Christian Seaton_ Duke of Danger(72)

The humiliation she now felt, upon hearing Christian’s comment to Marcus Wilding, was overwhelming. And made all the more so because Sir Percy Winterbourne, her current escort, had also overheard the derogatory remark.

Christian turned to look at her now, that haughtily superior expression upon his handsome face as he looked down the length of his aristocratic nose at her, those lavender-coloured eyes as cold as ice. ‘I merely meant, Miss Maystone, that to add yet another admirer to those already clustered about you would appear to be entirely superfluous,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘Winterbourne.’ He nodded briefly to the man at Lisette’s side.

‘How true, Your Grace.’ Lisette bared her teeth in a smile.

He had bungled this badly, Christian acknowledged with an inward groan of self-disgust. This was the first occasion upon which he had spoken to Lisette away from the watchful eye of her overprotective father, and he had insulted her. Out of self-defence, admittedly, but it was a poor excuse for his rudeness to the young woman who had, he had no doubt, saved his life on more than one occasion, usually to her own detriment.

He drew himself up to his full height. ‘I apologise if my remark sounded...less than polite. It was not intended to be, I assure you.’

Lisette looked up at him sceptically. ‘Your apology is accepted, Your Grace.’

‘Perhaps as confirmation of that acceptance you might graciously allow me the next dance?’ Christian tensed as he waited for her refusal.

‘Oh, but—’

‘Been meaning to have a chat with you this evening, Winterbourne—’ Marcus Wilding interrupted the younger man’s protest ‘—about that fine piece of horse flesh I saw you on in the park this morning.’

‘Really?’ The young buck visibly preened at this praise from the Duke of Worthing.

‘Oh, yes. Be interested to know where you purchased it.’ Worthing continued talking as he first drew the younger man aside before stepping away completely.

‘It would seem that Marcus has become as much the matchmaker as my sister.’

Lisette turned to give Christian a scathing glance. ‘I assure you, I am no more pleased with this arrangement than you are!’

‘Ah, there she is...’ Christian murmured with satisfaction.

Her look of scorn turned to a puzzled frown. ‘Am I keeping you from someone...?’

‘Not at all.’ Christian grinned widely; the first time he could remember doing so for some time. Four weeks, three days and two hours, to be exact.

‘I do not understand...’

Christian could not seem to stop himself from grinning. ‘I am very pleased, very pleased indeed, to remake your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Duprée.’

‘I am Miss Maystone now.’ Those blue eyes flashed with impatience. ‘And I have been in London these past four weeks, if you had cared to call.’

It was Christian’s turn to frown now. ‘But I have called upon you. Many times.’

‘I do not think so,’ Lisette dismissed scathingly. ‘I recall only the once, a morning visit in the presence of a dozen other people, when you did not speak so much as a single word to me but stood in a corner of my father’s drawing room looking down your haughty nose at everyone!’

‘But—’ Christian broke off to gaze across to where Aubrey Maystone stood in conversation with the other Dangerous Dukes and their wives. As if aware of his gaze, Maystone glanced across to where Christian and Lisette stood talking together, one iron-grey eyebrow slowly rising in mocking enquiry. ‘That wily old fox...’ Christian muttered, knowing from the challenging look Maystone was giving him that he was responsible for Lisette not knowing of the many visits Christian had made to Maystone House this past month, his only intention to see her again.

‘Quoi? I mean, I beg your pardon?’ Lisette’s cheeks blushed a becoming shade of pink at her mistake in having lapsed into her native French.

Christian gave a roar of laughter, relieved to learn that it had not been Lisette avoiding him after all, but the machinations of her interfering father. His laughter caused more than a few heads to turn in their direction; the Duke of Sutherland was not known for his public displays of levity.

‘I fail to see what is so funny in my having let down mon père by not speaking the King’s English?’ Lisette eyed him irritably.

Christian sobered a little. ‘Mon père is not “let down” but is the wily old fox to whom I referred.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Once a spymaster, always a spymaster, it would seem.’

‘Are you quite recovered from your injury, Christian—Your Grace?’ Lisette corrected hastily. ‘Do you have a fever?’ She could think of no other reason for his current strange conversation.