This was the Lisette he remembered.
And it was because of her return that he could not regret his actions of a few minutes ago. Damn it, he would have done something very like it long before now, if he had not felt as if Lisette had become a stranger to him.
The musicians had drawn to a discordant halt as they lost their place in the music, to openly stare, along with the rest of the people assembled in Maystone’s ballroom, as Christian had swept Lisette up in his arms and carried her out onto the moonlit terrace.
Christian knew the chatter he could now hear above the musicians resuming their playing—no doubt having been encouraged to do so by their host—would all be about the two of them.
Scandalous.
Shocking.
Damning.
Very damning for a duke to behave in such a reckless fashion in public.
And Christian did not regret it for a single moment.
How could he, when Lisette was currently berating him, that rapid-fire French he loved to hear spewing forth from those delectable lips.
Instead of being insulted, as she no doubt intended he should be, it was like sweet music to his ears after all these weeks of silence between them.
He leaned back against the balustrade as Lisette paced up and down in front of him, knowing that even she would eventually run out of names to call him.
In the meantime, he could enjoy the sight of her. She really was magnificent when she was in full spate. Her hair seemed a brighter red, eyes sparkling like sapphires, cheeks aflame with colour, her lips a deeper rose, that tiny chin lifted high, her breasts— Ah, those magnificent breasts. They were quickly rising and falling above the low neckline of her gown.
Almost indecently so, Christian realised with a frown. Maystone really should not have let Lisette wear a gown with such a scandalously low neckline as this in public. It was the sort of gown that only a lover should see, or a—
‘You are not even listening to me. Imbécile!’
Ah, Lisette was starting to repeat herself. Time to attempt to redeem himself perhaps—
‘No, of course you are not,’ she answered her own question impatiently. ‘You are the esteemed Duke of Sutherland; why should it matter to you that you have just completely sullied my reputation—?’
‘And my own,’ he interjected softly.
‘—when men are not held up to the same rules and limitations in English society— Quoi?’ She frowned as his words finally penetrated her anger.
‘I have just sullied my own reputation too, Lisette.’ Christian straightened away from the balustrade. ‘To such a degree, I believe the only course that might save us both from the derision and pillory of our peers—’
‘They are your peers, not mine.’ She glared at him. ‘I am not even properly launched into society and already I am ruined. My poor papa must be beside himself!’ Her gloved hands twisted together in her agitation.
Christian chuckled softly. ‘Unless I am mistaken, your “poor papa” is at this moment filled with self-satisfied jubilation.’
‘You really are ivre—’ She paused, obviously seeking the translation. ‘Inebriated. You are inebriated,’ she repeated firmly. ‘Drunk. Soused—’
‘I believe you have made yourself clear, thank you, Lisette,’ he drawled. ‘And no, I am perfectly sober, I do assure you.’
‘Then what on earth possessed you to behave in such a scandalous fashion?’
He shrugged. ‘It succeeded in securing your singular attention, did it not?’
Lisette could have cried with pure frustration at the social disaster that had just occurred. All those hours, weeks of excruciating lessons and dress fittings and tedious social visits to her papa’s friends, had all been stripped away, demolished by the simple action of Christian sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her from the ballroom.
She would be disgraced, a laughing stock, and her poor papa would never recover from the humiliation caused by his French daughter.
‘How could you do such a thing?’ Her voice broke emotionally. ‘I have tried so hard to be everything that was expected of me. Have suffered through such torments with the dressmakers and milliners and dance instructor, and now it has all been for naught. I am disgraced, will have to retire to the country, become what the English call an Old Maid—’ She stopped as Christian gave another roar of laughter.
Indeed, he laughed so loudly and for so long Lisette seriously feared for his sanity.
‘Your amusement at my expense is most unwelcome, Christian,’ she informed him haughtily when that laughter at last seemed to be abating.
He gave a shake of his head. ‘One thing you will never be is an Old Maid, Lisette!’