not all that is important!’ She eyed him exasperatedly.
‘I find your concern for me most charming, Lisette,’ he drawled flirtatiously. ‘But you really need not concern yourself on my account—’
‘How can I not concern myself?’ She rose agitatedly to her feet. ‘When I am the reason you are in danger?’
Christian sincerely doubted that; he was becoming more and more convinced by the moment that Helene Rousseau did suspect him and his reason for being in Paris. To a degree where it was no longer safe for him to continue to remain here posing as the Comte de Saint-Cloud?
That would be a pity, considering all the work and planning that had gone into establishing that identity before his arrival in France.
It also meant that tonight might be the only time he had left in Paris.
A night he might spend with Lisette?
He placed his brandy glass down on the side table before rising lazily to his feet. ‘I am sure you would feel more comfortable if you were to remove your bonnet and cloak.’
‘I do not wish to feel more comfortable—’
‘Of course you do.’ Christian crossed the distance that separated them before unfastening her bonnet himself and removing it, ignoring her efforts to stop him as he then untied the cloak at her throat before placing them both down on the armchair and turning back to her. ‘Much better,’ he noted with satisfaction as he took both of her gloved hands in one of his.
He did not particularly care for the plain black gown Lisette was wearing, would much rather see her in bright colours that would flatter rather than detract from her delicate complexion. But her hair gleamed like copper in the firelight, and the warmth of the fire had indeed brought back a little of the colour to her cheeks.
She looked slightly bewildered at his deft removal of her bonnet and cloak. ‘I told you I cannot stay above a minute or two—’
‘You really must not distress yourself, my dear Lisette,’ Christian soothed softly. ‘As I have said, we have tonight together...’ He held her now startled gaze as he slowly lowered his head towards her.
Lisette’s head began to spin as she knew this completely compelling man, Christian Beaumont, Comte de Saint-Cloud, was about to kiss her again.
She couldn’t move, was held completely mesmerised by those lavender eyes gazing down into her own as the Comte’s lips brushed gently against hers.
Her hands were still held captive in his much larger one as his other arm moved about her waist and pulled her in tightly against him. Instantly making Lisette aware of his strength and the hardness of his muscled chest.
Until tonight she had never been kissed before, but she was sure that if she had it would not have made her feel the way that Christian’s kisses did: as if she were floating on air and Christian’s arm about her waist was the only thing keeping her feet on the ground.
Her life had been so miserable since coming to Paris, everything strange and uncomfortable to her, and this—being held by Christian, being kissed by him—was so overwhelmingly pleasurable after so many weeks of unhappiness and uncertainty and feeling that she no longer belonged anywhere.
For this moment, for here and for now, surely she could just forget all of that and enjoy being in this man’s arms.
Lisette pulled her hands free of his to glide them up the length of his muscled chest before resting them on his shoulders, as she stood on tiptoe and returned the kiss. Not expertly, she was sure, but she hoped that what she lacked in experience she more than made up for in her obvious enjoyment and enthusiasm.
Better—much, much better, Christian acknowledged with inner satisfaction as he deepened the kiss by running his tongue lightly, questioningly, along the line of Lisette’s closed lips. He felt her brief hesitation before those softly pouting lips parted, allowing him access as his tongue now glided inside the moist and welcoming heat of her mouth.
He groaned softly as he felt the stroke of her tongue along his, hesitant at first and then more assuredly. His body instantly responded to the intimacy, engorging, and lengthening impatiently inside his pantaloons.
Christian pressed his body intimately into Lisette’s as he kissed her harder, deeper. Hearing her responding groan as his tongue now explored the sweetness of her mouth, at the same time as his hands moved restlessly up and down the length of her spine.
His fingers brushed against the tiny buttons fastening the back of her gown, and he continued to kiss her as he unfastened enough of those buttons to slip one of his hands inside and touch the softness of her bare skin.
She felt like silk beneath his fingertips. Warm, soft silk that seemed to heat to the touch of his caressing hands.
It was not enough. Christian needed to see all of her. To touch her. To caress and pleasure her—
‘No!’ Lisette had wrenched her mouth away from Christian’s to protest, eyes wide as she stared up at him in what looked like a mixture of fascination and shock.
The first emotion Christian could understand; he was experienced enough to know when a woman found pleasure in his kisses. And he had no doubt Lisette had enjoyed their kisses as much as he had.
The shock appeared to have occurred because he had unfastened her gown and touched her bared skin...
Her dilated pupils, and the quick rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed deeply, told him that Lisette’s shock was completely genuine.
Not a whore, then.
The mystery that surrounded this young woman deepened every second they were together.
She pushed determinedly against his chest now in an effort to escape his imprisoning arms. ‘You must release me, Christian. Please!’ Her eyes met his in appeal when her efforts to free herself proved unsuccessful.
He looked down at her searchingly. ‘You did not enjoy being kissed?’
‘No! Well. Yes.’ A blush heated her cheeks. ‘Of course I enjoyed being kissed—’
‘Then why have you stopped me?’
Why had she stopped him?
For the same reason she knew that she could not remain here alone in this room with this man a moment longer.
Because she had enjoyed his kisses too much. Had wanted his hands upon her bared flesh too much.
Because she had wanted so much more than just his kisses.
For just a brief time, a few moments, Lisette had wanted to lose herself in Christian’s kisses and caresses, to forget the unhappiness of these past months, along with the uncertainty of no longer knowing who or what she was.
For this time, here with Christian, she had wanted to just be herself. The Lisette Duprée who had been loved and cherished by the couple she had believed were her parents, and not the illegitimate daughter of a woman who seemed to care nothing for her, who owned and ran a lowly Parisian tavern frequented by criminals and whores.
That
