Lisette (2 page)

Reaching her, and with her back still to him,
he used his superior height to reach over her shoulder and pluck
the glass out of her hand.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

Lisette whirled, sending her long curls
bouncing. She looked up at him with wide aqua eyes that reminded
him of the Caribbean Sea.

“You!” She groaned. “Go away.”

He ignored that and reached for her gloved
hand, took it in his and drawled, “It really wouldn’t do to top
this already salacious night off by getting yourself foxed.”

“I could care less about scandals. I would
not be over here getting foxed. I would be having a grand time, if
you would go. Give up this useless pursuit of me. I’ve no intention
of giving in. my mama will not make me.”

“No.” He did not loose her hand.

She rolled her eyes. “I really do not
understand, Marston. We are complete opposites.”

“Elisha. Perhaps that is the appeal.”

“Too bad.” She glared at him. “You don’t
appeal to me.”

“How do you know that? You have hardly given
me a chance. In fact, you’ve evaded me at every turn.”

His gaze went down her petite figure and back
up it, thinking that gown clung in all the right places, and the
exposed shoulder revealed creamy skin that looked silken.

“Exactly.” She sounded hoarse.

He raised his gaze to hers, knowing she had
caught his looking her over. He murmured, “You’re a vision,
Lisette.”

She wet her lips. “This is not the way I look
most of the time. You discovered that a Wimberly. While I enjoy
dressing up on occasion, I have no intention of becoming some… Town
belle.”

“I didn’t assume you did.”

“Ha.” Her eyes were going over his face.
“Everyone knows what the Marston’s are like.”

“I doubt that. However, I take it you are
referring to your observations that I am a prig, bore, arrogantly
aloof and—what else was it?”

She actually flushed.

He held her gaze however.
“Condescending?”

“Yes.” She raised her chin a bit. “In fact,
I’m surprised you are speaking this many sentences aloud.”

“It’s rather difficult to hold a conversation
with someone who is avoiding you.” He smiled slightly and watched
her eyes drop to it. Taking advantage, he added, “No one is as
verbal or energetic as you Wimberly’s. Although I am perfectly
aware the Marston’s are considered just the opposite.”

She had been staring at his mouth and jerked
her gaze up, as if just realizing it.

Lisette retorted, “All of that is beside the
point. I do not want to settle down and wed as yet. I am—was,
having a ripping good time with my life. Scarcely getting started,
if you must know. If I were anywhere close to that settling, it
would not be with someone like you.”

“Wounded.” He let his free hand touch his
chest a moment.

“It’s your own fault.” She pulled her hand
free, took a step and then weaved.

He smoothly took her arm and tucked it
through his, walking her toward a window alcove. Though it was
winter out, given the scents, heat and bodies, they had to be open
or guests would be fainting from the heat.

“How many glasses did you have?”

“Just six,” she snapped, but held her glove
to her forehead a moment.

“Six?” He grunted. “The next time, just sneak
into the duke’s brandy…”

“I’ve—”

“—I know, you’ve done that before.”

He had gotten her there and now set her on
the jutting ledge. While she breathed in cool air, he leaned a
shoulder against the casement, visually tracing the curve of her
cheek and the arch of her brow.

She pulled off her formal gloves and laid
them in her lap, saying when she glanced up at him, “Let us finish
that conversation... I feel as if we were making progress.’

“I’m heartened to think so.”

“Not that sort of progress,” she offered
dryly. “Progress, where I tell you why you are wasting your time.
And where you tell me why you persist.” She lifted her thick hair
off her nape a moment.

He was surprised to feel a desire to press
his lips there.

Pulling himself back from that, Elisha
offered, “I Understand you were ill as a child?”

She bristled and looked away, toward the
ballroom.

“I hate to think of those years, but yes.”
She waved her hand. “It had something to do with my being born
early or some such. But I was determined to recover, and I
did.”

“Yes, you look the picture of feminine
health. As you say, at Wimberly you enjoy the out of doors. You
seem to think I object to that. I assure you, I do not.”

“Well thank you very much.” Her tone was
sarcastic, “But I don’t care if you object. I have no intention of
settling….into anything. Not for a long time.”

Elisha looked his fill of her while she
spoke, noting that despite her active life, or perhaps because of
it, she had beautifully smooth arms, a graceful neck. All the
Wimberly’s were handsome, thus with her dark pink lips, slim nose,
those wide eyes, added to a lush mane of hair—curled, straight, or
braided, she never lost that feminine appeal.

“Don’t do that. I can feel you looking at
me.”

When she met his gaze, he murmured, “I
haven’t made a secret that I find you attractive.”

“No. But then, any woman with sense takes
compliments with a grain of salt.”

“Your sense is without question.” His lips
quirked. “You’ve wit and a saucy tongue on you, too. And before I’m
accused of anything else, I also know you were well educated.”

She was studying him again. Elisha counted
that as a plus, although he was aware she had said he looked
sinister. To test that claim, he drawled, “Do my looks intimidate
you, Lisette.”

“Hardly.” She snorted, but pulled her eyes
from him. Smoothing one of her gloves, she offered, “It’s nothing
to do with looks. I find it difficult to believe you would be
swayed by them either. I mean, that they would overrule the fact
that I am a Wimberly.”

He eased away and took a few steps,
deliberately blocking her view so she had to look at him.

When her gaze rose to his, he offered, “There
is always more to a person than gossip and reputation, wouldn’t you
say?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever I thought before I knew the duke
and duchess, your family, I have altered that since getting to know
them better. Aside from the Marquis—and I find I can even tolerate
him from time to time. Your brothers, your parents, I quite
liked.”

Her gaze shifted then came back. “I will
admit, I know you only by observation. However—it changes not the
fact that I am no in hurry to wed anyone.”

“I have no objection to waiting. So long as
we have an understanding...”

* * * *

Bloody Hell. Lisette found herself avoiding
those molten eyes. She was going to blame everything on the
champagne of course; otherwise, she would not be here in the
alcove, having this conversation.

By everything, she meant her odd reactions to
his touch when he held her hand, or his compliments—his gaze too.
That grin or quirk of lips—that while it did not soften his visage
completely, it certainly was attractive—in a stomach tingling kind
of way.

While she thought of a retort, one to
hopefully end the conversation and get it through his skull that
they would never have an understanding—she could scarcely believe
this man talking to her was the one who kept himself aloof and
stood back from everyone else.

This was not going to happen. She was going
to get herself bloody out of this alcove and away from him.

“We have no understanding.” She put herself
some distance from him. “Other than you need to understand I’m not
changing my mind.” Lisette fired that salvo with an arch of her
brow, and took off.

Marston watched her turn and fade into the
crowd. He had done what he could, but she blocked him at every
turn. He had thought for a moment—Bloody hell. It had been a long
day. He needed to talk to Smith.

He took his leave shortly afterwards.

Chapter Two

Elisha Roulle entered his shadowy townhouse,
afterwards taking off his long winter coat, gloves and hat, while
offering some murmured polite word to the butler.

Fifteen feet away from the foyer, he could
see the staircase that was somewhat illuminated by a light from the
study further back. His usual retreat.

Tonight however he approached the stairs,
already removing his formal black jacket and tugging the cravat
off. By the time he reached his suite, he was in the white shirt
and his black trousers.

Absently, he tossed the items in a sitting
room chair. The fire there had a screen against it. Its
illumination spread low across the green and white chamber,
flickering on the silk stripe in the ivory settee and chair
cushions, and on the cherry wood tables and a large vase in the
corner. Windows were tall and uncovered so that London’s snowfall
presented itself via a trickle of flakes that floated past. Stark
in contrast to the backdrop of night sky.

The tread of his boots sounded when he
stepped off that carpet and passed through the doorway of his
chambers.

The house was a tomb on any day but since his
stay with the Duke of Wimberly’s boisterous clan, it seemed an even
more austere habitation. It had ever been a grim dwelling thanks to
the ruthlessness of his father.

There was a fire glowing in a hearth,
opposite the massive bed. That furnishing he had fashioned with
great posts decorated with carved leaves. Its size was double that
of normal beds. The bolster and pillows were plush, deep ruby and
black. There was a reason he put so much care into what he slept
on. Chairs flanked the hearth. Beside them sat a table with a
decanter and glass.

He went to the chair for now, and sat down
rather heavily before leaning to remove his boots. He putt them
aside and was undoing his shirt whilst pouring that glass full of
whiskey one handed. When the tails of the shirt hung free, the
front open, he sat back, lifted the glass, and drank a long pull.
Resting his hands on the chair arms, one holding the tumbler,
Elisha stared into the flames. The sounds of crackling wood, a
clock ticking, his breathing, seemed magnified.

Firelight played over his fierce features,
enhancing his swarthy skin and lighting in the silver eyes,
glittering over the unyielding bones of his jaw, chin and high
cheekbones. It brought out the contrast in the pristine white of
his shirt, the softness of the material against the cut plains of
his chest and muscled abdomen, and the black hair at his navel, a
hint of deep peach nipples from the thinness of the material.

He was oblivious to all save for the warmth
the fire provided, along with the mellow whiskey in his throat and
belly.

His raven lashes narrowed with the focus of
his thoughts.

He was losing, instead of gaining ground,
with Lady Lisette.

The sound of footfalls registered in his
mind, but it did not disturb him. He half expected it when a shadow
passed by him and then the man he called, Smith, was seating
himself in the matching chair. Elisha flickered him a glance,
noticing he was in his shirtsleeves, buff trousers and wine hued
boots.

“You didn’t come to the study,” that smooth
deep timbre sounded.

“No.” Elisha took another mouthful from the
glass and swallowed.

“How did it go?”

“I’m losing ground. I’m no closer than I was
two months ago.” He watched sparks fly upwards and then shower down
onto the blanket of flames.

“Did you stick to your plan?”

“Yes.”

There was silence a moment. Marston turned
his gaze again on the man.

Those tawny brown eyes were calm on him. The
intelligent features were saved from handsome by a break at some
point in the bridge of his roman nose. Smith had a compelling
visage, attractively molded lips, straight brows, and strong bones.
Longish hair, wavy, was tucked behind his ears and lying on the
shoulders of a banded-collar shirt that had a few buttons undone.
The linen was creased from having been worn all day and had gathers
at the shoulders. As were most comfortable shirts needing no
starch. Smith’s hair picked up the fire glow, enhancing the caramel
and russet shade.

“They will likely be leaving for Wimberly
when the weather breaks. The duchess will want to prepare the
wedding for their heir, Demetrious. I believe he said something
about making a northern estate his home, and likely will, with his
bride. I doubt he will wait long to make her that. In any event,
the family will leave. The master James had to be back with his
regiment by dawn and Aiden to his crew.”

“Do you think her Grace will invite you
down?”

“No.” Marston looked back into the flames. “I
believe she had hopes... However, she loves her daughter. She won’t
force Lisette.” He took another drink.

“Have you kissed her?”

A snort sounded from Elisha. “Have you not
been attending my progress, or rather lack of it? No, I have not.
She wants nothing to do with me.”

“Are you sure it is not marriage in
general?”

“She doesn’t want to settle down to married
life. I have told you why. She is a woman who wants to enjoy and
experience living.”

“Then it isn’t you in particular she
disdains.”

“What difference does it make? It is the
same. But to answer your question, she finds me intimidating.”

“I doubt it. She responds to you—in other
ways. Women like strong males with a bit of mystery about
them.”

“Trust me, Marston’s are considered, bores,
prigs, too condescending and high in the instep—but even were it
just me, and not that façade and rep—she does not seem
attracted.”

“Then make her attracted.”

When Elisha grunted, Smith said, “We’ve
discussed your having to not be so aloof. A spirited woman like
Lady Willington has a passionate nature. The Wimberly’s are, I
hear. She’s moved in the faster circles and is used to a certain
boldness and bluntness.”