He now turned away from the dance floor and the vision of Lisette laughing gaily up into the handsome face of the young man who was now escorting her back to her father’s side.
Lisette was a success.
He should be pleased for her.
He was pleased for her.
He was just hellishly miserable for himself. Marcus was right; he had been damned poor company this past month.
But he missed Lisette, damn it.
He missed her smile, her impetuosity that had caused her to become involved in so many scrapes—scrapes he had invariably been called upon to rescue her from. He even missed her temper.
Except the Lisette she was now—refined, genteel, every inch the English young lady—no longer appeared to have a temper.
He straightened the cuff of his evening jacket. ‘I believe I have had enough for one evening, Marcus. You?’
The other man eyed him impatiently. ‘I only came at all because Julianna said that I should, in support of you. We delayed going to the country so that I might attend.’ Julianna was now very large with child and would not be out and about in society again until after the babe had been born.
Christian raised haughty brows. ‘Support of me?’
Worthing gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘You are fooling no one with this act, Christian. If I know you are pining for your French mademoiselle, then you may be assured that Julianna knew of it long before I did! Besides,’ he added slyly, ‘Miss Lisette Maystone and my wife are now firm friends.’
‘What?’ Christian could not think of a worse friendship than one between his interfering sister and the irrepressible Lisette. ‘How did the two of them even meet?’ he demanded irritably.
‘My wife deemed it only polite to call upon Miss Maystone and welcome her to London and into society,’ Worthing informed him loftily.
Put that way, it was a generous act on Julianna’s part; a welcoming visit from the Duchess of Worthing would ensure that all doors in society would be open to Lisette.
Still, Christian could not rid himself of the feeling that a friendship between Julianna and Lisette was a recipe for disaster.
His mouth thinned. ‘Whatever you and Julianna are about, Marcus, I advise you to desist. Any attempt to matchmake between myself and Miss Maystone is a complete waste of your own time and mine—’
‘No more so than it would be of my own, I do assure you, Your Grace.’ An icily haughty voice spoke behind him.
An icily haughty voice that Christian instantly recognised as belonging to Lisette.
* * *
Lisette had looked forward to the night of her father’s ball with both excitement and trepidation.
Excitement because it was the first ball she had ever attended, and she was to wear a beautiful gown that had been designed and made especially for her for this occasion.
Trepidation because she so longed to see Christian again at the same time as she felt apprehensive about such a meeting.
She had spent the past month becoming the English Miss expected of her as Lord Aubrey Maystone’s daughter. Had learned to speak English as clearly and precisely as any in society. Had attended numerous fittings for all the clothes she was assured she would need as a member of that society. Had diligently followed the instructions of her dance instructor, and the teachings of her father in correct manners and conversation.
All of it working towards this single evening.
The evening she was to be with Christian again, when he would see she could be as refined and ladylike as any of the beauties in the society of which he was such a part.
She had worked and struggled hard to become that lady in these four short weeks.
Only to now overhear him dismissing her as if she were no more than a passing acquaintance he had no more regard for than he did all those other silly young debutantes who reputedly threw themselves at him at the start of every Season in the hope of becoming his duchess.
She had felt hopeful as she sensed his gaze upon her throughout the evening, and had deliberately laughed and flirted with all the eligible young gentlemen her father had invited to amuse her. All in the hope that she might pique Christian into inviting her to stand up with him for one dance, at least.
When he had not she had finally decided it was acceptable for her to ask one of the young gentlemen to escort her across the room to speak with Marcus Wilding so that she might enquire about the health of his wife, whom she now counted as her friend. It was no coincidence that Christian stood at that gentleman’s side.
The humiliation she now felt, upon hearing Christian’s comment to Marcus Wilding, was overwhelming. And made all the more so because Sir Percy Winterbourne, her current escort, had also overheard the derogatory remark.
Christian turned to look at her now, that haughtily superior expression upon his handsome face as he looked down the length of his aristocratic nose at her, those lavender-coloured eyes as cold as ice. ‘I merely meant, Miss Maystone, that to add yet another admirer to those already clustered about you would appear to be entirely superfluous,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘Winterbourne.’ He nodded briefly to the man at Lisette’s side.
‘How true, Your Grace.’ Lisette bared her teeth in a smile.
He had bungled this badly, Christian acknowledged with an inward groan of self-disgust. This was the first occasion upon which he had spoken to Lisette away from the watchful eye of her overprotective father, and he had insulted her. Out of self-defence, admittedly, but it was a poor excuse for his rudeness to the young woman who had, he had no doubt, saved his life on more than one occasion, usually to her own detriment.
He drew himself up to his full height. ‘I apologise if my remark sounded...less than polite. It was not intended to be, I assure you.’
Lisette looked up at him sceptically. ‘Your apology is accepted, Your Grace.’
‘Perhaps as confirmation of that acceptance you might graciously allow me the next dance?’ Christian tensed as he waited for her refusal.
‘Oh, but—’
‘Been meaning to have a chat with you this evening, Winterbourne—’ Marcus Wilding interrupted the younger man’s protest ‘—about that fine piece of horse flesh I saw you on in the park this morning.’
‘Really?’ The young buck visibly preened at this praise from the Duke of Worthing.
‘Oh, yes. Be interested to know where you purchased it.’ Worthing continued talking as he first drew the younger man aside before stepping away completely.
‘It would seem that Marcus has become as much the matchmaker as my sister.’
Lisette turned to give Christian a scathing glance. ‘I assure you, I am no more pleased with this arrangement than you are!’
‘Ah, there she is...’ Christian murmured with satisfaction.
Her look of scorn turned to a puzzled frown. ‘Am I keeping you from someone...?’
‘Not at all.’ Christian grinned widely; the first time he could remember doing so for some time. Four weeks, three days and two hours, to be exact.
‘I do not understand...’
Christian could not seem to stop himself from grinning. ‘I am very pleased, very pleased indeed, to remake your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Duprée.’
‘I am Miss Maystone now.’ Those blue eyes flashed with impatience. ‘And I have been in London these past four weeks, if you had cared to call.’
It was Christian’s turn to frown now. ‘But I have called upon you. Many times.’
‘I do not think so,’ Lisette dismissed scathingly. ‘I recall only the once, a morning visit in the presence of a dozen other people, when you did not speak so much as a single word to me but stood in a corner of my father’s drawing room looking down your haughty nose at everyone!’
‘But—’ Christian broke off to gaze across to w
here Aubrey Maystone stood in conversation with the other Dangerous Dukes and their wives. As if aware of his gaze, Maystone glanced across to where Christian and Lisette stood talking together, one iron-grey eyebrow slowly rising in mocking enquiry. ‘That wily old fox...’ Christian muttered, knowing from the challenging look Maystone was giving him that he was responsible for Lisette not knowing of the many visits Christian had made to Maystone House this past month, his only intention to see her again.
‘Quoi? I mean, I beg your pardon?’ Lisette’s cheeks blushed a becoming shade of pink at her mistake in having lapsed into her native French.
Christian gave a roar of laughter, relieved to learn that it had not been Lisette avoiding him after all, but the machinations of her interfering father. His laughter caused more than a few heads to turn in their direction; the Duke of Sutherland was not known for his public displays of levity.
‘I fail to see what is so funny in my having let down mon père by not speaking the King’s English?’ Lisette eyed him irritably.
Christian sobered a little. ‘Mon père is not “let down” but is the wily old fox to whom I referred.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Once a spymaster, always a spymaster, it would seem.’
‘Are you quite recovered from your injury, Christian—Your Grace?’ Lisette corrected hastily. ‘Do you have a fever?’ She could think of no other reason for his current strange conversation.
‘Would you care to take a stroll out on the terrace with me, Miss Duprée?’ He did not wait for her answer before tucking her gloved hand into the crook of his arm and striding off in the direction of the doors opened to prevent the room from becoming too stifling.
‘Is such behaviour quite correct, Christian?’ Lisette cast a furtive glance at the people she sensed were watching the two of them together, the women from behind their fans, the gentlemen openly speculative of the Duke of Sutherland’s obvious intention of stealing their young hostess outside onto the moonlit terrace.
‘Correct can go hang, Lisette,’ Christian dismissed happily. ‘If I do not soon taste your delectable lips and touch your creamy flesh, I am afraid I will do something that will never be forgotten, by not only those members of society present tonight but also the heirs that come after them!’
‘Christian!’ Lisette gasped her shock.
‘Lisette.’ He stood aside to allow her to precede him out onto the terrace.
She looked up at him uncertainly, unsure of Christian in this reckless mood. ‘My reputation will be ruined if I go outside alone with you.’
‘So it will,’ he acknowledged unconcernedly.
‘Can you possibly have drunk too much champagne this evening?’
‘First I am fevered. Then I am accused of neglecting you. Now you believe me to be drunk!’ He gave a brief laugh. ‘I assure you, my dearest Lisette, I am none of those things,’ he added huskily.
‘But—’
‘My wound is perfectly healed, thanks to your initial diligent care, my doctor has informed me. If I am drunk then it is with the pleasure of being in your company again, for I have not drunk so much as one glass of champagne this evening. As for being neglectful...’ He gave a shake of his head. ‘I was slightly incapacitated that first week, but I have called at Maystone House every two or three days these past three weeks.’
‘I have not seen you...’
‘No, you have not,’ Christian acknowledged drily. ‘And I have not seen you, except at a distance once or twice, as you travelled by in Maystone’s coach.’ Fleeting glimpses that had reminded him of the last time he and Lisette were in a coach together, those memories leaving him hungering for so much more than a fleeting glimpse of her. ‘Please step outside with me, Lisette, and allow me to explain.’ He looked down at her intently.
Lisette still eyed him uncertainly, so tempted to do as he asked, at the same time aware of the many eyes upon them as they stood in the open doorway, neither in nor outside of the house. ‘What is there to explain?’ she prompted slowly.
Christian glanced across at her father, the tension leaving his shoulders as he received a slight nod from the older man. Not that it would have made the slightest difference if he did not have Maystone’s blessing, but he was glad of it in any case, for Lisette’s sake.
He turned back to her. ‘How about what a pompous, blind, ungrateful ass I am?’ he began, knowing that Lisette would not have seen the look that passed between the two men.
‘Blind and ungrateful how...?’
Christian gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I notice you do not question the “pompous” or the “ass”?’
‘The first is no doubt because you are a duke. The second...?’ She gave one of those achingly familiar Gallic shrugs. ‘Perhaps for the same reason?’
Christian choked back another shout of laughter. Indeed he was fast reaching a point where he really would shock all in the room, and to hell with them, their heirs and his own. ‘Please come outside with me, Lisette,’ he pressed urgently.
‘If you are merely going to upbraid me for my outspokenness to you just now, or some other social misdemeanour I have made, then I would really rather not—’
‘You may upbraid me, if you wish,’ he asserted fervently. ‘For what you have perceived as my tardiness, my neglect and what I now believe to have been my utter stupidity in not doing this sooner!’
Lisette gave a gasp as ‘this’ became Christian sweeping her up into his arms before carrying her outside.
From the ballroom at Maystone House.
For all and everyone in London society to see.
Chapter Sixteen
‘How can you have been so...so stupide?’ Lisette glared up at Christian in the moonlight bathing the terrace on which they both now stood, the pummelling of her fists upon his chest finally having secured her release. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glittering with temper. ‘Imbécile!’
Christian needed no translation of the names Lisette had just called him.
Nor did he say a word to stop her, but simply wallowed in the pleasure of knowing his Lisette was here, after all.
This was the Lisette he remembered.
And it was because of her return that he could not regret his actions of a few minutes ago. Damn it, he would have done something very like it long before now, if he had not felt as if Lisette had become a stranger to him.
The musicians had drawn to a discordant halt as they lost their place in the music, to openly stare, along with the rest of the people assembled in Maystone’s ballroom, as Christian had swept Lisette up in his arms and carried her out onto the moonlit terrace.
Christian knew the chatter he could now hear above the musicians resuming their playing—no doubt having been encouraged to do so by their host—would all be about the two of them.
Scandalous.
Shocking.
Damning.
Very damning for a duke to behave in such a reckless fashion in public.
And Christian did not regret it for a single moment.
How could he, when Lisette was currently berating him, that rapid-fire French he loved to hear spewing forth from those delectable lips.
Instead of being insulted, as she no doubt intended he should be, it was like sweet music to his ears after all these weeks of silence between them.
He leaned back against the balustrade as Lisette paced up and down in front of him, knowing that even she would eventually run out of names to call him.
In the meantime, he could enjoy the sight of her. She really was magnificent when she was in full spate. Her hair seemed a brighter red, eyes sparkling like sapphires, cheeks aflame with colour, her lips a deeper rose, that tiny chin lifted high, her breasts— Ah, those magnificent breasts. They were quickly rising and falling above the low neckline of her gown.
Almost indecently so, Christian realised
with a frown. Maystone really should not have let Lisette wear a gown with such a scandalously low neckline as this in public. It was the sort of gown that only a lover should see, or a—
‘You are not even listening to me. Imbécile!’
Ah, Lisette was starting to repeat herself. Time to attempt to redeem himself perhaps—
‘No, of course you are not,’ she answered her own question impatiently. ‘You are the esteemed Duke of Sutherland; why should it matter to you that you have just completely sullied my reputation—?’
‘And my own,’ he interjected softly.
‘—when men are not held up to the same rules and limitations in English society— Quoi?’ She frowned as his words finally penetrated her anger.
‘I have just sullied my own reputation too, Lisette.’ Christian straightened away from the balustrade. ‘To such a degree, I believe the only course that might save us both from the derision and pillory of our peers—’
‘They are your peers, not mine.’ She glared at him. ‘I am not even properly launched into society and already I am ruined. My poor papa must be beside himself!’ Her gloved hands twisted together in her agitation.
Christian chuckled softly. ‘Unless I am mistaken, your “poor papa” is at this moment filled with self-satisfied jubilation.’
‘You really are ivre—’ She paused, obviously seeking the translation. ‘Inebriated. You are inebriated,’ she repeated firmly. ‘Drunk. Soused—’
‘I believe you have made yourself clear, thank you, Lisette,’ he drawled. ‘And no, I am perfectly sober, I do assure you.’
‘Then what on earth possessed you to behave in such a scandalous fashion?’
He shrugged. ‘It succeeded in securing your singular attention, did it not?’
Lisette could have cried with pure frustration at the social disaster that had just occurred. All those hours, weeks of excruciating lessons and dress fittings and tedious social visits to her papa’s friends, had all been stripped away, demolished by the simple action of Christian sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her from the ballroom.
Christian Seaton: Duke of Danger Page 20