Christian Seaton: Duke Of Danger. Carole Mortimer

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?

      Even so, Lisette had not realised until now that Helene had not publicly claimed her as her daughter at all, but instead only as her niece.

      She was not sure how she felt about that.

      ‘Lisette...?’

      She had been so deeply in thought that she had not realised the carriage had come to a halt, and that a groom now stood beside the open door waiting for her and the Comte to alight.

      Which must mean, whilst she had been lost in thought, they had arrived at the Comte de Saint-Cloud’s home.

      She gave a firm shake of her head. ‘I wish to return to the tavern now, monsieur.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Why? Because...well, because—’

      ‘What so urgently awaits you there, Lisette, that you cannot spare a few minutes to sit and share a glass of wine with me?’ the Comte teased softly.

      It was not her time that concerned Lisette, but her reputation.

      At the same time she felt slightly rebellious after learning that Helene chose to claim her only as her niece—that relationship implying she was the daughter of a man, Helene’s brother André, who was now dead.

      Also, Lisette did not think that the Comte had taken her at all seriously when she had tried to warn him of the possible danger he was in from Helene Rousseau.

      ‘Very well, monsieur, but a few minutes only.’ She nodded as she moved forward to step down from the carriage onto the cobbled street, her eyes widening as she looked up at the huge and imposing four-storey house before her. The Comte de Saint-Cloud’s Paris home?

      Lisette had never seen such a grand house as this, let alone been inside one. She only did so now because the Comte, having ordered the coachman to wait, now took a firm hold of her arm to walk up the steps to the huge front door now being held open by a man dressed in full livery.

      The candlelit and cavernous entrance hall took her breath away, with its pale blue walls with gold-inlaid panels, ornate statues and the wide and sweeping staircase to the gallery, a huge crystal chandelier suspended from the high ceiling above.

      Lisette felt small, and totally insignificant, amongst such grandeur.

      ‘Brandy and wine in the library, François,’ Christian instructed as he handed his coat and cloak to the other man before picking up a candelabrum to light their way through the entrance hall, on his way to the only room in the house he could tolerate for any length of time. The previous owner had possessed an air for the dramatic and ornate in regard to decor, one that did not suit Christian’s more elegantly subdued tastes at all.

      He could see at a glance that their surroundings had made Lisette shrink back into herself, her face appearing very pale beneath the rim of her black bonnet. Or perhaps that was through nerves at her own temerity in entering the home of a single gentleman? Whichever of those things it was, Christian did not enjoy seeing her so discomfited.

      ‘Sit down in a chair by the fire,’ he bade lightly once they had entered the book-lined library, the warmth of a fire crackling in the grate. Hopefully, the heat would bring some colour back into Lisette’s cheeks.

      ‘Just for a moment.’ Lisette looked so tiny, defenceless, as she sat in the huge wingback armchair, her feet barely touching the ground as she held her gloved hands out towards the flames.

      ‘Merci, François, that will be all for tonight.’ Christian continued to watch Lisette as he spoke to the other man distractedly, the butler placing the silver tray with the drinks on down onto a side table before departing.

      Christian still wondered if Lisette’s air of innocence, her reluctance to enter the house with him, could all be an act for his benefit, as he turned his attention to pouring the brandy and wine into two glasses. There was only one way to find out.

      But first...

      ‘Your wine, Lisette.’ He held the crystal glass out to her.

       ‘Merci.’

      Christian gave a rueful smile as she took care for her gloved fingers not to come into contact with his own as she took the glass from him. ‘What shall we drink to?’ he mused. ‘Our continued...friendship, perhaps?’

      Lisette felt slightly disconcerted by the Comte’s close proximity as he made no effort to step away from where she sat after handing her the glass of wine.

      He was just so—overpoweringly immediate in these more intimate surroundings. Seemed so much bigger, more imposing even than he had been in the tavern earlier or in his carriage on the journey here.

      His shoulders were so wide—and dependable?—his chest and arms muscled beneath the fine cut of his coat, as if he spent much of his time pursuing the gentlemanly sports, such as fencing and swordplay, rather than in the drinking salons, and taverns such as the Fleur de Lis.

      His fashionably overlong hair shone a pure gold in the candlelight and was rakishly tousled. As for the effect of those long-lashed lavender-coloured eyes in that harshly handsome and lightly tanned face; Lisette truly had never seen such beautiful eyes before, on a man or a woman.

      She was very aware that the two of them were very much alone here now that he had dismissed his manservant for the night.

      Her gaze dropped from meeting that mesmerising lavender one. ‘We can drink only to the present, Comte.’

      ‘The present,’ he echoed as he gave a mocking inclination of his head before taking a sip of his brandy, ‘is very much to my liking,’ he added gruffly.

      A blush warmed Lisette’s cheeks even as she took a sip of her red wine. It was a very good red wine, not at all like the rough vintage Helene served at the tavern. And further emphasising the fact that the Comte de Saint-Cloud inhabited a very different world from the one in which Lisette currently found herself. Even as the daughter of the Duprées she would have been completely out of her element with a man such as this one.

      She carefully placed her glass down on the small table beside the chair. ‘I do not believe you took my warning seriously earlier, Comte.’ She looked up at him earnestly. ‘My...my aunt has many associates who are not particularly pleasant, and who I believe would slit your throat for the price of a few pennies if asked to do so.’

      ‘And has your aunt asked them to do so?’ Christian arched mocking brows, again noting Lisette’s slight hesitation when stating that Helene Rousseau was her aunt. But if not the girl’s aunt, then who or what was she to Lisette?

      Her madam, perhaps, with Lisette as the innocent prize to be won?

      That explanation would certainly be in accordance with Lisette’s behaviour tonight. The ‘helpless innocent’ come to warn him of danger was the sort of behaviour designed to tighten the net about an infatuated victim.

      Or Lisette could simply have been sent here to him this evening in order to confirm or deny, by whatever means necessary, Helene Rousseau’s suspicions regarding him.

      ‘I believe she has, yes,’ Lisette answered him worriedly.

      ‘And why do you think that?’ Christian moved to sit in the chair opposite her, his posture one of outward relaxation and unconcern; inwardly it was a different matter.

      The title of Comte de Saint-Cloud might