‘I doubt you will be “stepping” anywhere with any degree of comfort or balance.’ She began to apply the clean bandage. ‘As I also doubt that you will be well enough for several more days to continue the journey on to London.’
Christian had already thought of that and, much as it irked him to admit it, he knew that a long journey by coach was not something he could contemplate right now. It would have to be enough, for the moment, that he was back in England. The delay would necessitate that he, and consequently Lisette, must tarry for a day or so in one of Portsmouth’s more comfortable inns. An inn Christian had frequented many times before on his illicit travels to and from France, and of a kind only found away from the dockside. But there was no reason, whilst he languished there, that he could not send word to Aubrey Maystone, and the other Dangerous Dukes, of his safe return.
A frown creased his brow at the thought of Maystone’s reaction to news of Lisette’s presence in England. The last thing he wanted was for the other man to come to Portsmouth and take charge of the situation—of Lisette—whilst Christian was too incapacitated to stop him or defend her. No, perhaps he would wait awhile longer before apprising Maystone of the fact he was now back in England.
‘Am I causing you discomfort?’ Lisette prompted with concern as she saw the frown on Christian’s brow.
‘No more than usual,’ he drawled as that frown lifted, lavender eyes now glittering with devilment.
The warmth in Lisette’s cheeks seemed to have become a permanent fixture, and she glanced at Christian impatiently, knowing he meant to deliberately disarm her. That he was actually enjoying himself now at her expense.
Obviously, he was feeling slightly better, in temper as well as in physical comfort.
‘Pity,’ she snapped as she tightened and secured the bandage and saw him wince before she stepped away from the bunk bed. ‘I will leave Davy to help you dress now, whilst I go to my own cabin and prepare for when we disembark.’
Christian’s disappointed gaze followed her as she crossed the cabin before leaving; he was becoming too accustomed, he realised, to like and appreciate too much these scintillating conversations with Lisette.
‘Ya ward’s a pretty one, me lord.’
That scowl once again creased Christian’s brow at Davy’s shyly voiced praise for Lisette; indeed, if he was not careful, those lines between his eyes would be there to stay! Brought about, he had no doubt, by the advent of Lisette into his life.
And what was this nonsense of Lisette being his ‘ward’?
An assumption by the crew, in view of their separate cabins? Or something that Lisette had told them in an effort to maintain some of the proprieties?
It made a certain sense, if he considered it. His absence and incapacity below decks would have placed Lisette in a vulnerable position aboard the sloop inhabited only by men, and consequently she had perhaps considered it to be the wisest explanation for their travelling to England alone together. It was rather enterprising of her, in fact, and perhaps something Christian should have thought of himself.
Although he could not say he altogether cared for the way it placed him in the position of being a paternal figure to her in the eyes of others. Such as the fresh-faced Davy, now assisting him in dressing. A presentable and handsome young man who was of a similar age to Lisette.
Was Christian feeling the unfamiliar pangs of jealousy again?
He did not wish to answer that question.
But one thing he knew for certain—he did not appreciate Davy’s obvious admiration for Lisette.
Chapter Seven
‘The Duke of Sutherland?’
Christian gave a wince at the accusation he could hear in Lisette’s voice as she glared at him across the best bedchamber at The Dog and Rabbit Inn in Portsmouth.
He had intended to talk to her, tell her of his title, before they arrived at the inn. But in truth, he had been so discomfited by the time he departed the sloop, having also had to stand by as witness to Lisette bidding a fond farewell to the Captain before they could enter the waiting carriage, each jolt of that vehicle on the way here causing him immeasurable pain, that it had been all he could do to remain conscious.
Unfortunately, the landlord at the inn knew him only as the Duke of Sutherland and had greeted him as such, along with much bowing and scraping, as he accompanied the two of them up to the luxurious suite of rooms where Christian now gratefully reclined upon the bed in the main bedchamber.
He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It is merely another one of my titles.’
‘The Duke of Sutherland is not “merely” another anything.’ Lisette was now staring at him as if he were a creature come from another planet. ‘Dukes are very important men in England, are they not? The elite of the aristocracy?’
Christian grimaced. ‘I am not sure that “elite” quite—’
‘Do not play games with me, Monsieur le Duc.’ Lisette had hardly been able to believe her own ears when she heard the landlord of this fashionable inn address Christian so formally. A duke! She had felt completely out of her depth knowing he was the French aristocrat the Comte de Saint-Cloud, but this—an English duke—was beyond her comprehension.
Perhaps...
Lisette narrowed her eyes. ‘You are not at all what you pretend to be, are you...?’ It had just occurred to her that an English duke would not have frequented a lowly Parisian tavern such as the Fleur de Lis.
‘I do not pretend to be anything, Lisette,’ Christian answered her firmly. ‘I have every right to us