A Daring Passion (24 page)

Leaving her room, Raine ignored the nagging urge to return to Philippe. She was not about to hover over him, wringing her hands like some besotted fool. Philippe, not to mention the entire household, was bound to jump to the conclusion that she actually cared if he lived or died. It was horrible enough to secretly accept that she did.

Instead she firmly headed down to the kitchen, and seating herself at the table, she accepted the hot, buttered croissants that Madame LaSalle placed before her.

“How is the
monsieur
on this morning?” the housekeeper inquired in her halting English. Although Raine spoke perfect French, the older woman was anxious to improve her accent.

“He is still sleeping at the moment, but I believe he is healing.” Raine nibbled at a croissant. “No doubt when he awakens he will be prepared for some of your excellent chicken broth.”

“You are a good girl.” The servant patted Raine's cheek before moving to begin kneading a large mound of dough. “I must say that I do not like this shooting of the
monsieur.
It is not so good.”

Raine grimaced. “No, I am not fond of it myself.”

“Why should he be in such a nasty neighborhood? There is nothing to be found there but unfortunate souls who delight in trouble.” She gave a shake of her head. “Monsieur must be a man who seeks out the danger,
non?
”

Raine suspected that Philippe's fascination for danger went well beyond Seurat and nasty neighborhoods. He possessed the sort of skills that suggested he was either a master criminal, or an agent for some government.

“Yes, I do believe that he must enjoy a certain amount of danger.”

“So different from his brother.” Madame LaSalle heaved a sigh as she sprinkled flour on the dough. “A pity.”

Raine pushed aside her plate. Ah, an opportunity to learn more about Philippe and his family. It would be intriguing to know precisely what others thought of them.

“You know Jean-Pierre well?” she asked casually.

A sudden smile curved the servant's lips. Clearly, Jean-Pierre was a favorite of hers.

“But of course. He often comes to stay. He—” she struggled to translate her words “—how do you say—gathers the art?”

“He is an art collector,” Raine helpfully supplied.

“That is it. He comes to Paris and buys such lovely pictures and things. Always such exquisite taste.”

Raine hid her grimace. She had seen enough of Jean-Pierre's art collection around the cottage to suspect he possessed more enthusiasm than actual skill in choosing his art.

“Well, I do not doubt that it is at least expensive taste,” she muttered.

Madame LaSalle turned to regard Raine with pinched lips. Her loyalty to Jean-Pierre clearly made her blind to his faults.

“Such things are always expensive.”

“Yes, they are. Which makes it an odd choice of a career for a second son.”

“I do not understand.”

Raine shrugged. “As we have both agreed it is ghastly expensive to collect art. It would seem that Jean-Pierre would be better served to have chosen a career in the church or the military that would allow him a measure of independence from his family.”

The servant appeared horrified by the mere thought of her beloved Jean-Pierre soiling his hands with good, honest work.

“Monsieur Gautier would never be happy in such employment. He is a man who is meant to be surrounded by beauty.”

Raine gave a faint shake of her head. Good Lord. Philippe had not exaggerated the burdens that he was forced to bear. A mother dead when he was just a babe, an unscrupulous father who had all but abandoned him and a charming rapscallion of a brother. It was a wonder he had not long ago washed his hands of his family.

“So long as he need not concern himself with providing the funds to support such beauty,” she pointed out.

“Why should he?” Madame LaSalle shrugged. “His brother is a wealthy man,
non?
”

Raine bit back her sharp words. Philippe had seemingly accepted the burden of caring for his family. It was not her place to protest Jean-Pierre's lack of responsibility.

“Jean-Pierre travels here often?” she instead demanded.

Madame LaSalle returned to her kneading. “Not so often as we would wish. Such an elegant man. So charming and kind to the servants. And such a favorite of the ladies. He is a true Frenchman.”

Not overly impressed with the seeming qualities of a true Frenchman, Raine was suddenly distracted by a loud thump that came from above. With a jerky motion she was on her feet and heading toward the door.

“Bloody hell, someone should take a horsewhip to that stubborn fool.” She stomped up the stairs and shoved open the door. Philippe was seated on the edge of the bed fully dressed except for the boots he was struggling to pull on with only one hand. “Whatever are you doing?”

He sent her a dry smile. “I am attempting to put on my boots. Unfortunately I do not appear to be having much success.”

Raine gave a shake of her head. Although he had somehow managed to comb his hair and even shave, there was a pallor to his skin and dark circles beneath his eyes. He was still in pain and weakened from his wound, even if he was too much of an idiot to admit it.

“Which would be a rather obvious indication that you are not recovered enough to be putting on your boots,” she said tartly.

“All I need is a bit of assistance.” He continued with his tugging on the boot. “Where is Carlos?”

“Philippe, you cannot be serious.” Without thinking, she moved to stand directly before him. “You must stay in bed.”

He lifted his head to reveal a wicked smile, his hand running an intimate caress along the line of her hip.

“A tempting offer,
meu amor,
and one that I will be more than willing to accept once I have Seurat in my grasp.”

She hastily stepped back, her skin tingling from the heat of his hand. How the devil did he manage to stir her senses with the merest touch?

“You cannot even put on your boots, how do you intend to travel to Paris and capture Seurat?”

A determination settled on his pale features as he grimly set about wrestling his boots onto his feet. Then, smoothly rising, he backed her to the wall. He planted his hands on either side of her shoulders and allowed his body to lean heavily against hers.

“One day, Raine, you will realize that it is a mistake to underestimate me,” he murmured.

Raine swallowed the sudden lump in her throat as she glared into his mocking eyes. Her heart was pounding and her knees were weak, but she was not about to give him the pleasure of revealing her reaction to his proximity. He was quite arrogant enough.

“Fine. Dash about Paris all you desire. But when you become ill do not expect me to tend to you.”

“Of course you will tend to me.” He smiled as his hand trailed over the curve of her cheek. “You are far too tenderhearted to allow anyone to suffer, no matter how much they might deserve such a fate.”

“You think you know me so well?”

“Not nearly as well as I intend to,
meu amor.
” He studied her with a brooding gaze. “You withhold far too much of yourself from me, but eventually I will wear down your barriers. I intend to have all of you.”

The lump in her throat seemed to double in size. “Why?”

“Why?”

“You have me in your bed. What more do you want?”

“Everything.” His head lowered to scatter tiny kisses over her upturned face. “Your body…your heart…your soul.”

A cold chill inched down Raine's spine. This man had already taken far too much from her. Any more and he would surely destroy her.

“No,” she breathed in denial.

“Yes.” His tone was fierce as he abruptly cradled her face in his hands and glared into her wide eyes. “Every silken, beautiful, irritating inch of you will be mine.”

“Until you decide to toss me aside.”

“Is that what troubles you? Do you wish me to promise I will keep you always?”

Her heart gave a sharp, uncomfortable jerk before she was steeling herself against his potent appeal.

“You must have been wounded more grievously than I feared if you believe such nonsense,” she accused. “For God's sake, the only reason I am here at all is because you threatened to harm my father. Or have you managed to forget your disgraceful part in this charade?”

“I have forgotten nothing.” A smile slowly curved his lips. “Certainly not the manner in which you moan with pleasure in my arms, or how you whisper my name in your sleep.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I do not whisper your name in my sleep.”

Philippe chuckled softly, his entire body aching with the need to finish what he had started. Unfortunately he had already wasted too much time. He could not risk Seurat slipping away before he could capture him.

“Do not worry,
meu amor,
” he whispered in her ear, “so long as it is my name you are whispering you have nothing to fear.”

She opened her lips to offer a cutting reply and he effectively silenced her with a deep, possessive kiss. His hands tightened on her face before he forced himself to reluctantly step away.

Once he had ended the threat to his brother, he could devote his entire attention to Raine. Until then he could not allow himself to become distracted from his duty.

Unable to resist one last light kiss on her lips, Philippe turned to gather his coat and gloves before leaving the room and making his way from the cottage. His arm ached and he suspected that it would not be long before his strength gave out. He could only hope that Seurat would be considerate enough to remain waiting in the alley to be captured.

Gathering his horse from the stables, Philippe headed for Paris, shivering as he was forced to slow his mount to a careful trot. The drizzling rain from the night before had frozen to leave the streets slick with ice. His arm was painful enough. He didn't need a broken neck.

The trip was cold and tedious and more than once he damned himself for not having remained tucked in his bed with Raine in his arms. Seurat was going to pay for every frustrating moment Philippe spent looking for him rather than enjoying the pleasures of his mistress.

Despite the inhospitable weather the streets of Paris were clogged with traffic. There was the usual clutter of public cabriolets, gentlemen heading toward the gambling houses, ladies intent on reaching the Arcades, and the King's Guard, which made a show of protecting the local citizens.

Philippe was cursing beneath his breath before he at last managed to locate the filthy alley where they had last seen Seurat. Perhaps unfairly, his foul mood was not noticeably improved when Carlos appeared from the shadows.

The younger man was attired in his usual rough woolen clothing with a cap pulled low on his head. He was also looking annoyingly hale and hearty, Philippe noted as he dismounted and struggled to keep his knees from buckling.

“I should have known you would not have the sense to remain in bed,” Carlos said.

Philippe deliberately met his dark gaze. He may have been disoriented and less than lucid last eve, but he had not forgotten Carlos's overly familiar manner toward Raine.

“Actually, the notion did cross my mind,” he drawled, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. “My bed seemed uncommonly comfortable this morning.”

“I would imagine any bed would be uncommonly comfortable with Raine in it,” Carlos retorted, his arms folded over his chest.

Philippe clenched his hands at his sides. For a moment their gazes silently battled.

“You tread dangerous ground,
amigo,
” he warned softly.

Carlos shrugged. “I am not blind. She is a beautiful woman.”

“She is mine.”

“For the moment.”

Philippe had never been a jealous or possessive man, but there was no mistaking the searing fury that raced through his blood. Carlos might be a brother to him, but he would beat the hell out of him if he did not retreat.

“This is no game, Carlos.” His voice was low and lethal. “I will kill any man who touches her.”

Carlos leaned negligently against the side of the building, his expression indifferent.

“You know that you cannot threaten me, Philippe. I shall always do what I desire.”

“And what do you desire?”

The dark gaze momentarily shifted to the pathetic souls that struggled down the cramped street as Carlos considered his answer.

“I have become…fond of Raine. I would not stand aside and allow her to be harmed.”

Philippe frowned at the unmistakable implication. “You think I intend to harm her?”

His friend's features hardened. “She is not like the other women you have seduced. She has not willingly traded her honor to acquire a wealthy protector.”