Enough so that he grinned at Lisette as she carefully used a pristine white cloth dipped in warm water to clean his wound; if he was not mistaken, it was one of the linen squares no doubt used in the dining room by the officers of the sloop. ‘I really must commend your “bedside manner” as being as near perfection as I have ever known, Lisette,’ he drawled just for the pleasure of seeing the blush that instantly warmed her cheeks at his deliberate double entendre.
A double entendre he doubted that Davy would understand, considering he and Lisette were talking in French and all the crew aboard the sloop were English. A fact Lisette had not yet remarked upon but which he was sure, with her quickness of mind, she must be well aware of and would no doubt question him on once they were safely on English soil.
‘Perhaps you should reserve judgement, Monsieur le Comte, until after you have been attended by a physician and he is certain there is no need to have the leg amputated?’ she retorted sweetly.
The little chat continued to flex her newly discovered claws, Christian acknowledged appreciatively as he settled back more comfortably against the pillows. ‘It is unkind of you to punish me in that way, Lisette, even teasingly.’
She glanced up at him. ‘If your wound does not become inflamed and full of pus, then it will not be because of anything you have done to prevent it!’
Ah, the lovely Lisette was still put out because he had chosen to ignore her words of caution the night before. ‘It is not attractive in a woman to bear a grudge, Lisette,’ he responded drily.
‘And it is not attractive in a man to behave so tête de cochon,’ she came back pertly.
Christian chuckled softly at hearing himself described as being ‘pig-headed’. He preferred to think of himself as determined or strong-willed, but obviously Lisette saw it differently. ‘I promise you that once we are back on English soil I will do everything within my power to facilitate my complete recovery.’ He placed a hand over his heart as part of that pledge.
‘Indeed.’ Lisette eyed him mockingly as she finished cleansing his wound, believing in that moment that this man’s arrogance alone was enough to prevent the wound from becoming inflamed.
He grinned at her unabashedly. ‘I feel better already just knowing I will very soon be stepping off this constantly rocking boat onto terra firma!’
‘I doubt you will be “stepping” anywhere with any degree of comfort or balance.’ She began to apply the clean bandage. ‘As I also doubt that you will be well enough for several more days to continue the journey on to London.’
Christian had already thought of that and, much as it irked him to admit it, he knew that a long journey by coach was not something he could contemplate right now. It would have to be enough, for the moment, that he was back in England. The delay would necessitate that he, and consequently Lisette, must tarry for a day or so in one of Portsmouth’s more comfortable inns. An inn Christian had frequented many times before on his illicit travels to and from France, and of a kind only found away from the dockside. But there was no reason, whilst he languished there, that he could not send word to Aubrey Maystone, and the other Dangerous Dukes, of his safe return.
A frown creased his brow at the thought of Maystone’s reaction to news of Lisette’s presence in England. The last thing he wanted was for the other man to come to Portsmouth and take charge of the situation—of Lisette—whilst Christian was too incapacitated to stop him or defend her. No, perhaps he would wait awhile longer before apprising Maystone of the fact he was now back in England.
‘Am I causing you discomfort?’ Lisette prompted with concern as she saw the frown on Christian’s brow.
‘No more than usual,’ he drawled as that frown lifted, lavender eyes now glittering with devilment.
The warmth in Lisette’s cheeks seemed to have become a permanent fixture, and she glanced at Christian impatiently, knowing he meant to deliberately disarm her. That he was actually enjoying himself now at her expense.
Obviously, he was feeling slightly better, in temper as well as in physical comfort.
‘Pity,’ she snapped as she tightened and secured the bandage and saw him wince before she stepped away from the bunk bed. ‘I will leave Davy to help you dress now, whilst I go to my own cabin and prepare for when we disembark.’
Christian’s disappointed gaze followed her as she crossed the cabin before leaving; he was becoming too accustomed, he realised, to like and appreciate too much these scintillating conversations with Lisette.
‘Ya ward’s a pretty one, me lord.’
That scowl once again creased Christian’s brow at Davy’s shyly voiced praise for Lisette; indeed, if he was not careful, those lines between his eyes would be there to stay! Brought about, he had no doubt, by the advent of Lisette into his life.
And what was this nonsense of Lisette being his ‘ward’?
An assumption by the crew, in view of their separate cabins? Or something that Lisette had told them in an effort to maintain some of the proprieties?
It made a certain sense, if he considered it. His absence and incapacity below decks would have placed Lisette in a vulnerable position aboard the sloop inhabited only by men, and consequently she had perhaps considered it to be the wisest explanation for their travelling to England alone together. It was rather enterprising of her, in fact, and perhaps something Christian should have thought of himself.
Although he could not say he altogether cared for the way it placed him in the position of being a paternal figure to her in the eyes of others. Such as the fresh-faced Davy, now assisting him in dressing. A presentable and handsome young man who was of a similar age to Lisette.
Was Christian feeling the unfamiliar pangs of jealousy again?
He did not wish to answer that question.
But one thing he knew for certain—he did not appreciate Davy’s obvious admiration for Lisette.
Chapter Seven
‘The Duke of Sutherland?’
Christian gave a wince at the accusation he could hear in Lisette’s voice as she glared at him across the best bedchamber at The Dog and Rabbit Inn in Portsmouth.
He had intended to talk to her, tell her of his title, before they arrived at the inn. But in truth, he had been so discomfited by the time he departed the sloop, having also had to stand by as witness to Lisette bidding a fond farewell to the Captain before they could enter the waiting carriage, each jolt of that vehicle on the way here causing him immeasurable pain, that it had been all he could do to remain conscious.
Unfortunately, the landlord at the inn knew him only as the Duke of Sutherland and had greeted him as such, along with much bowing and scraping, as he accompanied the two of them up to the luxurious suite of rooms where Christian now gratefully reclined upon the bed in the main bedchamber.
He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It is merely another one of my titles.’
‘The Duke of Sutherland is not “merely” another anything.’ Lisette was now staring at him as if he were a creature come from another planet. ‘Dukes are very important men in England, are they not? The elite of the aristocracy?’
Christian grimaced. ‘I am not sure that “elite” quite—’
‘Do not play games with me, Monsieur le Duc.’ Lisette had hardly been able to believe her own ears when she heard the landlord of this fashionable inn address Christian so formally. A duke! She had felt completely out of her depth knowing he was the French aristocrat the Comte de Saint-Cloud, but this—an English duke—was beyond her comprehension.
Perhaps...
Lisette narrowed her eyes. ‘You are not at all what you pretend to be, are you...?’ It had just occurred to her that an English duke would not have frequented a lowly Parisian tavern such as the Fleur de Lis.
‘I do not pretend to be anything, Lisette,’ Christian answered her firmly. ‘I have every right to us
e the title of Comte de Saint-Cloud, as well as that of the Duke of Sutherland. I merely prefer, when I am in France and in such places as the Fleur de Lis, not to flaunt the English title.’
It made a certain sense, Lisette conceded reluctantly; the war between France and England might be over, but in some quarters of France it would still be painting a target upon any man’s back for him to admit to being English. In a lowly French tavern such as the Fleur de Lis, it could have been lethal.
It might also be, she acknowledged grudgingly, that the Duke of Sutherland would not wish English société to know of his visit to such a bawdy establishment.
And yet...
Christian Beaumont—if that was even his true name—had never seemed to her the type of man who would come to the tavern in search of a willing woman to share his bed. Or possibly a man—since arriving at the tavern, Lisette had become aware of such relationships.
This man had drunk his share of wine that first evening, yes, and flirted a little with Brigitte and also with her, but it had not been an overt or predatory flirtation such as she had witnessed in the past of members of the aristocracy in search of a night’s bawdy entertainment.
Her mouth thinned. ‘You are English, then, rather than French?’
Another grimace. ‘I am, yes.’
‘Did Helene know this?’ Lisette now eyed him speculatively. ‘Is that the reason she pressed a pistol to your back that first evening?’
Christian would have much preferred to have had this conversation when he was not feeling at such a physical disadvantage. Although he acknowledged that might not be for some time, and Lisette was certainly entitled to some sort of explanation from him. An explanation he doubted she would take too kindly to.
‘I believe the lady to have stated at the time that her reason for doing so was as a warning for me to stay away from you,’ he answered mildly.
Lisette’s eyes widened before narrowing again. ‘You did not answer my question, Monsieur le Duc. Did Helene know who you were that night?’
Christian could have continued to avoid answering the question directly, but he knew by the angry glitter in Lisette’s eyes and the same flush of anger in her cheeks that it would not be wise for him to do so. Lisette might bear no physical resemblance to the woman who was her mother, but he now knew she most certainly shared the older woman’s fiery temperament. He might just find himself at the receiving end of another pistol if he continued to fob Lisette off with half-truths and lies.
He sighed deeply. ‘Following events would appear to indicate that as being the case, yes.’
‘Following—? Mon Dieu, Helene’s reason for sending her attackers against you had nothing to do with the attention you showed towards me,’ Lisette gasped in realisation, ‘and everything to do with her knowing you are an English spy?’
Christian shifted uncomfortably. ‘I do not believe I have admitted to being any such thing—’
‘You do not need to do so,’ Lisette interrupted in disgust as she began to pace the bedchamber restlessly. It all made so much sense to her now.
Helene’s warnings that night regarding associating with the Comte de Saint-Cloud.
Helene’s desire to have the Comte killed.
The fact that Lisette had found Christian lurking in a doorway across from the tavern later that evening.
He had not been waiting there for her, but spying on Helene and the people who entered the tavern after it had closed for the night.
Just as Helene had not been concerned for her welfare but instead attempting to keep her away from a man she knew to be spying on her and her associates.
It also explained the attempt of Helene’s cut-throats to kill le Duc in the middle of the street.
And their flight to England the following night.
It all made such sense to Lisette now.
Perfect—and humiliating—sense. She had thought—believed—that he had enjoyed and been as aroused by their kisses as she had, and all the time—
Christian winced as he had difficulty keeping up with—translating—the tirade in French that now followed his admission, Lisette’s accusations and insults flowing forth without pause from that highly kissable mouth. Obviously, not all of Lisette’s time at the French tavern had been wasted.
English bastard he understood. Followed by such a barrage of other insults and names he had no chance of deciphering one from the other.
Instead, he decided to lie back against the pillows and allow Lisette to give vent to her anger. He might not be able to keep up with those insults, but he did know he deserved everything she might accuse him of being.
Lisette’s shock and outrage were also further proof, if he should need it, that she really was everything she appeared to be—a young innocent caught in the middle of a dangerous game she did not know of or comprehend.
Now all Christian had to do was convince Maystone of the same.
All?
Following the abduction and kidnapping of his grandson, even if he was eventually safely returned, Aubrey Maystone was not currently in a forgiving or tolerant mood. It would take more than Christian’s opinion on the matter to persuade that gentleman into accepting Lisette’s innocence. Especially if the other man should realise Christian’s opinion was not impartial where Lisette was concerned.
As he had demonstrated only too clearly these past few days, a man could not hope to hide his physical response to a woman. And Aubrey Maystone was nothing if not astute.
Which meant that Christian—
‘Are you even listening to me?’ Lisette challenged, becoming even more outraged as she noted his distraction. ‘Of course you are not. Why should a duc care for the opinion of a woman he knows to be Helene Rousseau’s daughter, and no doubt considers to be nothing more than a French putain—?’
‘You go too far, Lisette!’ Christian’s voice was a low and dangerous growl, a warning that all who knew him would most certainly have taken heed of.
But not Lisette. ‘I will go as far as I wish, Your Grace—’ she somehow managed to make the formal title sound every bit as insulting as the word putain ‘—when you obviously misled me from the very first words you ever spoke to me!’
As those ‘very first words’ had been his false surname and title, Christian could not deny the accusation. ‘I am Christian Algernon Augustus Seaton, Fifteenth Duke of Sutherland, as well as numerous other titles, at your service, mademoiselle. I trust you will forgive me if I do not get up and present a formal bow?’ he added with self-derision for his recumbent and incapacitated figure on the bed.
Lisette’s present feelings of humiliation were such that she could forgive this—this duc nothing. Helene’s treatment of her had been hard enough to bear, but to realise, to now know, that Christian Seaton had only been using her to get close to Helene, and in the process play Lisette for the fool, was beyond forgiveness.
She straightened, her spine rigid with the anger she felt. ‘No, I do not forgive you, Your Grace. Nor do I intend remaining in your company, or your vicinity, a moment longer—’
‘You cannot leave, Lisette—’
‘I do not believe you are in any condition to prevent me from doing exactly as I wish!’ She eyed him scornfully as he sank back weakly against the pillows after having sat up abruptly, obviously with the intention of standing up, until the pain of the movement became too much for him. ‘I am not completely heartless, and will arrange for a doctor to be sent to attend you before I leave, but—’
‘The landlord here believes you to be my ward—’
‘—be assured, I do not intend— Why would you claim such a thing, now that we are back in England?’ Lisette frowned across at him.
Irritation creased Christian Seaton’s brow. ‘I felt compelled, as you did aboard the sloop,’ he added pointedly, ‘to give some explanatio
n for our travelling together without benefit of a valet or maid.’ He grimaced. ‘I felt it best for all concerned, now that we have arrived in England, to continue with that pretence.’
‘I do not believe you felt anything or gave the matter a moment’s consideration, where I am concerned, Monsieur le Duc.’ Lisette glared her anger at him. ‘You had no thought other than your own need to avert a scandal.’ She turned on her heel and marched to the door of the bedchamber. ‘I only agreed to accompany you to England because of concern for your injury, but now that you are arrived safely I have no intention of remaining here with you a moment longer—’
‘I cannot allow you to leave, Lisette.’
‘You cannot allow?’ She spun back to face him, her cheeks warm with temper and the need to hold back the tears now stinging her eyes; she would not cry in front of this man.
Since the Duprées had died so suddenly, Lisette had been plunged into a life such as she had never imagined possible. That she now found herself in England, an outcast from her own people and country, and completely at the mercy of the false-faced Christian Seaton’s whims and fancies, was beyond enduring.
‘I shall go when and where I please, monsieur,’ she informed him stiffly. ‘And neither you nor anyone else shall stop me.’
‘You are a woman alone, without funds, and as such you are vulnerable—’
‘I am more aware of what that means than you are, I assure you,’ Lisette said scornfully. ‘But I would rather sell my soul to the devil than be beholden to you for a moment longer!’
A nerve pulsed beside Christian’s thinned lips, his jaw clenched as he attempted to maintain a hold on his own temper. ‘Believe me, alone in a foreign land and without money, it is not your soul you would have to sell in order to survive.’
Her face paled, even those pouting lips having become a pale rose colour, her eyes dark and haunted. ‘I despise you utterly.’
If she had said those words with venom, with any trace of emotion at all, Christian might have known what to say in return. As it was, he could only feel the cut of that emotionless statement from the top of his head to the toe of his boots.
Christian Seaton: Duke of Danger Page 9