Christian Seaton: Duke Of Danger

As he still had no idea yet whether she was the innocent she seemed or an accomplished actress, he would be wiser to allow her to continue with her assumption that his intentions were dishonourable.

Especially as he was unsure if that might not be the case...

Her kiss had seemed to lack experience, but that could have been part of an act. Innocence was not a trait that usually appealed to him in a woman, but it had succeeded in arousing him in Lisette’s case.

He was still aroused.

He shifted slightly forward on his seat so that his arousal was not noticeable. ‘Are you sorry that I did?’ he prompted softly as he took both her gloved hands in his much larger ones and continued to act the roué Comte de Saint-Cloud.

She blinked long lashes over those huge blue eyes. ‘I—’ she moistened plump lips ‘—I came only to warn you, mon—Christian,’ she corrected huskily as he gave her a reproving smile.

Christian forced himself not to tense at her comment. ‘To warn me of what, mon ange?’

It had been so long since anyone had spoken to Lisette with such gentleness, such kindness, that she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

Helene had provided her with all the necessary comforts—a home, a bed, clothes to wear—but there was no softness in the woman who claimed to have given birth to her. Helene possessed none of the Duprée warmth and easy affection. Indeed, Lisette found it difficult to believe that the older woman could ever have felt passionately enough about a man to have made a child with him.

Until this moment, when the Comte spoke to her so gently, she had been battling so valiantly to adapt to her new life that she had not realised how much she had missed the warmth of another human being.

Even one as dangerously attractive as the Comte de Saint-Cloud.

And he was dangerous. He had flirted with her earlier. Invited her to supper at his home—and goodness knew what else he intended. And he had kissed her a short time ago. A kiss such as Lisette had never imagined receiving from any man. A kiss that had warmed her from her head to her toes, and caused sensations within her body she had never felt before, nor could explain.

She straightened determinedly. ‘I came to warn you that Helene is most displeased by the attentions you showed me tonight. So displeased that I believe she might mean to ask some of her...friends to cause you actual physical harm.’

There, she had now done what she intended to do, and given this man fair warning. It was now up to the Comte whether or not he acted upon that warning.

‘If you would stop the carriage now?’ Lisette requested. ‘I believe I might be able to walk back to the tavern from here.’ Although she could not say she relished the idea; Helene had warned her that pickpockets—and worse—lurked upon these streets after dark, in search of the unwary and the drink-sodden, and they did not return to their lairs until daybreak. The thought of being accosted by such people as she walked back to the tavern was enough to cause her to tremble.

Christian suspected that there was more about him that ‘displeased’ Helene Rousseau than his overt flirtation with her young niece.

As for his allowing Lisette to depart his carriage now... ‘We will return to my home first, where we can sit and talk in warmth and comfort—’

‘Oh, but—’

‘If you still wish to return home afterwards—’ he talked over what he knew was going to be Lisette’s protest ‘—I will bring you back in my carriage.’

‘There is no “if” about it, monsieur,’ she assured him firmly. ‘Nor do I wish to go to your home; an unmarried lady does not enter the house of an unmarried gentleman without causing severe damage to her reputation.’

The fact that Lisette currently lived in a lowly tavern with a woman such as Helene Rousseau was surely already damage enough to her reputation?

As if aware of his thoughts, a blush now appeared in Lisette’s cheeks. ‘I did not always live in a tavern, monsieur,’ she informed him stiffly. ‘Until just two months ago I lived on a farm in the country with my...with relatives.’

Very curious...

Although it would explain why there had never been any mention of Lisette in the reports made by other agents for the Crown, in connection to Helene or André Rousseau.

‘I, for one, am grateful that your aunt brought you to live with her in Paris,’ he drawled.

‘My aunt?’ Lisette repeated sharply.

‘Mademoiselle Rousseau,’ Christian supplied slowly even as he looked at Lisette searchingly; she seemed surprised—shocked?—by his knowledge of her relationship to the older woman. ‘She explained your connection to me earlier this evening,’ he added gently.

Lisette moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Yes, of course...my aunt,’ she rallied slightly, even tried to smile a little.

Christian was not fooled for a moment by Lisette’s attempt to cover her confusion.

He just had no idea as to the reason for that confusion...

Chapter 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 be his own to use if he so wished, but nevertheless he was alone in a country that was not his own and amongst people he could not trust.

Not even the lovely Lisette.

Perhaps especially the lovely Lisette.

‘She assured me earlier that I would not be seeing you at the tavern again after this evening.’ Lisette frowned.

Christian raised his brows. ‘That was very...precipitate of her.’

‘I believe it was because she already has plans afoot to ensure you are unable to return, monsieur,’ Lisette pressed urgently.

‘Christian.’

She gave him an impatient glance. ‘What does it matter in what manner I address you, if you are not alive to hear it?’

Christian gave a lazy smile. ‘I am not that easy to kill, lovely Lisette. Besides,’ he continued lightly as she would have protested, ‘I am alive here and now, and we are together, which is all that is important, is it not?’

‘No, it most certainly is not all that is important!’ She eyed him exasperatedly.

‘I find your concern for me most charming, Lisette,’ he drawled flirtatiously. ‘But you really need not concern yourself on my account—’

‘How can I not concern myself?’ She rose agitatedly to her feet. ‘When I am the reason you are in danger?’

Christian sincerely doubted that; he was becoming more and more convinced by the moment that Helene Rousseau did suspect him and his reason for being in Paris. To a degree where it was no longer safe for him to continue to remain here posing as the Comte de Saint-Cloud?

That would be a pity, considering all the work and planning that had gone into establishing that identity before his arrival in France.

It also meant that tonight might be the only time he had left in Paris.

A night he might spend with Lisette?

He placed his brandy glass down on the side table before rising lazily to his feet. ‘I am sure you would feel more comfortable if you were to remove your bonnet and cloak.’

‘I do not wish to feel more comfortable—’

‘Of course you do.’ Christian crossed the distance that separated them before unfastening her bonnet himself and removing it, ignoring her efforts to stop him as he then untied the cloak at her throat before placing them both down on the armchair and turning back to her. ‘Much better,’ he noted with satisfaction as he took both of her gloved hands in one of his.

He did not particularly care for the plain black gown Lisette was wearing, would much rather see her in bright colours that would flatter rather than detract from her delicate complexion. But her hair gleamed like copper in the firelight, and the warmth of the fire had indeed brought back a little of the colour to her cheeks.

She looked slightly bewildered at his deft removal of her bonnet and cloak. ‘I told you I cannot stay above a minute or two—’

‘You really must not distress yourself, my dear Lisette,’ Christian soothed softly. ‘As I have said, we have tonight together...’ He held her now startled gaze as he slowly lowered his head towards her.

Lisette’s head began to spin as she knew this completely compelling man, Christian Beaumont, Comte de Saint-Cloud, was about to kiss her again.

She couldn’t move, was held completely mesmerised by those lavender eyes gazing down into her own as the Comte’s lips brushed gently against hers.

Her hands were still held captive in his much larger one as his other arm moved about her waist and pulled her in tightly against him. Instantly making Lisette aware of his strength and the hardness of his muscled chest.

Until tonight she had never been kissed before, but she was sure that if she had it would not have made her feel the way that Christian’s kisses did: as if she were floating on air and Christian’s arm about her waist was the only thing keeping her feet on the ground.

Her life had been so miserable since coming to Paris, everything strange and uncomfortable to her, and this—being held by Christian, being kissed by him—was so overwhelmingly pleasurable after so many weeks of unhappiness and uncertainty and feeling that she no longer belonged anywhere.

For this moment, for here and for now, surely she could just forget all of that and enjoy being in this man’s arms.

Lisette pulled her hands free of his to glide them up the length of his muscled chest before resting them on his shoulders, as she stood on tiptoe and returned the kiss. Not expertly, she was sure, but she hoped that what she lacked in experience she more than made up for in her obvious enjoyment and enthusiasm.

Better—much, much better, Christian acknowledged with inner satisfaction as he deepened the kiss by running his tongue lightly, questioningly, along the line of Lisette’s closed lips. He felt her brief hesitation before those softly pouting lips parted, allowing him access as his tongue now glided inside the moist and welcoming heat of her mouth.

He groaned softly as he felt the stroke of her tongue along his, hesitant at first and then more assuredly. His body instantly responded to the intimacy, engorging, and lengthening impatiently inside his pantaloons.

Christian pressed his body intimately into Lisette’s as he kissed her harder, deeper. Hearing her responding groan as his tongue now explored the sweetness of her mouth, at the same time as his hands moved restlessly up and down the length of her spine.

His fingers brushed against the tiny buttons fastening the back of her gown, and he continued to kiss her as he unfastened enough of those buttons to slip one of his hands inside and touch the softness of her bare skin.

She felt like silk beneath his fingertips. Warm, soft silk that seemed to heat to the touch of his caressing hands.

It was not enough. Christian needed to see all of her. To touch her. To caress and pleasure her—

‘No!’ Lisette had wrenched her mouth away from Christian’s to protest, eyes wide as she stared up at him in what looked like a mixture of fascination and shock.

The first emotion Christian could understand; he was experienced enough to know when a woman found pleasure in his kisses. And he had no doubt Lisette had enjoyed their kisses as much as he had.

The shock appeared to have occurred because he had unfastened her gown and touched her bared skin...

Her dilated pupils, and the quick rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed deeply, told him that Lisette’s shock was completely genuine.

Not a whore, then.

The mystery that surrounded this young woman deepened every second they were together.

She pushed determinedly against his chest now in an effort to escape his imprisoning arms. ‘You must release me, Christian. Please!’ Her eyes met his in appeal when her efforts to free herself proved unsuccessful.

He looked down at her searchingly. ‘You did not enjoy being kissed?’

‘No! Well. Yes.’ A blush heated her cheeks. ‘Of course I enjoyed being kissed—’

‘Then why have you stopped me?’

Why had she stopped him?

For the same reason she knew that she could not remain here alone in this room with this man a moment longer.

Because she had enjoyed his kisses too much. Had wanted his hands upon her bared flesh too much.

Because she had wanted so much more than just his kisses.

For just a brief time, a few moments, Lisette had wanted to lose herself in Christian’s kisses and caresses, to forget the unhappiness of these past months, along with the uncertainty of no longer knowing who or what she was.

For this time, here with Christian, she had wanted to just be herself. The Lisette Duprée who had been loved and cherished by the couple she had believed were her parents, and not the illegitimate daughter of a woman who seemed to care nothing for her, who owned and ran a lowly Parisian tavern frequented by criminals and whores.

That same woman who Lisette now knew had not even claimed her as being her daughter.

Except it really would not do.

The brief pleasure Lisette might know in Christian Beaumont’s arms would not, could not, drive away the otherwise unhappiness of her life for more than a few minutes, at the most hours.

Whereas the reality of the life she now led would last for her lifetime.

‘I have to go.’ She avoided meeting Christian’s gaze as she stepped away from him. ‘I must return to the tavern before I am missed—’

‘Perhaps you have already been missed...?’

Her heart leaped apprehensively in her chest. ‘Do not say that, Christian, even in jest.’

Christian frowned. He saw how pale her face was in the firelight. ‘Do you fear retribution from your aunt?’

‘No.’ Her gaze avoided meeting his. ‘No, of course I do not.’

Her denial came too quickly for Christian’s liking. ‘Come away with me, Lisette.’ The offer was completely spontaneous and as much of a surprise to Christian as it appeared to be to Lisette. ‘We could go to my country estate—’ the Saint-Cloud family still had one somewhere in Brittany ‘—or...the war is over now and I have relatives in England. I could take you there if you would rather leave France altogether?’

‘Leave France?’ she echoed faintly, as if the idea both thrilled and terrified her.

Christian regretted his offer as soon as the words left his mouth. The idea of taking Lisette back to England with him was ridiculous; what would he possibly do with the niece of Helene Rousseau once they were back in England?

For one thing, once in England, Lisette would quickly realise that he was not Christian Beaumont, the Comte de Saint-Cloud, at all, but in actual fact Christian Seaton, the Duke of Sutherland.

But perhaps, as he suspected in regard to her aunt, Lisette already knew that, and returning to England with him had been her plan all along?

Admittedly, she had looked shocked at the idea, but Christian still had no proof, either way, whether Lisette was all that she seemed to be.

Indeed, he was more unsure than ever as to what she seemed.

The niece Helene Rousseau claimed her to be? A description which had seemed to startle Lisette when he’d called her such earlier.

Or something else completely?

No doubt Lord Aubrey Maystone, his immediate superior in his work for the Crown, would be more than happy to have the niece of Helene Rousseau in his clutches, after the kidnapping of his young grandson.

What might happen to Lisette once Christian had delivered her into the older man’s hands did not bear thinking about; Christian’s first loyalty might be to the Crown, but he had no evidence that Lisette was guilty of anything, other than the misfortune of being related to Helene Rousseau. Which would make her an innocent pawn, as Aubrey Maystone’s grandson had been.

It was not a risk Christian was willing to take.

‘A ridiculous idea, is it not, when I have only just arrived in Paris and there is still so much for me to enjoy?’ he dismissed lightly.

Lisette blinked at the Comte’s about-turn when, just for a moment, a brief euphoric moment, she had dreamed of escaping Paris, the tavern and her association with Helene Rousseau. To leave France completely and begin again somewhere new, where no one knew her or the shameful secret of her birth she carried with her every moment of every day.