Or a duchess...
Christian Seaton’s duchess.
Except he did not appear to have one of those.
Lisette wondered why that was when he was a handsome man in his early thirties and in possession of a wealth she could only ever dream about.
But perhaps he considered his work for the English Crown too dangerous to risk taking a wife? The fact that Christian had been shot only days ago would seem to confirm it was dangerous work.
And the truthful answer to his question was that she did not have anything she ‘needed’. No home. No money. Her future uncertain. No kind relatives to whom she might ask for help.
She felt wholly disconnected from any
and everything that was familiar to her, and her earlier bravado upon arriving at this imposing residence had now totally deserted her.
Added to, she had no doubt, by the memory of Christian’s efforts to rid himself of the responsibility of her just a short time ago...
‘I believe so, thank you,’ she answered Christian in a subdued voice.
‘You do not sound as if you do.’ Christian favoured his left leg as he stepped further into the room.
Evidence that he was once again in pain?
Lisette stood up. ‘Do you wish me to inspect and re-dress your wounds before you retire to your bedchamber?’
‘No, thank you,’ Christian refused ruefully. He was only too well aware of what that ‘inspection’ might lead to, despite his disquieting thoughts of earlier and the discomfort of his wound.
A certain part of his anatomy did not seem to give a damn about either of those things and leaped up eagerly in response to Lisette’s slightest touch. The very reason he had chosen to leave the bedchamber door open when he entered.
‘What am I to do whilst you are resting?’ There was a frown between Lisette’s eyes.
Stay out of trouble was Christian’s first thought, followed by the knowledge that it would be no good to instruct Lisette to do any such thing when trouble, of one sort or another, seemed to follow her around.
Not particularly through any fault of her own, he accepted; Miss Lisette Duprée just seemed to be a magnet for all things troublesome.
‘Perhaps you might also rest?’ he suggested mildly, determinedly walking over to the window to look down into the square below rather than at Lisette; she looked so woebegone at the moment, it was all he could do not to take her into his arms and offer her comfort.
A comforting that he had no doubt would lead to the deeper intimacy between them that he was trying so hard to avoid now that they were in his London home. For Lisette’s sake; all servants gossiped, even if one might wish they did not, and London society was so quick to condemn when it came to the reputation of a lady, no matter how much Christian might continue to publicly claim that Lisette was his ward.
Damn both Marcus and Maystone; one for ignoring his obvious request for assistance, the other for being so befuddled of wits he had not only seemed, but had proved to be, incapable of any action or sensible thought where Lisette was concerned.
Not that Christian would have allowed the older man to take Lisette away with him. He could not have allowed that after his earlier promises, but he could have done with a little assistance from one or both of the other gentlemen in regard to this situation.
A situation not of Lisette’s choosing, he once again reminded himself heavily.
‘I am not tired,’ she answered him huskily.
Christian frowned now at the way Lisette kept her face turned away from him. Damn it, if she was crying...!
He was weakened and felt as much at a loss as most men did when confronted by a woman’s tears. The more so if they were Lisette’s—she had been so stalwart in her behaviour and actions up until now. He could not think of many women who would have acted as bravely as she had done these past few days—escaping out of windows in order to warn him of danger, coming to his rescue after he had been shot, leaving behind her home and country to sail all the way to England to care for him on the journey.
And her reward? She had been bundled into a coach and brought to London against her will. Moreover, she had been made love to in that coach by the very man who was responsible for her present dilemma.
Perhaps, in the circumstances, Lisette was allowed to shed a few tears.
‘Come here.’ Christian limped across the room to sit down on the bed beside her and take her into his arms. ‘No, do not fight me, Lisette,’ he soothed gently as she did exactly that. ‘Let me hold you,’ he encouraged gruffly.
‘Why?’ Her voice was muffled against his chest as his arms held her too tightly for her to escape.