He was not going to take Lisette as his mistress or anything else. Once the situation with Maystone had been settled then Christian would do everything in his considerable power to help Lisette to find gainful employment. Legitimate gainful employment. In a respectable household. Many women in English society now had French maids, emigrées from the years of upheaval in France, and although Lisette might be a little outspoken for such a post, he was sure that Julianna, if she had no need of her services herself, might at least be able to advise the younger woman on how best to behave.
And maybe, from time to time, the two of them might meet, have luncheon or afternoon tea together, so that Christian might see Lisette, talk with her and ascertain that she was happy and being well cared for—
A duke did not have luncheon or afternoon tea with a lady’s maid.
Well. No. Perhaps not.
There was no perhaps about it; it simply was not done.
Then perhaps Julianna might be persuaded to invite the two of them—
He was taking himself round and round in circles, Christian realised. And Lisette stood at the centre of all of them.
If—when Lisette eventually left his household and became a lady’s maid, or perhaps just a maid, then he must accept that he would not be able to see her again.
The thought did not sit well with him.
He could not imagine being unable to look into those beautiful blue eyes or to see the spark of anger that so often lit them. Or to listen to her outrageous conversation; even her scoldings were so much more entertaining than anything any other woman had ever said to him.
As for the effect she had upon him physically...
She had, Christian realised, made a place for herself in his life these past few days. A place that no other woman ever had.
A place that would gape like an open wound once Lisette was no longer there to fill it.
Meaning what?
That he had to be suffering a fever of some kind—perhaps his wound had become infected after all?—if he was once again considering doing the unthinkable!
He straightened. ‘I am sure we will both feel...calmer, more able to discuss your future, once we have rested after our journey.’
Lisette could not see that there was anything more for them to discuss on the subject when she had already considered her future from all angles.
Christian had just refused the obvious choice.
She had no skills, except those of working on a farm or in a tavern. If the English taverns were anything like the one owned by Helene Rousseau, then she was more likely than not, as an unprotected young woman in a strange country, to end up one night with her skirts up to her waist and her virtue lost.
No, better by far to choose that life for herself, to choose the man for herself, rather than have it chosen for her by some unwashed lout in a dark alley.
She stood up. ‘You are right, of course, Christian. As usual,’ she added tightly.
Christian eyed her guardedly; an acquiescent Lisette was decidedly more worrying than the virago Lisette. ‘What are you up to...?’
She opened wide eyes. ‘What does this mean—“up to”?’
Christian wished he felt reassured by those innocent wide blue eyes. Unfortunately, they had the opposite effect; when Lisette looked innocent then he could be sure she was about to do something she should not.
He sighed. ‘In your case it means—what are you plotting and planning to do this afternoon, while I am resting, that you should not be doing?’
She shrugged. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
Yes, definitely plotting and planning... ‘You realise you cannot leave here, Lisette?’ He watched her closely. ‘That to do so would be dangerous?’
Her chin rose. ‘For whom?’
Christian frowned his irritation. ‘For you, of course. England is rife with French spies— This is not funny, Lisette.’ His frown turned to a scowl.
‘Of course it is.’ She continued to chuckle. ‘I am not safe in France; I am not safe in England. Where shall I be safe, Monsieur le Duc?’