Christian Seaton: Duke Of Danger. Carole Mortimer

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.