For the price I paid for her? Non.’ The Comte turned his head to answer the intruder with a dismissive laugh, at the same time as the bulk of his body managed to keep Lisette shielded from any gaze that might try to pry any further into the doorway. ‘I intend to take my money’s worth and more!’
‘Bon chance!’ another man called out laughingly as the two continued on their way.
Lisette’s face paled as she listened to the exchange between the three men, shocked by the earthiness of the conversation but also realising the Comte must have been protecting her from the attentions of the other men when he pushed her into the doorway.
At the same time she felt disappointed to realise that the Comte had kissed her for the same reason. It was a little humiliating to realise how much she had enjoyed the kiss when, to the Comte, it had only been a means of silencing her.
She pushed determinedly against the muscled chest pinning her in the doorway. ‘I believe we are alone again now, monsieur. You may release me,’ she instructed sharply as she failed to shift him by so much as an inch.
Christian had no desire to ‘release’ Lisette. Indeed, the opposite. He wanted to kiss her again, this time without the distraction of the approach of the two gentlemen he had noted leaving the tavern; Helene Rousseau’s meeting was obviously over for tonight. Which meant that more of the co-conspirators would shortly be leaving the tavern too.
‘We need to leave here, Lisette.’
‘I came only to warn you—’
‘Warn me?’ Christian questioned sharply as he stepped back slightly to look down at her. Not that he could see very much; the streets were dark, and the doorway even darker.
‘My—Helene did not take kindly to your attentions to me earlier this evening, monsieur—’
‘Christian. Call me Christian,’ he instructed shortly, having duly noted Lisette’s slight hesitation after ‘my’.
‘It is not permissible—’
‘I just kissed you, Lisette,’ he drawled. ‘I believe that now makes many things between the two of us “permissible”.’
She drew in a soft gasp. ‘It is ungentlemanly of you to talk of such things.’
Christian wanted to do more than talk about them; the throb of his arousal told him he wanted to kiss Lisette again, and keep on kissing every inch of her as he made full and pleasurable love to her. Which, given their circumstances, was beyond reckless of him.
Not only were they in a precarious position out here where they might be seen together, but also he still did not know whether Lisette was all that she appeared to be, or if she was working in cahoots with her aunt. Until he did know he would be wise to treat her, and anything she said to him, with suspicion.
Which would be easier for him to do if only she did not have those deep blue eyes he wanted to drown in, and those soft and delectable lips he wished to kiss and keep on kissing...
‘We cannot stay here, Lisette.’ Christian took a firm hold of her arm to pull her along at his side as he stepped out of the doorway and began to walk quickly away from the tavern. ‘My carriage is but a short distance away. We will talk again once we are inside and well away from prying eyes and ears.’
‘Please—I must return to the tavern before I am missed,’ Lisette protested as she almost had to run to keep up with the Comte’s much longer strides or risk falling over onto the dirty cobbles beneath her feet.
The Comte either did not hear her or chose to ignore her as he continued to stride purposefully, and knowledgeably, down several alleyways Lisette had not even known were there, despite having lived in Paris for some weeks now.
A carriage waited in the shadows of one of the streets, and it was towards this vehicle that the Comte now guided her as a groom jumped quickly down to hold the door open for them both to get inside.
Lisette held back from entering the carriage. ‘It is impossible for me to go with you, monsieur— Umph!’ The rest of Lisette’s protest was cut off as the Comte de Saint-Cloud unceremoniously picked her up in his arms and deposited her inside the carriage before tersely instructing the groom to move on as he joined her and the door was firmly closed behind him.
A lantern lit the inside of the heavily curtained carriage—which was perhaps the reason Lisette had not been able to see the light before now?—allowing her to appreciate the plushness of the interior.
And the man now seated opposite her...
His hair shone like burnished gold in the lamplight, those lavender eyes narrowed in a face that was far too handsome for any woman’s comfort. Especially so, when he had kissed that woman a short time ago and she was now alone with him in his carriage.
‘You take liberties, monsieur.’ Lisette glared across at the Comte as she now straightened her bonnet from where it had been knocked askew when he had picked her up and thrust her inside the carriage.
Some of the Comte’s tension seemed to ease and he relaxed back against the upholstery as the carriage began to move forward. ‘You are the one who came looking for me, Lisette, remember.’
She did remember. And she now regretted it. For surely this man had demonstrated in the past few minutes that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Even against such men as Helene might send to accost him? Yes, Lisette believed that might be the case.
That air of easy charm he had affected in the tavern earlier this evening had now been replaced by a narrow-eyed watchfulness. Which Lisette sensed could be as dangerous as Helene’s implied threats against him had been such a short time ago. Leading Lisette to believe she had wasted her time, and put herself in danger of incurring Helene’s wrath, by leaving the tavern to seek out and warn such a self-assured gentleman.
Her chin rose. ‘You were the one waiting outside the tavern in the hope I might join you.’
Christian could hardly argue with the logic of that comment. Unless he also wished to confess to Lisette that she had not been his only reason for skulking about in that doorway tonight.
As he still had no idea yet whether she was the innocent she seemed or an accomplished actress, he would be wiser to allow her to continue with her assumption that his intentions were dishonourable.
Especially as he was unsure if that might not be the case...
Her kiss had seemed to lack experience, but that could have been part of an act. Innocence was not a trait that usually appealed to him in a woman, but it had succeeded in arousing him in Lisette’s case.
He was still aroused.
He shifted slightly forward on his seat so that his arousal was not noticeable. ‘Are you sorry that I did?’ he prompted softly as he took both her gloved hands in his much larger ones and continued to act the roué Comte de Saint-Cloud.
She blinked long lashes over those huge blue eyes. ‘I—’ she moistened plump lips ‘—I came only to warn you, mon—Christian,’ she corrected huskily as he gave her a reproving smile.
Christian forced himself not to tense at her comment. ‘To warn me of what, mon ange?’
It had been so long since anyone had spoken to Lisette with such gentleness, such kindness, that she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.
Helene had provided her with all the necessary comforts—a home, a bed, clothes to wear—but there was no softness in the woman who claimed to have given birth to her. Helene possessed none of the Duprée warmth and easy affection. Indeed, Lisette found it difficult to believe that the older woman could ever have felt passionately enough about a man to have made a child with him.
Until this moment, when the Comte spoke to her so gently, she had been battling so valiantly to adapt to her new life that she had not realised how much she had missed the warmth of another human being.
Even one as dangerously attractive as the Comte de Saint-Cloud.
And he was dangerous. He had flirted with her earlier. Invited her to supper at his home—and goodness knew what else he intended. And he had kissed her a short time ago. A kiss such as Lisette had never imagined receiving from any man. A kiss that had warmed her from her head to her toes, and caused sensations within her body she had never felt before, nor could explain.
She straightened determinedly. ‘I came to warn you that Helene is most displeased by the attentions you showed me tonight. So displeased that I believe she might mean to ask some of her...friends to cause you actual physical harm.’
There, she had now done what she intended to do, and given this man fair warning. It was now up to the Comte whether or not he acted upon that warning.
‘If you would stop the carriage now?’ Lisette requested. ‘I believe I might be able to walk back to the tavern from here.’ Although she could not say she relished the idea; Helene had warned her that pickpockets—and worse—lurked upon these streets after dark, in search of the unwary and the drink-sodden, and they did not return to their lairs until daybreak. The thought of being accosted by such people as she walked back to the tavern was enough to cause her to tremble.
Christian suspected that there was more about him that ‘displeased’ Helene Rousseau than his overt flirtation with her young niece.
As for his allowing Lisette to depart his carriage now... ‘We will return to my home first, where we can sit and talk in warmth and comfort—’
‘Oh, but—’
‘If you still wish to return home afterwards—’ he talked over what he knew was going to be Liset
te’s protest ‘—I will bring you back in my carriage.’
‘There is no “if” about it, monsieur,’ she assured him firmly. ‘Nor do I wish to go to your home; an unmarried lady does not enter the house of an unmarried gentleman without causing severe damage to her reputation.’
The fact that Lisette currently lived in a lowly tavern with a woman such as Helene Rousseau was surely already damage enough to her reputation?
As if aware of his thoughts, a blush now appeared in Lisette’s cheeks. ‘I did not always live in a tavern, monsieur,’ she informed him stiffly. ‘Until just two months ago I lived on a farm in the country with my...with relatives.’
Very curious...
Although it would explain why there had never been any mention of Lisette in the reports made by other agents for the Crown, in connection to Helene or André Rousseau.
‘I, for one, am grateful that your aunt brought you to live with her in Paris,’ he drawled.
‘My aunt?’ Lisette repeated sharply.
‘Mademoiselle Rousseau,’ Christian supplied slowly even as he looked at Lisette searchingly; she seemed surprised—shocked?—by his knowledge of her relationship to the older woman. ‘She explained your connection to me earlier this evening,’ he added gently.
Lisette moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Yes, of course...my aunt,’ she rallied slightly, even tried to smile a little.
Christian was not fooled for a moment by Lisette’s attempt to cover her confusion.
He just had no idea as to the reason for that confusion...
Chapter Three
Lisette was so taken aback by the Comte de Saint-Cloud’s comment regarding her relationship to Helene that she could think of nothing more to add to the conversation.
Of course she accepted that it would have been awkward for Helene to suddenly produce a fully grown daughter.
But surely no more awkward than it was for that fully grown daughter to suddenly discover that the couple she had thought were her parents were not even related to her, and that instead the cold and haughty Helene Rousseau was actually her mother?
Christian Seaton: Duke of Danger Page 3