A Daring Passion (20 page)

Frankford shifted with obvious discomfort. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Gautier, but I do believe it is a bit more serious on this occasion. The last I heard he had taken up residence in Newgate.”

“It will do Jean-Pierre no harm to spend a few days in prison. Perhaps it will teach him a long-overdue lesson in responsibility. Nothing else has been able to do so.”

Frankford gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Good God, Gautier. You are a coldhearted devil.”

“I have already contacted my solicitors. I do not doubt by the time I arrive the entire mess will have been straightened out.” Philippe's tone was soft, but there was an edge that warned his patience was at an end.

“Yes, well, I suppose you know your business best,” Frankford hastily said.

“Indeed, I do.” Philippe was forced to pause as a waiter arrived with a large plate of pheasant drenched in a thick mushroom sauce. Once they were alone he turned the conversation in the direction he desired. “And speaking of business, my father has requested that I contact an old friend of his while I am in Paris. A Monsieur Mirabeau.”

Already tackling the pheasant with an obvious relish, Frankford gave a small grunt.

“Can't say that I've seen him for some months. Word is that he has become a damnable hermit.”

“Does he live near Paris?”

“So far as I know he still possesses his estate near Fontainebleau.”

“Thank you.” Rising to his feet, Philippe dug into his pocket to pull out a handful of coins that he dropped on the table. “This should cover your meal.”

“Oh, I say. Very good of you, Gautier,” Frankford said.

“Think nothing of it. Give my regards to Lady Frankford.”

Frankford grimaced. “Not bloody likely.”

Collecting his coat and hat, Philippe left the restaurant and was swiftly making his way back to Montmartre.

He had managed to discover the information he needed.

Tomorrow he would begin the hunt for Seurat.

 

T
HE CARRIAGE RATTLED
down the rue de Seine before turning onto a narrow street that was lined with ancient hotels that had been transformed into apartments, shops, warehouses and even public baths.

Just ahead an aging building was being slowly demolished to offer a new thoroughfare. The tumble of bricks and broken pillars only added to the air of escalating shabbiness in the once-elegant neighborhood.

“It is all changing,” Raine muttered with a hint of sadness. She had been only fourteen when the nuns had brought a handful of students to Paris, but she had remembered it with delight.

Philippe was seated at her side attired in dark breeches and jacket. The severity of his clothing only served to emphasize his aloof, pale beauty.

“Hardly surprising. With every new ruler comes the necessity of altering the city to reflect their power.”

Her lips tightened as she caught sight of a couple of ragged urchins huddled near the street.

“A pity that they do not feel an equal duty to care for their people. It is a sin to allow their citizens to suffer,” she muttered.

Philippe remained leaning back in his seat, his expression unreadable.

“There will always be the poor and destitute,
querida.
If nothing else the Revolution proved that not even those who boast of equality and the distribution of wealth can alter the fate of the lower classes. They succeeded in nothing more than causing a bloodbath that killed as many of their own as their supposed enemies.”

She narrowed her gaze at his smooth tone. “So you do not feel that those with wealth should assist those in need?”

“I employ a great number of servants and tenants and laborers, Raine. I pay them a decent wage and ensure that they have an adequate pension. Because of me they have a very comfortable life. What more would you have of me?”

She bit back her instinctive words. The annoying man did have a point. From the small amount she had been able to determine about Philippe, his empire extended from Portugal to Brazil to England. He employed thousands of people and invested in countless farms, vineyards, shipping companies and factories. It was a far cry more than she did to help others.

“Who is this gentleman we are to visit?” she demanded in a blatant attempt to change the conversation.

His lips twitched, but he readily followed her lead. “Monsieur Mirabeau. He is an old acquaintance of my father.”

“And you believe that he might know something of this man you are hunting?”

His features tightened. “Let us hope.”

Raine smoothed her hands over the pale ivory of her gown. She had matched the dress with a gold Spenser and a bonnet with a thick veil that hid her face.

“I still do not comprehend what you hope to accomplish by coming to Paris. If this man is in the city, will he not simply flee when he discovers your presence?”

“That is a possibility, but if he does not yet realize that I am following his trail, then he will more likely believe that it is safer to slink back to his lair and wait for me to leave.”

Raine studied his grim expression. “There is more than that.”

Philippe gave a lift of his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are hoping to draw him out,” she said slowly. “You think he will attempt to strike at you.”

A ripple of surprise crossed his features, as if he were caught off guard by her perception.

“I will admit that it has crossed my mind that by having me so near and seemingly unaware of my danger, it might prove to be a temptation too difficult to resist. If he is prodded into attacking me, then I should be capable of trapping him.”

She stiffened at his nonchalant manner. Had there ever been a man born who did not take some delight in risking his blasted neck?

“And what if you are hurt? Or, God forbid, killed?”

Philippe regarded her with an odd smile. “Do not fear,
meu amor,
Carlos has been instructed to see that you are protected and returned to the care of your father. He will not fail you.”

For some reason his promise only aggravated her further. “Bloody hell, I do not need Carlos or any other man to protect me.”

“Then why are you in such a twit?” He reached out to stroke a light finger down the bare skin of her throat. “It could not be that you are concerned for my welfare, could it,
querida?
”

She jerked from his touch. It was enough that he knew her treacherous body would respond to his lightest caress. She was not about to let him realize that he was ruthlessly forcing his way into her heart.

“Your arrogance is beyond belief,” she charged.

His green eyes glittered. “Why will you not admit that you do not want to see me harmed?”

“If I do not wish to see you harmed, it is simply because when someone finally does put a bullet into you, I intend to be the one pulling the trigger.”

Philippe merely laughed. “Ah, my bloodthirsty beauty. You say such charming things. Is it any wonder you have managed to beguile me?”

“Beguile?” An unwelcome pain raced through her. “Not likely.”

“You surely have not forgotten last night?”

She shivered against her will. Of course she had not forgotten last night. How the devil could she? The man had devoted hours to his tender assault. It had almost seemed as if he were determined to brand himself on her very soul as he had made her scream over and over in pleasure.

Thankfully, she was no fool. She understood the shallow emptiness of mere desire.

“Lust is not at all the same as beguilement.”

He lowered his head to brush his lips just below her ear. “It feels remarkably similar to me.”

“No.” Her hands fisted in her lap as she willed herself not to respond. “A man can experience lust for any woman who might cross his path. Beguilement implies that she is somehow special.”

Pulling back, he studied her pale features barely visible behind the veil.

“And you wish me to assure you that you are special to me?”

She turned her head to gaze out the window. “Do not, Philippe.”

“Raine? What is—”

“We appear to be halting,” she abruptly interrupted, studying the white building with a portico framing the door.

“This is our destination,” Philippe said, his hand reaching out to grasp her chin and forcing her to meet his narrowed gaze. “We will finish this later.”

He gave her no opportunity to respond as he shoved open the door to the carriage and assisted her down. Taking her hand, he placed it firmly on his arm and led her into the building.

Raine barely managed a swift glance around what appeared to be a literary salon when a lovely woman with glossy blond hair and a curvaceous form tightly encased in a brilliant crimson gown was making her way to stand directly before Philippe. She was stunningly beautiful with the sort of china-doll features and wide blue eyes that Raine had always envied.

She hated the woman on sight.

“Ah, Monsieur Gautier.” She held out her hand for Philippe to lift it to his lips. “How pleased I am to welcome you to my small salon.”

Philippe straightened, a smile curving his lips. “Madame Tulles.”

“I received your letter requesting to view my library. I believe you will discover some books of interest. If you will follow me?”

Philippe gave a nod and the woman turned to lead them past the low sofas and marble tables that were scattered throughout the large room. A handful of men were seated in a corner speaking in hushed tones, but none spared more than a fleeting glance toward them.

They entered a narrow hall and continued down to the last door before the woman came to a halt and turned to flash Philippe an intimate smile.

“He is waiting for you,” she told him in French.

“
Merci,
Juliana,” he murmured softly.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Only a bit of privacy.”

“That I can promise.” They exchanged a glance that revealed they were far more than strangers. “I hope once your business is completed you will have time for pleasure. My door is always open to you, Philippe.”

With a last lingering smile the woman turned to walk back down the hall, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume.

Raine found her teeth gritted as she glared at the man standing at her side.

“Juliana?” she demanded.

“She is an old friend.”

Raine doubted that friendship had anything to do with their relationship. “Did she beguile you, as well?”

A smug smile curved his lips. “You sound almost jealous,
meu amor.
”

She did sound jealous. Probably because the mere thought of Philippe with the sophisticated blonde was enough to make her want to slap the woman. And then Philippe for good measure.

Damn, the irritating man. What was he doing to her?

“Can we just get this over with?” she demanded as she folded her arms over her oddly tight stomach. “Or are we to spend the entire day standing in this hall?”

P
HILIPPE RESISTED THE URGE
to laugh as he reached to push open the nearby door. As a rule he disliked jealous women. The last thing he desired was a clinging female who believed that she possessed some claim upon him.

But the sight of Raine's taut expression and the tense annoyance that shimmered about her slender body pleased him in a manner that he did not quite understand.

In truth it made him long to press her into the corner and prove that whatever Juliana's undoubted charm, it was her own fiery spirit that made him ache with need.

With a shake of his head at his odd mood, Philippe stepped into the small, book-lined room. The scent of aging leather and wood smoke greeted him as he crossed over the threshold. And, as Juliana had promised, there was a thin, gray-haired gentleman seated near the fireplace, his lined countenance set in an expression of peevish annoyance.

Not that he had expected anything else. His gaze slid to where Carlos leaned negligently against the heavy mahogany desk. Not many would dare to defy the large, always dangerous man.

Pausing to settle Raine in a chair beside the door, Philippe moved forward to offer a shallow bow.

“Monsieur Mirabeau?”

The man scowled with annoyance. “
Oui.
”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“There was no agreement.” A gnarled hand banged on the arm of his chair. “Your…henchman simply arrived at my door and commanded that I accompany him. Since he is considerably larger and some years younger than myself I had no choice but to be dragged to this place.”

Philippe crossed to the desk and returned with a small glass of cognac. “Perhaps this will help ease any discomfort you might have suffered.” He offered it to the gentleman, who promptly swallowed the golden spirits in one gulp.

Setting aside the glass, Mirabeau glared at Philippe. “What I desire is an explanation of this outrage.”

“First I believe introductions are in order,” Philippe said smoothly. “Carlos you have already met.” He motioned his hand toward the silent Raine. “This is Mademoiselle Beauvoir. And I am Philippe Gautier.”

A silence shrouded the room before Mirabeau struggled to his feet.

“You are Louis's son?”

“Yes.”

“Mon Dieu.”
He gave a shake of his silver head. “Why did you not simply send me a note? I would have been happy to meet with you.”

“I would prefer that no one realize that we have spoken.”

“Why?”

Philippe met the watery-blue gaze with a grim expression. “I want you to tell me everything you know of a man named Seurat.”

“Seurat?” The elderly man muttered a string of curses. “Do not speak of that loathsome wretch.”

A flare of sharp satisfaction raced through Philippe. Thank God. He could not deny that deep part of him had feared he had been chasing shadows while Jean-Pierre faced the gallows.

“So you recognize the name?”

“How could I not?” The elderly man abruptly turned to stare into the fire, a fine tremor shaking his frail body. “He has plagued and bedeviled me for years.”

Philippe frowned at the husky confession. “What has he done?”

“Nothing that can be proved.” Mirabeau held his hands toward the flames. “The windows of my home have been broken on countless occasions, my collection of Grecian friezes was destroyed while they were on display at the Tuileries, even my carriage has been run off the road.”

“And you believe it is the work of Seurat?”

“I have seen him,” Mirabeau rasped. “Standing in the shadows. Always in the shadows.”

Meu Deus.
To have tormented this poor old man for years. The bastard was clearly insane.

“What connection does he have to my family?” he demanded.

“I…cannot say.”

Philippe reached out to grasp the man's thin shoulder and tugged him around to meet his fierce glare. He might feel pity for Mirabeau, but his brother's life hung in the balance.

“Do not play games with me,
monsieur,
” he warned in silky tones.

“Your father has sworn me to silence.”

“As usual my father is not here to clean up the mess he has created. You will tell me everything you know before my brother is sent to the gallows. Do you understand?”

The wrinkled face paled. “So the rumors are true? He has been arrested?”

“He faces the hangman unless I can find Seurat and force him to confess that Jean-Pierre is innocent.”

Mirabeau licked his thin lips. “
Mon Dieu,
this is a disaster,” he muttered. “I warned Louis. I told him that he was courting trouble to betray Seurat, but he would not listen to me.”

Philippe's hand dropped as he frowned in sudden confusion. “Betray Seurat? What the hell are you rambling about?”

Clearly shaken, Mirabeau returned to his chair and dropped onto the cushions.

“We were in Egypt.”

“Who?”

“Your father and I.” He shrugged. “I believe that Stafford was there, as well. And, of course, the ridiculous army of servants you must hire when you travel through the desert.”

Philippe returned to the desk to pour himself a measure of the cognac. He had a sense that he was going to have need of the potent spirit before the interview was done.

“Do you speak of the occasion when my father discovered the Egyptian tomb?” he demanded as he returned to stand before the seated gentleman.

“Oui.”

“And Seurat was there, as well?”

“Your father had hired him as a guide. He was French but he had lived in Egypt for years.” Mirabeau gave a short, humorless laugh. “We were warned that he was…unstable, but he was reputed to be the best guide in the entire country.”

“And my father would demand the best,” Philippe said dryly. At least Louis would demand the best so long as Philippe was footing the bill.

“As you say,” Mirabeau agreed.

“I presume that you managed to find your way through the desert?”

“We made camp in sight of the pyramids. Your father suspected that there were many more tombs spread beneath the endless sea of sand. And he was right.”

“You found the tombs?”

He shrugged. “A few, but they had all been disturbed centuries before.”

“Grave robbers?”

Mirabeau gave a sharp nod. “In most cases we found nothing more than scattered bones and broken pottery. Certainly not the rich bounty we had been hoping for.”

Philippe smiled wryly. “Nor the glory my father so desires.”

“Precisely.”

There was a brief silence as Philippe mulled over the grudging confession. He was far more interested in what Mirabeau was attempting to avoid revealing than what he was saying.

“Obviously you did at last discover a tomb that could offer a bounty beyond your dreams,” he said. Even he could rarely view his father's Egyptian collection without catching his breath in wonder.

It was more than the golden relics and gem-encrusted jewelry. There was quite simply an ageless beauty to be discovered among the statues and vases and exotically decorated sarcophagi.

“In a manner of speaking,” Mirabeau said vaguely.

Philippe hissed out an impatient breath. He did not have the time for this nonsense.

“Enough of your hedging. Simply tell me what happened,” he commanded.

The pale eyes flashed with annoyance at Philippe's biting tone, but thankfully he seemed to realize that he would eventually have to admit the truth of what had occurred in the desert of Egypt.

“Your father was becoming infuriated by our lack of success. He had devoted all his resources to this trip and he swore he would not return without something to show for his investment,” he muttered. “That was when he began to notice that Seurat was sneaking away from the camp late at night and not returning until early the next morning.”

“Did my father confront him?”

“
Non.
He suspected that Seurat was performing his own dig. And that the servant had managed to stumble over a find.”

Philippe stilled, his instincts tingling as he realized he was about to learn the truth his father had kept long hidden.

“One far richer than your own?”

Mirabeau released a soft sigh. “It was…astonishing. I have never seen such treasures. A prince's tomb entirely intact. You cannot imagine how rare and wonderful that is.”

“Wonderful enough to steal it from Seurat?”

With an effort Mirabeau struggled from the chair, his face flushed with outrage. “It was not stealing. Seurat was a paid servant who was there to be our guide. He should have come to us the moment he suspected he had uncovered a tomb. That was his duty.”

Philippe heard Raine gasp behind him, but he never allowed his gaze to shift from Mirabeau. He had always suspected there had been some nefarious dealings during his father's trip to Egypt. Not only had Louis been strangely reluctant to speak of his spectacular discovery, but he kept his bounty under tight lock and key rather than flaunting it for all the world to see.

“And instead he intended to plunder the goods beneath your very noses?”

Mirabeau's flush darkened. “Ungrateful wretch.”

“What did my father do?”

“What any gentleman would do. He claimed the find as his own and we divided the profits accordingly.”

There was another strangled sound from Raine. She clearly did not appreciate the notion of
droit de signor.

“And what was Seurat's profit?”

“The usual for a paid servant.”

“No doubt Seurat was not entirely satisfied with his share?”

Mirabeau shuddered at the memory. “To be honest, the man was as mad as the locals had warned us. He tried to stab your father before we at last were forced to drive him from the camp.” Another shudder racked the thin body. “Before he left he swore that he would see us all destroyed.”

If Seurat was mad then it was the most dangerous sort of madness, Philippe acknowledged. He was willing to wait and plot for years before striking.

“You said that you have seen him in Paris?” he demanded abruptly.

Mirabeau gave a short nod. “
Oui.
”

“Do you know where he resides?”

“He moves and lives among the peasants.” Mirabeau made a disgusted sound. “I have hired countless men to try to track him with no luck.”

Philippe did not allow the words to disturb him. Mirabeau could hardly be expected to have experience in trailing a determined scoundrel. Philippe, on the other hand, possessed years of practice.

“Does he have any family?”

Mirabeau lifted a hand to run it wearily over his thinning hair. “I…do not know.”

Philippe reluctantly accepted that the elderly gentleman was looking distinctly wilted. Clearly, his days of trotting about the world in the wake of Louis Gautier had taken their toll on the poor old sod.

“Is there anything else you can tell me of the man?” he asked as he motioned toward the silent Carlos.

Mirabeau rose to his feet and heaved a deep sigh. “Only that he will not be satisfied until we are all ruined.”

“Thank you,
monsieur.
” Philippe shook the man's hand before stepping back. “Carlos will see that you are returned to your home.”

“You will halt Seurat?” Mirabeau demanded, genuine fear laced through his voice. “You will ensure that we are safe?”

“I will do whatever necessary to find Seurat and put an end to his vengeance,” Philippe swore softly.

A relieved smile touched the elder man's lips. “Bless you, my son. Bless you.”

 

T
HE CARRIAGE WAS SHROUDED
in silence as it wound its way through the frozen streets back to Montmartre.

Philippe was no doubt scheming the best means of tracking down his prey, Raine acknowledged. There was certainly a grim set to his countenance that warned his thoughts were not pleasant.

She, on the other hand, was pondering Monsieur Mirabeau's unexpected revelations.

Dear heavens. She had already suspected from Philippe's rare comments that Louis Gautier was a selfish and self-absorbed gentleman. Certainly he had readily handed the responsibility of his family over to his son while he indulged his obsession with his various collections. He did not even seem concerned for Jean-Pierre despite his dire predicament.

Still, it was shocking to realize how he had treated poor Seurat. Perhaps the servant had been wrong to seek out his own treasure while in the employ of Monsieur Gautier, but that surely did not give anyone the right to simply take it from him?