‘No.’ Lisette’s jaw was clenched.
Well, that at least explained Lisette’s hesitation every time he referred to her as such. It did not, however—
‘Madame Rousseau is my mother, not my aunt,’ she continued scathingly. ‘And I do not care what her opinion might be on any of my actions after the way she has behaved this night!’
Christian dropped back weakly against the seat, knowing that this revelation now gave him no choice where Lisette was concerned.
Leaving Helene Rousseau’s niece behind in Paris might have been explained away—just—but the daughter of Helene Rousseau must return with him to England.
Chapter Five
The journey was a long and painful one, as each rumble of the carriage wheels over the cobbled streets caused renewed pain to spear up through Christian’s thigh, and it took every effort of will on his part to stay conscious long enough to direct Lisette in the initial driving of the carriage. Luckily, she was an intelligent as well as capable young lady, and had mastered the horses and the carriage within a few minutes.
Leaving Christian to contemplate the leaden weight in his chest at the knowledge that the young woman sitting beside him was the daughter of a woman believed responsible for attempting to free the Corsican usurper by causing actual physical harm to people he cared about.
A belief Christian was even more convinced of after the attack on him tonight. An attack Lisette believed to have happened because of his attentions towards her earlier this evening, but which Christian believed to have been for a different reason entirely; Helene Rousseau not only knew who he was, but also the reason for his currently being in Paris.
And if she knew that, then there was every chance that she would try to have him killed a second time, if he remained here. More than a chance, now that he had her daughter with him.
Once returned to his temporary home he would have to make immediate arrangements for both himself and Lisette to take ship to England. Without, he acknowledged heavily, telling Lisette exactly why he was taking her with him. He doubted she would come with him to England at all if she knew who he was and the reason he had been in Paris, much less that he now had no choice but to deliver Helene Rousseau’s daughter to Aubrey Maystone.
No, much as it pained him, he could not tell Lisette any of those things just yet.
Better by far that he at least waited until they were on the ship bound for England, when it was too late for Lisette to do anything else but complete the voyage. That she would dislike him intensely afterwards could not be avoided.
Lisette had been keeping half an eye on the Comte as she carefully guided the carriage through the deserted Paris streets, and so she knew the exact moment that he lost consciousness. Either from loss of too much blood or from the pain he was suffering. The latter, she hoped, otherwise there was a serious possibility that he might die before she was able to get him to help.
A part of her still wanted to take him to the home of the nearest doctor—if she had known where that was, which she did not—but the Comte had been adamant in his refusal of medical assistance, and Lisette did not wish to make this situation any worse than it already was by going against his wishes.
If that was possible.
At the moment she had two unconscious men in the carriage with her, one seated beside her, the other inside the carriage. Both of them clearly suffering wounds from a pistol shot. And she herself was covered in blood from both those gentlemen, on her hands and her gown. If she was stopped by the authorities—
Hysteria could come later, Lisette told herself sternly. Once they had safely reached the Comte’s home. She did not have the time or thought enough to spare for such things when she was so concentrated on driving the Comte’s carriage.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she recognised the Comte’s house just a short distance away, her shoulders and back aching from controlling such spirited horses, and her hands sore from grasping the reins so tightly.
She almost cried with relief when she finally drew the carriage to a halt in front of the house, François’s politely bland expression as he opened the door changing to one of alarm as he ran down the steps to grab hold of the bridle of one of the front horses.
‘The Comte and his groom have both been shot, François,’ Lisette explained economically as she hitched up the skirt of her gown to quickly climb down from the carriage.
It was testament to the man’s character that he wasted no time asking for explanations but instead instantly called up to a hovering footman for reinforcements. Several other footmen now appeared from inside the house, followed by a couple of grooms from the back of the house.
Between them they managed to lift the still unconscious Comte and the groom from the carriage before carrying them inside. Lisette insisted that the groom must also be carried up to one of the guest bedchambers. If Christian would not allow a doctor to be called for, then she would have to do the best she could to doctor the two men herself, and it would be far easier for her if they were within feet of each other.
Again, François showed his character by not so much as batting an eyelid at her request, but instead continued the directing of the two wounded men after sending one of the footmen off to the kitchen to acquire the supplies Lisette said she would need to clean and then dress their wounds.
If either man still had a bullet inside one of those wounds then she would have no choice but to send for a doctor, despite Christian’s instructions to the contrary. A bullet, left inside the wound, would surely fill with pus and possibly result in the man dying.
There was no doubt in Lisette’s mind that if he were awake Christian would have insisted she attend to the groom first, but as he was not...
François proved to be her rock during the next hour, helping her to remove the Comte’s boots, pantaloons and undergarments—a moment when Lisette had discreetly looked the other way—and acting as her assistant as she inspected and then cleaned both the entry and exit wounds in Christian’s thigh; he was proved correct, in that the bullet had gone straight through the soft tissue of his thigh and then out again.
Nevertheless, once her makeshift tourniquet had been removed both wounds bled profusely and she was grateful that Christian continued to remain unconscious throughout. He looked so pale and still once she had bound his wound tightly to allow the skin to knit back together—he should perhaps have had stitches applied, but again Lisette did not feel qualified to do so, and so they had just made him as comfortable as they could beneath the bedclothes once she had applied the bandages.
Which was when the enormity
of what she had just done bore down upon Lisette. Not only had she dressed the Comte’s bloody wounds, but he had been half-naked as she did so. Admittedly François had draped the sheet across Christian’s groin to protect his modesty, but that did not alter the fact that he had been completely naked beneath that sheet.