Lisette (3 page)

“Even were she, I doubt she would consider my
interest.”

There was a sigh, a creak of the chair.
Elisha watched Smith go over and lean an arm on the mantle, one
knee slightly bent. His hand was absently rubbing his cheek, Smith
said, “I observed that you did exceptionally well when the Marquis
was here. Not only held your own, but also was at ease. From what
you told me, it was equally so with her other siblings?”

“Matching wits with Demetrius comes easy, and
her brothers are as they all are, including servants and those in
their circle—affable and easy going chaps. They are whom they are,
confident and possessing a certain kind of humor that likely comes
from having all those mixed siblings. As well as being the children
of the eccentric duchess. The duke is, for the most part, jovial.
They are a family with little pretense. Their mistakes are open for
anyone to judge, but so too is their warm nature.”

“Well, she is an heiress, but not an ordinary
one. She’s as her family is.”

“In some respects. Most.” Marston agreed.
“But that stint being confined when younger makes her a bit
different.” He shook his head. “Perhaps I should turn my attentions
elsewhere.”

“No. A well-trained, well behaved, proper
deb, is the least thing you need.”

Elisha stared at him after that strong
objection. He muttered coldly, “I told you what she thinks of me. I
cannot force her to accept my company. Even should I, that doesn’t
mean she would—care for me.”

Smith pushed away from the mantle and came to
take his chair again. “I believe you made a friend of the Marquis
of Fielding. No matter what it seemed like. We both know his sort
respects men who can hold their own.”

“He’s a sharp wit, but had those demons
riding his back. I simply recognized something we had in common,
despite my preconceived notions of him.”

“Yes. You re-introduced yourself to the
Marquis of Wolford. And while he is a steady sort, impressively
intelligent, he’s also a man of the world and he wed an
unconventional bride.”

“True. But even should I be invited, I am
starting to feel the ass for showing up where Lisette doesn’t want
me.”

“You still want her?”

Roughly, Elisha said, “More than ever.”

In his mind were a thousand images of her,
aside from how ravishing she looked at the ball, images with the
backdrop of autumn hues, the sight of her on horseback, in
trousers, riding through the woods with that hair in a braid and a
flush to her skin. Laughing, teasing with her brothers, at
billiards, at cards, or running up the stairs, passing him as he
had descended, with her hair rippling nearly to her waist, and
wearing a simple skirt and blouse—at times those aqua eyes meeting
his for a split second.

There were images before, before he had gone
to Wimberly. They made him follow her to that sophisticated salon
that evening. He had been observing Lisette for a while before he
knew she was the rakehell’s sister—one of those wild Wimberly
offspring. She did not attend many of the stricter balls, but went
to the livelier and exciting ones—the ones mostly forbidden girls
her age.

He had been fascinated with her. Not only
with her open expressions and full laughter, even in a park filled
with disapproving society matrons, but by the way she moved. When
close enough, the way she talked; blunt, witty, but also with
passion. At the museum, on Bond Street, it became the highlight of
his week if he spotted her.

That is how Smith discovered it, by observing
him, and by witnessing how he could not seem to keep his eyes of
her.

Of course, Smith understood why.

That man cut through his thoughts again with,
“Will you try one last thing before giving up completely?”

“What?” Elisha finished the whiskey and
stood, taking off the shirt and tossing it on a trunk at the foot
of the bed.

Smith followed him into the bathing chamber
where Marston washed his face in a pan and then dried it.

“Go and see her, tell her you are there to
give your regards to the graces, and wish them well, thank her for
her hospitality. Tell her—that you wish her well also, that you
will not trouble her with your attentions further.

Walking back into the bedchamber, Elisha shot
him a raised brow look. “Do you want to write all of that
down?”

Smith grinned and leaned a shoulder against
the post. “You’ll remember and carry it all off with ease. Just be
sure you put…passion… into the thing.”

“Goodnight, Smith.” Elisha looked at him
pointedly.

The man nodded but was still smiling when he
left.

Lying on the bed, hands stacked under his
head, Elisha played out how such a scene might go. When he was
satisfied, he closed his eyes. He saw one of her slow smiles in his
mind’s eye, and the way she lifted her hair off her nape.
Everything in him stirred, but he pushed it down and sought
sleep.

* * * *

Lisette sat in one of the private parlors at
her father’s house. It was mid-evening. She had slept like the dead
after that ball, and too much champagne. She had been dragging when
her mother summoned her downstairs and then she had told her
Marston wished to speak with her.

Half in panic that he was going to do
something drastic—like propose, no one could be more
dumbfounded—particularly she, who had cut up, protested, been rude
and obvious in her rejection of him—when he gave a quiet and
eloquent speech, telling her all that he had relayed to the duke
and duchess, thanking the family for their hospitably at Wimberly,
and congratulating Deme and Haven.

Subsequently, from his place by the mantle in
front of her, he had turned those silvery eyes at her and added,
“Your mother informs me you are all departing for Wimberly, and
since it is doubtful you and I shall be in company again, I wanted
to relay to you my well wishes—for whatever you endeavor to do in
life.”

He did that thing…that half smile that so
captivated her at the ball. Captivated against her will, of
course.

He murmured, “I admire your spirit and zest
for living, Lisette. In spite of us being at cross purposes, I
enjoyed watching you at Wimberly, your hobbies, your rapport with
your siblings.” He pulled away and came over, reaching out his
hand.

She could hardly explain or control the
accelerated beat of her heart as she lay her own in it. He bowed,
pressing his lips to her knuckles. Lisette nearly moaned from
sparks skittering over her skin.

Straightening, those eyes gazed at her
through half-mast sooty lashes; she still thought his features
unyielding. He was a tall man, muscular and dark—but why did his
lips look so sensual. His eyes seemed far from cold. More a molten
gray?

Marston said huskily, “Should distance give
you a more objective view of me, I remain your humble servant.” He
bowed again and then left the room.

Never in her life at a loss for words—in fact
such a thing would cause alarm for anyone who knew her—Lisette got
to her feet and watched him pass through the door and then out.

A frown marred her brow. She realized a hand
was pressed to her stomach, and for the life of her, she did not
know why she felt so—upset.

Her Mama entered the room shortly afterwards,
dressed in a day gown of cobalt blue and having her hair up. She
smiled and reached for her hands. “There now, you have gotten your
wish. I know you have not been pleased with me since I set my mind
on Marston, but I did hope…” She sighed. “Never mind, you shall
hear no more of it from me.” She kissed Lisette’s cheeks.

When releasing her, she added, “He was quite
eloquent in his words to me, Lisette. I do not doubt to you also.
Even if you could not care for him, I do believe his rep is
undeserved.”

The duchess rang for tea. She seated herself.
“Come, have tea with me before you’re off to some amusement. The
ball wore me thin, I shall stay in tonight.”

They had tea, and Lisette thanked her for the
Birthday ball. They talked of a million things. Nevertheless, her
mind was still back on those moments the Viscount was in the
room.

Later still, Lisette got dressed to go out.
She really had no desire to. Deme and Haven were in a cozy chat
with the duke and duchess—making wedding plans, no doubt.
Particularly since Haven announced at the late breakfast that she
might be with child—carrying the next heir. Everyone was thrilled.
Patrick and her father were over the moon. However, it meant the
leaving and that the wedding needed to ensue sooner than later.

Standing before the mirror, Lisette smoothed
her gown. It had a close fitting bodice with embroidered designs, a
straight falling skirt and long sleeves. She liked that the maid
had done her hair up with combs and let it fall free. After last
night’s elaborate do, she could not stand another. This was simply
using the curls that remained, looser but at least the combs felt
light. A bit of cosmetics enhanced her eyes and lips. She turned
and got her fur-lined cape from the bed.

A night at the theater perhaps? Her father
and Deme had a box there. Society would be abuzz with the shocking
display Deme and Haven had put on.

That was nothing new for the Wimberly’s.

She went down the stairs, seeing the maids
and servants going about duties—tired also, she knew, which was why
her mother and the others were having a quiet evening. Her parents
preferred she take a maid if she was not going to have Lady
Juliette or Haven with her, but Lisette felt fairly safe by
herself. She always had a weapon on her, and could use it. Tonight
it was a small pistol in the inside pocket of her cape. Sometimes
she carried a dirk in her garter. Her mama had told her to, when
she first brought her to London. It was cold, snowy out, and Samuel
was at the ribbons instead of Haven’s father.

“Is it too much trouble, Samuel?” She asked
looking about the streets. “You could get a hack for me.”

“I’ll do no such thing, my lady,” he
answered, looking at her over a high scarf, he wore to block the
wind. “You’ve not a soul with you this evening, so I am driving you
and making sure you get home safe.” He winked. “I know you can
shoot better than myself, but I still prefer to drive you.”

“Thank you.” She grinned. “I’m just going to
Vauxhall. I’m not even sure I will stay long.”

She climbed in the coach and they were soon
on the road. Lisette settled back in the warmed interior. She
really should feel free, excited, less pressure—certainly less
dread, now that there was no expectation with Marston. However, all
she could think about was that nagging in the back of her mind—the
one she’d had from the first time she had seen him—before her
mother invited him to Wimberly. Something—drew her. Something
intangible, compelling about him. She could never completely ignore
it though she had pretended the opposite.

Of course, she had. Lisette did not want to
lose her freedom. She did not want to be forced into accepting
someone who was her opposite. Still, there were times she reacted
violently, because she did not like how often that feeling came
over her around him. Once, no more than once, meeting his eyes, she
had felt the strangest urge to reach out and touch him, to soothe
what lay too deep to see.

Lisette grunted at her thoughts. She had
gotten what she wanted. No more pressure from the duchess. She was
once again liberated.

When she stepped out of the coach at
Vauxhall, she was delighted to recognize a couple doing
likewise.

“Juliette!” She headed toward her friend.

The lady looked up, having her arm through
her handsome husband’s.

They met, and Juliette laughed. “I thought
you would be in bed all day after that amazing ball.”

“Amazing and shocking.” Lisette chuckled. She
looked up at the Marquis of Wolford. “My lord.”

“Lady Lisette.” He winked. They were
ordinarily informal with each other since he had been her brother’s
friend forever. He murmured, “I see you have no maid with you
tonight. What are you about, dodging the Viscount again?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not at all. I often
go about by myself. And you will be pleased for me,” She looked at
Juliette too. “I am once again free since Marston finally gave up
his pursuit.”

“Pity,” Monty supplied dryly. “You need
someone of his maturity and steady character.”

Though it was more forced tonight, she
quipped, “Steady? Aloof and arrogant, you mean. He all but declared
himself my intended.”

“I’d hardly call that standoffish,” Monty
said under his breath. He looked at his wife with a resigned grin.
“Since I take it you two are up for a chat. I will step over here
and enjoy a cheroot. Let me know when you are ready to go to our
box.”

“Oh, don’t let me intrude—” Lisette
began.

However, Juliette took her arm and they
strolled a bit in the well-lit area. “Nonsense. We have plenty of
time, and besides, Monty knows I will be chaffing to hear to the
details if you don’t tell me.”

“There is not much to tell.” Lisette did tell
her about their exchange at the ball. Her friend already knew what
had gone on at Wimberly, and how she had avoided him, because she
had gone to their estate to visit and nearly begged to stay there
instead of going back home and dealing with him.

Under that lamplight, her face and red blond
curls framed by the fox fur on the hood of her long amber and black
cape, Juliette mused, “Monty was talking of him. They knew each
other, in a manner of speaking. There was a scene that took place
before the ball—Monty and the Viscount attempting to distract Deme
out by the study doors. But also, did you know that Deme got foxed
the night before—because of that misunderstanding with Haven and it
was the Viscount who fetched him from the tavern, and dried him
out—apparently talked sense into him?”