Christian sighed. ‘You do not even acknowledge Lisette as being your daughter, so why would you even bother following her and trying to take her back to Paris with you? Why did you abduct her? In order to bring Maystone to you? So that you might kill him?’ Christian continued determinedly. ‘Or was it for another reason entirely?’
Helene’s eyes narrowed on Maystone. ‘He deserves to die. He made love to me then returned to his wife without giving me a second thought, and left me with child!’
Christian’s mouth twisted wryly as he glanced at Lisette. ‘You really are your mother’s daughter.’
Lisette felt the colour heat her cheeks at the memory of the insults she’d thrown at Christian just yesterday.
It seemed so much longer than just a single day had passed since she verbally vented her anger at Christian at the inn in Portsmouth.
So much had happened in the past thirty-six hours that she really did feel at a loss to comprehend it, to take it all in, let alone make a life-changing decision.
Quite what Christian made of it all she did not like to hazard a guess.
He now gave a shake of his head. ‘There must have been any number of opportunities for you to...dispose of Maystone these past twenty years, madame. Why should you feel such a need to make him suffer now? To exact your revenge? To think of killing him? Or was it for another reason entirely that you wished to introduce Lord Maystone to his daughter?’
‘I do not— He is not— Bah!’ Helene threw up her hands in disgust.
Christian gave a rueful grimace. ‘Can it be that, in your own way, you do love your daughter? That you wish only the best for her? Even if you have now realised that best is not with you in a tavern in Paris?’
Lisette looked sharply at the woman who had given birth to her; she still could not think of her as her mother. Helene continued to look at Christian, eyes glittering.
‘I remember the night we all met at your tavern in Paris, madame,’ Christian continued softly. ‘Your threat to shoot me—a habit you really should think of breaking!—if I should even think of laying so much as a hand upon Lisette.’
Colour darkened Helene’s cheeks. ‘You— I— You are an English spy!’
‘At that moment I was only a man looking at your daughter with lustful eyes.’ He shrugged as Lisette gave a shocked gasp. ‘I’m first and foremost a man, Lisette,’ he excused drily. ‘And that night you stood out as pure as a rose amongst lesser, bruised blooms.’
‘Helene...?’ Maystone prompted softly.
‘I do not— I am—’ She broke off, her mouth thinning stubbornly.
‘I believe, despite everything, Madame Rousseau, that you are a mother who wants what is best for her daughter,’ Christian continued softly. ‘You were young when she was born, and no doubt it seemed the best thing for all if she was placed with foster parents. But, from the little Lisette has told me, you went immediately to claim her the moment you realised those foster parents had both died. That is not the behaviour of a woman who did not care for her child.’
Lisette had never thought of Helene’s actions in quite that way before...
She saw now that Christian was right.
She had no knowledge of Helene until that day she came to the farm for her, no awareness that the Duprées were not her real parents. Helene could so easily have ignored Lisette’s existence, and merely thought herself fortunate in no longer having the burden of paying for her child’s upkeep.
Instead Helene had taken her to live with her in Paris. Not an ideal situation, for either of them, but she could see now that Helene had perhaps done her best in the circumstances.
‘You love me...?’ she prompted tentatively.
Helene looked first irritated and then exasperated. ‘Of course I love you, you stupid child! Perhaps I do not have the necessary skills to be votre mère, but I tried as best I could to protect you. You were the one who constantly threw yourself in the path of danger, first with Le Duc and now here again in London.’
‘A habit I have also tried—and failed—to curb, madame,’ Christian drawled.
Lisette gave him a quelling glance before turning back to Helene. ‘You believed that following me to England, arranging for me to be kidnapped and then threatening to kill mon père in front of my eyes, having just discovered who he was, to be an effective way of protecting me?’
‘She would never have shot him, Lisette,’ Christian chided gently. ‘That was not your intention at all, was it, madame?’
‘He—’
‘I am not interested in what he did or did not do twenty years ago.’ Christian spoke firmly. ‘It is here and now that is important.’