She ceased breathing and her heart seemed to stop beating altogether as she apprehensively approached the open door of the carriage, so very afraid of what she was going to find when she looked inside.
In all possibility, the Comte, as dead as his groom appeared to be?
Her heart stuttered and then stopped again as she heard the sound of a groan from inside the depths of the carriage. Indication that at least the Comte was alive, if obviously injured?
‘Christian!’ Lisette called out frantically as she no longer hesitated but hurriedly ascended the steps.
‘Lisette?’ The Comte groaned uncomprehendingly, the lantern inside the carriage showing him lying back against the cushions, his face deathly white, a bloom of red showing, and growing larger by the second, on the left thigh of his pale-coloured pantaloons. ‘You should not be here,’ he protested as he attempted to sit up.
‘Do not move!’ Lisette instructed sternly as she stepped fully into the carriage to fall to her knees beside him and began to inspect the wound to his thigh.
‘They might come back—’
‘I doubt it,’ she snorted disgustedly. ‘Cowards. Half a dozen men against two—’
‘You saw them?’ Christian, grateful that he had the foresight to speak to Lisette in French, had now managed to ease himself back into an upright position, although his thigh hurt like the very devil with every movement.
Lisette nodded distractedly, her face a pale oval in the lamplight. ‘From the window of my bedchamber. At least half a dozen men. Are you hurt very badly?’ She looked at his thigh but did not attempt to touch him.
Christian’s jaw was clenched against the pain. ‘I believe the bullet has gone through the soft tissue and out the other side.’
Lisette’s face seemed to pale even more. ‘We should call for law enforcement, and you need a doctor—’
‘No—no doctor,’ he refused grimly.
‘You are bleeding badly—’
‘No, Lisette,’ he repeated determinedly. ‘My groom?’
Her gaze dropped from meeting his. ‘I fear— He does not appear to be—’
‘Damn it, they have killed him!’ Christian struggled to sit forward, intent on seeing his groom for himself. ‘Please move aside, Lisette, so that I can go to him.’
‘You must not move, Christian—’
‘Indeed I must, Lisette.’ He gritted his teeth as that movement caused his leg to throb and the blood to flow more freely over the fingers he had pressed to his flesh to staunch the wound. He looked at Lisette as she now sat on the other side of the carriage, a bewildered look upon her face. ‘I am afraid I shall need your help to get Pierre into the carriage.’
Her face lost any remaining colour at the mere idea of touching a dead body. Christian nodded approvingly as she nonetheless moved valiantly forward to follow as he stepped awkwardly down from the carriage, before limping over and going down on one knee beside his groom lying unmoving on the cobbles.
‘Not dead, and I think the shot has pierced his shoulder rather than his chest,’ Christian said thankfully after placing his bloody fingers against the other man’s wrist and feeling a pulse. ‘Help me lift him inside the carriage, would you?’
‘I— But— What are you going to do with him then?’
‘Return to my home, of course.’
Lisette felt totally perplexed by the Comte’s behaviour. Surely a doctor, at least, should be called for, even if Christian did not feel inclined to ask for the help of the police enforcement that had been established in Paris just five years ago.
The dissolute rake he had appeared earlier this evening was completely gone, Christian Beaumont’s eyes now sharp with intelligence and determination as the two of them struggled to lift the groom and place him inside the carriage.
Not an easy task when the Comte was injured and Lisette was so slight in stature.
It seemed to take forever as they struggled to get Pierre inside the carriage and lying on one of the bench seats, but was in fact probably only a few minutes. Both of them were smeared with the other man’s blood by that time, and Christian Beaumont’s own wound seemed to be bleeding more profusely too.
Lisette gave a dismayed gasp at how deathly pale his face was as he straightened. ‘I really must insist you are attended by a doctor—’
‘I shall consider it once we are returned to my home and I have been able to inspect Pierre’s wound more thoroughly.’ He nodded grimly even as he placed a hand against the carriage for support.
Lisette frowned her disapproval. ‘And exactly how do you intend doing that, when both your groom and yourself have been shot?’
A touch of humour tilted the Comte’s lips. ‘Did you ever drive a horse and cart on that farm you once lived on, Lisette?’
She gave him a startled look. ‘You are not suggesting that I should drive your carriage...?’
He gave a pointed look about the empty street. ‘I do not see anyone else I can ask, do you?’
‘But— Christian!’ Lisette stepped forward to put her arm about the leanness of his waist and the support of her shoulder beneath his arm as he appeared to sway precariously.
‘And I suggest that you do it soon, Lisette,’ he muttered faintly. ‘Whilst I am still conscious to direct you.’
She had never heard of anything so ridiculous as to expect her to drive the Comte’s carriage; it was nothing like the old cart they’d had on the farm, nor were the four horses pulling this elegant carriage in the least like the elderly and plodding mare owned by the Duprées. Indeed, these high-stepping animals might have been a different breed altogether from the docile Marguerite.
Lisette eyed the four black horses doubtfully as they still snorted and stamped their displeasure. ‘You are asking too much, Christian.’ She gave a shake of her head.
He nodded. ‘I would not ask at all if it were not important.’
Lisette looked up at him searchingly. ‘I do not understand,’ she finally murmured slowly.
‘And I do not have the time, or indeed the strength, to explain the situation to you right now.’ He sighed weakly.
Lisette glanced down to where his thigh was still bleeding freely, front and back. ‘Something needs to be tied about your thigh in order to slow the bleeding...’
‘Lisette...?’ Christian’s eyes widened as she did not hesitate to lift her gown before efficiently ripping a strip from the bottom of her petticoat, and then proceeded to crouch down in front of him to wrap and tie that strip tightly about the top of his thigh.
It was perhaps as well that there was no one on the street to observe them because Lisette, crouched in that position, looked very—risqué, if one did not realise she was merely applying a tourniquet to his thigh.
‘There.’ She gave a nod of satisfaction as she straightened, seemingly completely unaware of the picture of debauchery she had just presented to the world. ‘I shall need your instruction to drive the carriage, Christian. Do you feel strong enough to be helped up into the driving area?’
He determinedly dragged his thoughts back from the lewdly suggestive delights that having Lisette kneeling in front of him had evoked.
It looked a very long way up to where his groom drove the carriage, when he was feeling less than agile, the loss of blood having also made him feel slightly light-headed.
He set his jaw grimly. ‘I shall manage with your help, yes.’ He was determined to do so, knew that he and Lisette must now get themselves away from here as soon as was possible, that they had delayed long enough.
He had no doubt that the men who had accosted and then shot him and Pierre were the cut-throats Lisette had warned him Helene Rousseau had intended sending to dispose of him. That at any moment they might return and finish the job.
There was no sign of life or candlelight inside the Fleur
de Lis itself, but that did not mean that Helene Rousseau was not observing the two of them right now. And no doubt filled with fresh resolve now that she had seen he was not only still alive but also mobile enough to struggle up onto the carriage with Lisette’s help.
That resolve would no doubt deepen, and Helene Rousseau herself be filled with renewed rage, when she saw her niece drive away with him in his carriage.
‘Perhaps you should not accompany me, after all.’ Christian frowned as Lisette climbed up beside him. ‘Your aunt will no doubt make her disapproval known—’
‘I have already told Helene that I shall be leaving the Fleur de Lis in the morning.’ She shrugged.
‘The two of you have argued?’
‘That is one way of describing it.’ Lisette’s hand moved up to touch her mouth.
Christian’s eyes darkened as he saw her bottom lip was slightly swollen. ‘She struck you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because of me?’
‘The reason is unimportant.’ Her expression was grim as she picked up the reins, ready for departing. ‘And she is not my aunt.’
‘Not your aunt...?’ Christian echoed softly, the effort of climbing up into the carriage having taken the last of his strength.
‘No.’ Lisette’s jaw was clenched.
Well, that at least explained Lisette’s hesitation every time he referred to her as such. It did not, however—
‘Madame Rousseau is my mother, not my aunt,’ she continued scathingly. ‘And I do not care what her opinion might be on any of my actions after the way she has behaved this night!’
Christian dropped back weakly against the seat, knowing that this revelation now gave him no choice where Lisette was concerned.
Leaving Helene Rousseau’s niece behind in Paris might have been explained away—just—but the daughter of Helene Rousseau must return with him to England.
Chapter Five
The journey was a long and painful one, as each rumble of the carriage wheels over the cobbled streets caused renewed pain to spear up through Christian’s thigh, and it took every effort of will on his part to stay conscious long enough to direct Lisette in the initial driving of the carriage. Luckily, she was an intelligent as well as capable young lady, and had mastered the horses and the carriage within a few minutes.
Leaving Christian to contemplate the leaden weight in his chest at the knowledge that the young woman sitting beside him was the daughter of a woman believed responsible for attempting to free the Corsican usurper by causing actual physical harm to people he cared about.
A belief Christian was even more convinced of after the attack on him tonight. An attack Lisette believed to have happened because of his attentions towards her earlier this evening, but which Christian believed to have been for a different reason entirely; Helene Rousseau not only knew who he was, but also the reason for his currently being in Paris.
And if she knew that, then there was every chance that she would try to have him killed a second time, if he remained here. More than a chance, now that he had her daughter with him.
Once returned to his temporary home he would have to make immediate arrangements for both himself and Lisette to take ship to England. Without, he acknowledged heavily, telling Lisette exactly why he was taking her with him. He doubted she would come with him to England at all if she knew who he was and the reason he had been in Paris, much less that he now had no choice but to deliver Helene Rousseau’s daughter to Aubrey Maystone.
No, much as it pained him, he could not tell Lisette any of those things just yet.
Better by far that he at least waited until they were on the ship bound for England, when it was too late for Lisette to do anything else but complete the voyage. That she would dislike him intensely afterwards could not be avoided.
Lisette had been keeping half an eye on the Comte as she carefully guided the carriage through the deserted Paris streets, and so she knew the exact moment that he lost consciousness. Either from loss of too much blood or from the pain he was suffering. The latter, she hoped, otherwise there was a serious possibility that he might die before she was able to get him to help.
A part of her still wanted to take him to the home of the nearest doctor—if she had known where that was, which she did not—but the Comte had been adamant in his refusal of medical assistance, and Lisette did not wish to make this situation any worse than it already was by going against his wishes.
If that was possible.
At the moment she had two unconscious men in the carriage with her, one seated beside her, the other inside the carriage. Both of them clearly suffering wounds from a pistol shot. And she herself was covered in blood from both those gentlemen, on her hands and her gown. If she was stopped by the authorities—
Hysteria could come later, Lisette told herself sternly. Once they had safely reached the Comte’s home. She did not have the time or thought enough to spare for such things when she was so concentrated on driving the Comte’s carriage.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she recognised the Comte’s house just a short distance away, her shoulders and back aching from controlling such spirited horses, and her hands sore from grasping the reins so tightly.
She almost cried with relief when she finally drew the carriage to a halt in front of the house, François’s politely bland expression as he opened the door changing to one of alarm as he ran down the steps to grab hold of the bridle of one of the front horses.
‘The Comte and his groom have both been shot, François,’ Lisette explained economically as she hitched up the skirt of her gown to quickly climb down from the carriage.
It was testament to the man’s character that he wasted no time asking for explanations but instead instantly called up to a hovering footman for reinforcements. Several other footmen now appeared from inside the house, followed by a couple of grooms from the back of the house.
Between them they managed to lift the still unconscious Comte and the groom from the carriage before carrying them inside. Lisette insisted that the groom must also be carried up to one of the guest bedchambers. If Christian would not allow a doctor to be called for, then she would have to do the best she could to doctor the two men herself, and it would be far easier for her if they were within feet of each other.
Again, François showed his character by not so much as batting an eyelid at her request, but instead continued the directing of the two wounded men after sending one of the footmen off to the kitchen to acquire the supplies Lisette said she would need to clean and then dress their wounds.
If either man still had a bullet inside one of those wounds then she would have no choice but to send for a doctor, despite Christian’s instructions to the contrary. A bullet, left inside the wound, would surely fill with pus and possibly result in the man dying.
There was no doubt in Lisette’s mind that if he were awake Christian would have insisted she attend to the groom first, but as he was not...
François proved to be her rock during the next hour, helping her to remove the Comte’s boots, pantaloons and undergarments—a moment when Lisette had discreetly looked the other way—and acting as her assistant as she inspected and then cleaned both the entry and exit wounds in Christian’s thigh; he was proved correct, in that the bullet had gone straight through the soft tissue of his thigh and then out again.
Nevertheless, once her makeshift tourniquet had been removed both wounds bled profusely and she was grateful that Christian continued to remain unconscious throughout. He looked so pale and still once she had bound his wound tightly to allow the skin to knit back together—he should perhaps have had stitches applied, but again Lisette did not feel qualified to do so, and so they had just made him as comfortable as they could beneath the bedclothes once she had applied the bandages.
Which was when the enormity
of what she had just done bore down upon Lisette. Not only had she dressed the Comte’s bloody wounds, but he had been half-naked as she did so. Admittedly François had draped the sheet across Christian’s groin to protect his modesty, but that did not alter the fact that he had been completely naked beneath that sheet.
‘Would you care for some brandy before we go to Pierre, mademoiselle?’ François offered as he looked at her concernedly.
She smiled her gratitude for that concern. ‘Perhaps afterwards, thank you, François. It would perhaps be as well if I continue to have a steady hand until after I have seen to Pierre!’ she added ruefully.
François was the one to once again undress the man lying injured on the bed while they waited for one of the footmen to bring up fresh hot water and bandages. Allowing them to see that the groom’s wound was in the shoulder, as Christian had surmised it might be, but more complicated, in that the bullet was obviously still embedded in his flesh.
‘It will have to come out, mademoiselle,’ François said with a frown.
Lisette swayed slightly on her feet, both from the gory work of this past hour and the deep fatigue she felt after such a long and exhausting day.
It seemed far longer than the six, or possibly seven, hours since she had first met the Comte de Saint-Cloud at the Fleur de Lis. Six or seven hours when her life had been completely turned about, to the point that she now had no home, and no family to speak of.
Self-pity was not permissible now, Lisette told herself firmly, any more than it had been when the Duprées both perished. She might not have a home or a family, but the Comte had been shot because of his association with her, and the outcome of his wound was still questionable.
As was poor Pierre’s...
She straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‘I will need something with which to remove the bullet, François. And your assistance for a little longer, if you please.’
Christian Seaton: Duke of Danger Page 6