Christian Seaton: Duke Of Danger
But within days of arriving in Paris, Lisette had come to hate it with a vengeance. It was smelly and dirty, and the people she occasionally met out in the streets or the tavern were not much better. And Helene Rousseau proved to be a cold and distant woman with whom Lisette had nothing in common but her birth.
There was also deep unrest still amongst the Parisian people, who had first had a king, then an emperor, then a king again, and then again an emperor, only for that emperor to then once again be deposed and their king returned to them.
Such things had not affected Lisette when she’d lived on the farm with the Duprées. There they had only been concerned with caring for the animals, and the setting of and then bringing in of the harvest each year.
But political intrigues seemed to abound in Paris, with neighbour speaking out against neighbour, often with dire consequences.
Lisette also strongly suspected there were meetings held in one of the private rooms above the tavern, in which that political unrest was avidly and passionately discussed. Meetings over which Helene Rousseau presided...
‘Then perhaps you might meet with me outside and join me for a late supper at my home when you have finished your work for the night...?’
Lisette’s eyes widened in shock as she looked up at the handsome gentleman who did not seem as if he should be in such a place as this lowly tavern at all, let alone asking one of the serving women if she would meet him for supper.
No doubt he was one of those gentlemen the Duprées had warned her of when she’d reached her sixteenth birthday and had shown signs of developing a womanly figure. Gentlemen who gave not a care if they disgraced an innocent, before continuing merrily on their way.
‘I am afraid that will not be possible, Monsieur la Comte—’ She broke off as the lavender-eyed Comte stepped forward to prevent her from leaving. ‘I must return to my work, monsieur,’ she insisted firmly.
Christian found that he had no wish for Lisette to return to her work. Indeed, he discovered he was not favourably inclined to this young and beautiful woman working in this tavern at all.
It was a lowly, bawdy place, where he had just observed a man thrusting his hand down the low-cut bodice of a barmaid’s gown, before popping that breast out completely so that he might fondle and suckle a rosy nipple. Where in another shadowy corner of the tavern he could see another couple, the woman’s skirts pushed up to her waist, the man’s breeches unfastened, as the two of them actually fornicated in front of all who cared to watch.
Christian, for all his previous sins, most certainly did not care to view so unpleasant a sight.
Indeed, he had begun to find the whole atmosphere of this tavern to be overly lewd and oppressive.
And this delicate woman certainly did not belong in such a place, no matter what her biological connection to the patroness might be.
He curled his fingers lightly about the slenderness of Lisette’s arm. ‘I will be waiting outside in my carriage for you to join me from midnight onwards—’
‘I cannot, monsieur.’ Her eyes had filled with alarm. ‘Tonight or any other night.’
‘I mean you no harm, Lisette.’ Christian sighed his frustration with her obvious distrust. ‘You must know that you do not belong here?’
Tears now swam in those exquisite blue eyes. ‘I have nowhere else to go, monsieur.’
Rescuing an obvious damsel in distress was not part of Christian’s mission. Indeed, his superiors in government would say it was the opposite of his purpose here. Most especially when that damsel was the niece of the woman—and quite possibly the daughter of the rabble-rouser André Rousseau?—he had come here to observe.
He released her arm reluctantly. ‘I will be waiting outside for you in my carriage from midnight anyway, just in case you should change your mind...’
‘I cannot, monsieur.’ She cast a furtive glance towards the kitchen as the door swung open and Helene Rousseau strode back into the noisy tavern, her shrewd eyes narrowing as she saw Christian and Lisette were still standing together in conversation. ‘I must go.’ Lisette stepped hastily away from him. ‘For your own sake, monsieur, I advise you do not come here again,’ she added in a whisper.
Christian considered that warning some minutes later as he sat in his carriage on the way back to his house beside the Seine, and he could come to only one conclusion.
That the lovely Lisette was frightened of her aunt...
Chapter Two
Lisette went about the rest of her work in a daze following the Comte’s departure just minutes after their conversation came to an abrupt end.
In response to her warning, she hoped.
Although he had not appeared to be the sort of gentleman who would frighten easily.
As she was frightened.
The Comte de Saint-Cloud was perfectly correct in his concern for her well-being here, with the drunkards and bawds. Much as Helene might try to protect her.
But what else did the Comte have to offer her, besides supper and no doubt a seduction within his home; he might be wealthier and more highly born than the usual patrons of the Fleur de Lis, but he was no more to be trusted than the other men who came here, who would all willingly throw up her skirts and take her innocence, given the opportunity and the chance to escape from Helene’s sharp-eyed gaze.
The Comte might do it more gracefully, and no doubt in pleasanter surroundings, but he would still take what Lisette did not wish to give. Before walking away unconcernedly to rejoin others of his class and forgetting completely the young woman whom he had seduced. And ruined.
The fact that he had frequented such a tavern as this at all was suspect. And surely indication of his intention to find a woman he might take to bed for the night, before having one of his servants show her the door in the morning, when he had no further use for her?
Lisette knew that could be the only possible reason for such a fine and titled gentleman to so much as enter a lowly tavern such as this one.
And yet for just a few moments, a minute perhaps, something had burgeoned inside her chest—a temptation to accept his offer of joining him for a late supper—in the hope that he might offer to take her away from this lowly place, which she hated to her very soul.
* * *
‘You might as well stop mooning over the Comte,’ Helene sneered several hours later, after having thrown out the last of her drunken customers into the alleyway at the back of the tavern, before locking the door behind her. ‘He will not be returning here.’
Lisette looked at the older woman searchingly, easily noting the satisfaction in Helene’s expression. ‘How can you be so sure...?’
Hard blue eyes flashed a warning. ‘You will not question me as to my...methods, Lisette.’
Her alarm deepened. ‘I am sure Monsieur le Comte meant no harm when he spoke to me earlier.’
‘I believe it is past time you retired to your bedchamber, Lisette,’ Helene dismissed. ‘You have been most helpful this evening, but I do not think we will repeat the experience.’
‘But—’
‘Go to bed now, Lisette.’ The older woman snapped her impatience as a knock now sounded softly on the closed back door of the tavern.
Lisette bit back her next comment, that discreet knock on the door warning her that this was one of those nights when Helene was to have another of her meetings.
Clandestine meetings, with men—and women?—who either did not want to be seen frequenting the tavern or openly associating with Helene Rousseau. Or perhaps both? The Fleur de Lis and its customers were certainly not for the faint-hearted, or those members of society who should not even know such a woman as Helene Rousseau existed, let alone be calling upon her in the dark of night.
None of which helped to dispel Lisette’s concerns for the welfare of the Comte de Saint-Cloud.
She had learned these past weeks that Helene was a powerful woman in these shadowed alleyways of Paris, with a knowledge of most, if not all, of the thieves and murderers that frequented them. It would be the simplest thing in the world for the older woman to request the assistance—after silver had exchanged hands, of course—of any one of those cut-throats in her desire to ensure the Comte de Saint-Cloud did not return.
Could not return.
‘Certainly, Helene.’ She made a curtsy before taking a lit candle and hurrying up the stairs to her bedchamber, only to then pace the small room restlessly as she tried to decide what she should do next.
She really could not allow the Comte de Saint-Cloud to come to harm just because he had dared to speak with her.
She had heard the murmur of voices in the hallway outside some minutes ago, followed by a door closing, which meant that Helene would now be kept occupied with her late night callers. If Lisette was very quiet, she could move softly along the hallway and down the stairs, leave a window open downstairs at the back of the tavern ready for her to climb into upon her return, and then—
And then what?
The Comte had said his house was situated by the river, but just the thought of being out alone at night in Paris was enough to cause a quiver of fear to run the length of Lisette’s spine. These streets were unsafe for a lone woman in the daytime; at night she would be an easy target for much more than the thieves and bawds.
And the Comte de Saint-Cloud?
Her thoughts always came back to him, and the look of determination on Helene’s face when she had said he would not be returning to the tavern. Such certainty of purpose could surely mean only one thing? Nor did Lisette make the mistake of underestimating Helene’s ability to carry through with that purpose; many of the men who frequented the tavern, hard and callous men, were obviously in awe of the Fleur de Lis’ patroness.
Lisette could not bear to think of the handsome Comte’s lavender-coloured eyes closing forever.
Just as she could not continue to stay here in her bedchamber, acting the coward, when even now Helene’s cut-throats might be closing in for the kill.
Lisette’s spine straightened with a resolve she could not allow to waver as she pulled on her black bonnet and gathered up her black cloak—mourning clothes for the uncle she had never met—before quietly opening the door to her bedchamber and peering out to ensure that the hallway was empty. Assured it was so, she quietly slipped from the room and down the stairs. With any luck she would be able to find and visit the Comte’s home, issue a warning and return to the tavern before Helene was any the wiser.
If not...
Lisette did not care to think of what might happen if she was too late to warn Monsieur le Comte.
Or of Helene’s fury if Lisette did not return to the tavern before her absence was discovered.
* * *
Christian stood in the shadows of a doorway, a safe enough distance from the Fleur de Lis, but close enough that he was able to see the dozen or so gentlemen and two ladies, who had entered through the back door of that establishment during the past half an hour.
He was under no illusions as to the reason for their clandestine visit, knew that he must have stumbled upon one of the secret meetings of Helene Rousseau and her co-conspirators.
Stumbled, because Helene Rousseau was not the reason Christian had come back to the tavern tonight.
He had returned briefly to his house by the Seine after leaving the tavern earlier, going inside to his bedchamber so that he might change into dark clothing, before going out again. He had ordered his groom to wait with the carriage several streets away from the Fleur de Lis, before wrapping his dark cloak about him to move stealthily through the pungent and filthy alleyways to the doorway across and down the street from the tavern.
The tavern was in darkness apart from a single candle burning in one of the bedchambers above, which, from the slightness of the silhouette of a person he could see pacing back and forth past the curtained window, might possibly be the bedchamber of the lovely Lisette.
When even that candle was extinguished just minutes later, the tavern was left in complete darkness.
And Christian with a feeling of disappointment.
It had been too much to hope for, of course, that Lisette would change her mind and join him for a late supper. She did not know him, nor did she seem the type of young lady who would sneak out of her aunt’s home in the middle of the night with the intention of dining alone with a gentleman. Even without her eagle-eyed aunt acting as her protector.
That look of innocence, and the tears that had shone in those huge blue eyes earlier when Lisette had told him she had ‘nowhere else to go’, could all be an act, of course. Nothing more than the clever machinations of an innocent-looking whore in search of a rich protector. Christian was sure he would not be the first gentleman to fall for such an act.
Yet there had been a sincerity to Lisette Duprée. An indication, perhaps, that her innocence might be genuine.
And Christian could just be the biggest fool in Paris for giving that young woman so much as a second thought. Indeed, Helene Rousseau’s warning earlier, in regard to his staying away from her niece, might all be part of the ruse to pique and hold his interest, rather than the opposite.
There was also that disturbing moment to consider when Helene Rousseau had initially spoken to him in English. A test, perhaps, to see if he would respond in kind? Or possibly because she already knew he was not the Comte de Saint-Cloud?
If that was the case, then Christian’s presence in Paris was a complete waste of time, and he would learn nothing. Except perhaps to feel the sharp end of a blade piercing his back when he least expected it.
Even more reason for Christian to concentrate on the meeting now taking place within the tavern, and the identity of the people present.
Rather than, as he had been doing, imagining how Lisette would look as she lay in her bed...
Would she be dressed demurely in a night-rail, or did she sleep naked?
Would her breasts be tipped by rosy nipples or darker plum-coloured ones?
And would the silky thatch between her thighs be as vibrant a red as the curls—?
‘Monsieur le Comte...?’
It would be an understatement, considering the direction of his thoughts, to say that Christian was startled to hear the sound of Lisette’s soft and huskily enquiring voice beside him.
Startled and not a little annoyed with himself for being so distracted by thoughts of this beautiful young woman that he had not even noticed her leaving the tavern, let alone approaching him. Such inattentiveness could easily get a man killed.
Christian gathered his thoughts as he turned to face her, approving of the fact that she at least wore dark clothing, as he did, the hood of her cloak pulled up over her bonnet, hiding the brightness of her hair. ‘I am gratified to see you have changed your mind about joining me for supper, mademoiselle,’ he answered her flirtatiously.
‘We cannot stay here, where we might be seen at any moment, monsieur,’ she came back urgently.
‘No, of course not,’ Christian readily accepted as he took a firm hold of her arm. He might now have to abandon his interest in the identity of the people who had so recently entered the tavern so surreptitiously but he had the next best thing: Helene Rousseau’s niece. ‘My carriage is waiting for us—’
‘Oh, no, monsieur, I cannot come with you. I wished only to—’
‘Hush!’ Christian warned sharply as he pulled her into his arms and pressed her back into the shadows of the doorway, having noticed that several cloaked figures were now leaving the tavern.
‘Monsieur!’ Lisette protested indignantly.
‘Hush—’
‘Monsieur, I must protest—’
Christian could think of only one way he might prevent Lisette from alerting others to their presence here with her verbal indignation at his manhandling of her.
He took it.
Lisette’s protests died in her throat, to be replaced by surprise and then pleasure, as the Comte took masterful possession of her lips with his own.
She had never been kissed before, nor had she ever dreamed that her first kiss would be with such a man as the handsome Comte de Saint-Cloud.
That he was an expert in such things came as no surprise to her; he was at least a dozen years her senior, and there was about him an air of ease and sophistication that spoke of his knowledge of women.
Even knowing that, Lisette was immediately lost to everything but the wonder of Christian Beaumont’s mouth on hers. His arms were firm about her as he held her against the hardness of his body, and the warmth of his tongue dared a caress across her lips to part them and deepen the kiss.
Heart pounding, Lisette’s hands moved to cling to the folds of his evening cloak, as she felt herself completely overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through her body: excitement and pleasure. The latter manifested itself in the tightening of the bodice of her gown, as if her breasts were swelling, the rosy tips tingling, and there was an unfamiliar but not unpleasant warmth blossoming between her thighs.
It was singularly the most wonderful experience of her short lifetime, beyond any imagining, beyond—
The Comte brought the kiss to an abrupt end as he lifted his mouth from hers. ‘Do not speak, Lisette,’ he warned softly against her ear. ‘Whatever happens, do not speak.’
Whatever happens...?
Lisette felt too dazed still to understand what he meant by that. What did he imagine was going to happen? A kiss was a kiss, but anything more than that was unthinkable. And if the Comte thought— If he imagined for one moment—
‘Feel like sharing, mon ami?’
‘For the price I paid for her? Non.’ The Comte turned his head to answer the intruder with a dismissive laugh, at the same time as the bulk of his body managed to keep Lisette shielded from any gaze that might try to pry any further into the doorway. ‘I intend to take my money’s worth and more!’
‘Bon chance!’ another man called out laughingly as the two continued on their way.
Lisette’s face paled as she listened to the exchange between the three men, shocked by the earthiness of the conversation but also realising the Comte must have been protecting her from the attentions of the other men when he pushed her into the doorway.
At the same time she felt disappointed to realise that the Comte had kissed her for the same reason. It was a little humiliating to realise how much she had enjoyed the kiss when, to the Comte, it had only been a means of silencing her.
She pushed determinedly against the muscled chest pinning her in the doorway. ‘I believe we are alone again now, monsieur. You may release me,’ she instructed sharply as she failed to shift him by so much as an inch.
Christian had no desire to ‘release’ Lisette. Indeed, the opposite. He wanted to kiss her again, this time without the distraction of the approach of the two gentlemen he had noted leaving the tavern; Helene Rousseau’s meeting was obviously over for tonight. Which meant that more of the co-conspirators would shortly be leaving the tavern too.
‘We need to leave here, Lisette.’
‘I came only to warn you—’
‘Warn me?’ Christian questioned sharply as he stepped back slightly to look down at her. Not that he could see very much; the streets were dark, and the doorway even darker.
‘My—Helene did not take kindly to your attentions to me earlier this evening, monsieur—’
‘Christian. Call me Christian,’ he instructed shortly, having duly noted Lisette’s slight hesitation after ‘my’.
‘It is not permissible—’
‘I just kissed you, Lisette,’ he drawled. ‘I believe that now makes many things between the two of us “permissible”.’
She drew in a soft gasp. ‘It is ungentlemanly of you to talk of such things.’
Christian wanted to do more than talk about them; the throb of his arousal told him he wanted to kiss Lisette again, and keep on kissing every inch of her as he made full and pleasurable love to her. Which, given their circumstances, was beyond reckless of him.
Not only were they in a precarious position out here where they might be seen together, but also he still did not know whether Lisette was all that she appeared to be, or if she was working in cahoots with her aunt. Until he did know he would be wise to treat her, and anything she said to him, with suspicion.
Which would be easier for him to do if only she did not have those deep blue eyes he wanted to drown in, and those soft and delectable lips he wished to kiss and keep on kissing...
‘We cannot stay here, Lisette.’ Christian took a firm hold of her arm to pull her along at his side as he stepped out of the doorway and began to walk quickly away from the tavern. ‘My carriage is but a short distance away. We will talk again once we are inside and well away from prying eyes and ears.’
‘Please—I must return to the tavern before I am missed,’ Lisette protested as she almost had to run to keep up with the Comte’s much longer strides or risk falling over onto the dirty cobbles beneath her feet.
The Comte either did not hear her or chose to ignore her as he continued to stride purposefully, and knowledgeably, down several alleyways Lisette had not even known were there, despite having lived in Paris for some weeks now.
A carriage waited in the shadows of one of the streets, and it was towards this vehicle that the Comte now guided her as a groom jumped quickly down to hold the door open for them both to get inside.
Lisette held back from entering the carriage. ‘It is impossible for me to go with you, monsieur— Umph!’ The rest of Lisette’s protest was cut off as the Comte de Saint-Cloud unceremoniously picked her up in his arms and deposited her inside the carriage before tersely instructing the groom to move on as he joined her and the door was firmly closed behind him.
A lantern lit the inside of the heavily curtained carriage—which was perhaps the reason Lisette had not been able to see the light before now?—allowing her to appreciate the plushness of the interior.
And the man now seated opposite her...
His hair shone like burnished gold in the lamplight, those lavender eyes narrowed in a face that was far too handsome for any woman’s comfort. Especially so, when he had kissed that woman a short time ago and she was now alone with him in his carriage.
‘You take liberties, monsieur.’ Lisette glared across at the Comte as she now straightened her bonnet from where it had been knocked askew when he had picked her up and thrust her inside the carriage.
Some of the Comte’s tension seemed to ease and he relaxed back against the upholstery as the carriage began to move forward. ‘You are the one who came looking for me, Lisette, remember.’
She did remember. And she now regretted it. For surely this man had demonstrated in the past few minutes that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Even against such men as Helene might send to accost him? Yes, Lisette believed that might be the case.
That air of easy charm he had affected in the tavern earlier this evening had now been replaced by a narrow-eyed watchfulness. Which Lisette sensed could be as dangerous as Helene’s implied threats against him had been such a short time ago. Leading Lisette to believe she had wasted her time, and put herself in danger of incurring Helene’s wrath, by leaving the tavern to seek out and warn such a self-assured gentleman.
Her chin rose. ‘You were the one waiting outside the tavern in the hope I might join you.’
Christian could hardly argue with the logic of that comment. Unless he also wished to confess to Lisette that she had not been his only reason for skulking about in that doorway tonight.