Maystone had organised everything as he had intended, of course. Helene Rousseau had returned to France a few weeks ago, with the blessing of both her daughter and the English Crown. Maystone had resigned his position, and he now spent his time escorting and introducing his young daughter to England and English society.
There had been much talk and speculation these past weeks in regard to the sudden appearance in London of Lord Aubrey Maystone’s daughter, and many society families had returned to London for a week or two for the sole purpose of attending this ball, and the opportunity to meet and speak with her.
That the evening was a success could not be doubted, no expense having been spared in Lisette’s dress and the beautiful pearls that adorned her ears and her throat, or the champagne and refreshments being served to the guests. Exalted guests, considering there were six Dukes in the room at least; Maystone had invited and made it clear he expected all of the Dangerous Dukes and their wives to attend.
There were also dozens of single young gentlemen literally queuing up to dance with Lisette, or to gather about her when the dancing paused or refreshments were served.
Christian wanted to strangle them all. One by one. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until there was only himself and Lisette left in the room. Perhaps then she might actually say something to him other than, ‘Good evening, Your Grace. I am pleased you were able to attend this evening’, in that very precise and totally un-Lisette-like English voice.
It had been a little over four weeks—four weeks, three days and two hours, to be precise—since Lisette had made her choice to remain in London and reside at
the home of her newly discovered father.
Over four long and tedious weeks—Christian having spent the first frustrating week recovering fully from the wound to his thigh, the following three having been just as frustrating, but in a different way. He had not so much as been able to see or speak a single word alone with Lisette.
Oh, he had called at Maystone House many times once he was fully recovered.
The first time had been in the late morning, and he had been politely shown into the drawing room. Only to then find himself in a room with a genial Maystone and many young and hopeful beaus awaiting the appearance of their young hostess, after having met her the previous evening when she had attended a musical soirée with her father. Lisette had finally arrived, only to ignore his very presence as she sat quietly beside an obviously paternally proud Maystone.
The second time Christian had called it had been in the afternoon, only to learn that Lisette was out at her dressmaker’s and not expected back for some time.
The third time had been in the early evening; a time when he had been sure that Lisette must be at home.
He had been wrong.
Miss Maystone, he had been informed by the butler, had gone to the country with her father, to spend the weekend with their family.
That had not been the last of Christian’s visits; he had called every two or three days after that, but was always informed that Miss Maystone was either not available or was out.
Leaving Christian to conclude, from the number of times he was fobbed off with one excuse or another, that Miss Maystone had no wish to see him, no matter when he should call.
While Christian was pleased for Lisette that her choice appeared to have been the right one for her, he could not help his own feelings of frustration in not being able to get close enough to so much as speak a private word with her, let alone steal a taste of those delectable pink lips that haunted his dreams every night.
He now turned away from the dance floor and the vision of Lisette laughing gaily up into the handsome face of the young man who was now escorting her back to her father’s side.
Lisette was a success.
He should be pleased for her.
He was pleased for her.
He was just hellishly miserable for himself. Marcus was right; he had been damned poor company this past month.
But he missed Lisette, damn it.
He missed her smile, her impetuosity that had caused her to become involved in so many scrapes—scrapes he had invariably been called upon to rescue her from. He even missed her temper.
Except the Lisette she was now—refined, genteel, every inch the English young lady—no longer appeared to have a temper.
He straightened the cuff of his evening jacket. ‘I believe I have had enough for one evening, Marcus. You?’
The other man eyed him impatiently. ‘I only came at all because Julianna said that I should, in support of you. We delayed going to the country so that I might attend.’ Julianna was now very large with child and would not be out and about in society again until after the babe had been born.
Christian raised haughty brows. ‘Support of me?’
Worthing gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘You are fooling no one with this act, Christian. If I know you are pining for your French mademoiselle, then you may be assured that Julianna knew of it long before I did! Besides,’ he added slyly, ‘Miss Lisette Maystone and my wife are now firm friends.’
‘What?’ Christian could not think of a worse friendship than one between his interfering sister and the irrepressible Lisette. ‘How did the two of them even meet?’ he demanded irritably.