A Daring Passion (30 page)

He was still pacing when there was a faint noise near the door and Madame LaSalle stepped into the room with a hand pressed to her heart.

“Monsieur?” Her eyes widened with fear as she took in the shattered room and then the sight of Philippe kneeling on the floor, his head still cradled in his hands. “Blessed Mary, has there been a robbery?”

There was a tense silence before Philippe was slowly rising to his feet, his features set in pure ice. The raging emotions had been replaced by a cruel ruthlessness. The man had become a lethal predator who would hunt down and destroy his prey.

“Gather the servants in the kitchen,” Philippe ordered the fluttering woman. “
All
the servants. If any of them are out I want them back at once. I will be down in a few moments to question them.”

The woman responded instinctively to the command, her back straightening and the panic easing from her round countenance.

“
Oui, monsieur.
I will have them gathered at once.”

Madame LaSalle rushed from the room and Philippe paced toward the fireplace.

“Carlos.”

“Sim?”

“I want you to go to Belfleur's and begin searching the stables in the neighborhood. I want to know every person who rented a carriage and if they have all been returned.”

“They are bound to be closed at this hour.”

“Then wake them.”

Carlos gave a nod, struggling with his own near-blinding anger. Unlike Philippe, he did not possess the means of locking away his seething emotions. He needed to hurt something or someone. And he needed to do it soon.

“Of course, but you do realize that he might have come on horseback?”

“No.” Philippe gripped the edge of the mantel, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip. “He arrived here intending to kidnap Raine. He could not risk being seen on horseback with a struggling woman, or worse, one that was bound and gagged.”

Carlos restlessly paced around the room. He could not allow himself to think of Raine being helplessly bound.

“A dangerous risk,” he rasped. “If he did come with the intention of taking Raine, then he would have to keep a watch on the cottage until we left. A carriage sitting in the street for such a length of time would have attracted notice.”

“Unless he was wise enough to leave it near the pub.”

Carlos gave a grudging nod. Seurat had proved he possessed at least some cunning. Too often he remained one step ahead of them.

“What do you want of the servants?”

“I intend to have them search the house and grounds. Seurat might have left behind something that will be of assistance in tracking him.”

“A beginning, but it is not enough,” Carlos said.

Philippe turned to his friend with a frigid glare. “Do you have a better scheme?”

“
Meu Deus.
” Carlos shoved his fingers through his hair. “We should have taken greater care. Raine should never have been left here alone. We failed her.”

Philippe turned back to gaze sightlessly at the fire. “No, Carlos,
I
failed her. I was the one to take her from her home and to put her in danger, not you. But I will get her back. Even if I have to take Paris apart brick by brick.” He gave a sharp shake of his head. “Go to Belfleur's. I will join you—”

Carlos frowned as the clipped words were abruptly broken off and Philippe bent down to touch the floor.

“What is it?” Moving forward, he impatiently bent beside his friend, wondering if he had discovered something that Seurat had left behind. “Philippe?”

Wordlessly, Philippe lifted his hand and held it toward the fire. Carlos's heart slammed to a halt as he caught sight of the unmistakable red stain at the tip of his finger.

Blood.

Carlos muttered a string of curses as he rose to his feet and then slammed his fist into the wall. The fierce blow knocked a small vase from the mantel and rattled paintings. Unfortunately it did nothing to ease his choking fury.

Clenching and unclenching his throbbing hand, Carlos turned back to Philippe. He was still kneeling before the fire, his face disturbingly pale as he stared at the sticky redness on his finger.

He appeared frozen in place, as if he might shatter if he so much as breathed. Carlos gripped his shoulder.

“It is no more than a drop, Philippe,” he said softly.

Philippe's expression remained cold and distant, but Carlos could feel the fine tremor beneath his hand.

“She was hurt.”

“Do not leap to conclusions.” He gave the shoulder a rough shake. “You know Raine well enough to realize she would not go without a fight. That blood more than likely belongs to Seurat.”

There was a thick, choking silence before Philippe gave a nod and straightened.

“We will find her,” he swore in low tones. “And then Seurat is dead.”

 

R
AINE STRUGGLED OUT OF
the clinging sleep with a sense of dread. A part of her warned that she would be far better off to remain unconscious. In the thick darkness the heavy pounding in her temples was no more than a distant throb and she could pretend she was safely tucked in her bed at the cottage with no madman in sight.

Unfortunately, a larger part of her was far too sensible to allow her to remain so terribly vulnerable when she was in the power of a desperate villain.

She was no spineless coward. Whatever she had to face she would do so with her eyes open and her shoulders squared.

Her flare of courage allowed her to wrench open her heavy lids and to glance cautiously around the room dimly lit by the early morning sunlight. There was not much to see.

She was lying upon a cramped sofa that was set beneath a covered window. There was a matching chair in a distant corner and a wooden table that held a cracked vase. The floors were bare and the paneled walls were faded and stained.

There was an adjoining room that she suspected was a bedchamber, and from the rustling noises coming from the room she could only suppose her captor was busily preparing for the day.

They were precisely the sort of low-rent rooms that could be had throughout the city of Paris.

The knowledge briefly made her heart sink.

How was Philippe possibly to find her if there was nothing to indicate that this was the home of a man crazed by a lust for revenge?

Raine pressed her fingers to her throbbing temple before she was thrusting aside the pessimistic thoughts. Bloody hell. She did not need Philippe Gautier to rush to her rescue. She was no spineless coward!

No. She had saved her father from the gallows. She had ridden through the dark roads as the Knave of Knightsbridge without a qualm.

She was a woman who was perfectly capable of saving herself.

Of course, saving herself would be considerably easier if her head was not pounding and her stomach threatening an open revolt, she acknowledged wryly.

With a tentative motion she struggled to sit upright, clutching the ragged blanket that had been draped over her as if it might ease the shivers racking her body.

It was not a great feat, but she felt decidedly drained as her head fell on the back cushion of the sofa. So drained she could not even muster the appropriate fear when Seurat abruptly entered the room from the side chamber.

Perhaps it was because he appeared so remarkably harmless. On this morning his thin body was covered by a shabby gray coat and loose breeches. Without the hat and muffler she could see his face was painfully thin with a scar that marred one cheek and a thinning thatch of gray hair. His nose was long, his lips thin and his jaw a weak line.

There was something very ferretlike about the countenance, and a disturbing glitter in the pale eyes. But astonishingly, Raine realized there was also something rather pathetic. As if he were shrouded in a darkness that imprisoned him.

“So you are awake,” he muttered as he crossed to stand directly before her. He shoved out a hand holding a teacup. “Drink this.”

Pain or no pain, Raine managed to sink back in the cushions with an expression of horror.

“No, get it away from me.”

Her captor slowly blinked, as if offended by her distrust. “If I wanted to poison you I would not have waited until you woke up. This is water with feverfew leaves. It will help your headache.”

“Considering you are the one who gave me the headache to begin with, I do not know why you would be concerned now.”

Expecting an angry retort, Raine was caught off guard when his hollow cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I…regret having hit you. I am not a man who is violent toward women.”

Raine gently touched her chin, which was still raw and aching. “Rather late now, is it not?”

“You did not give me a choice,” he protested, his expression tightening. “I asked that you come with me. If you had obeyed I would never have been forced to hurt you. Now, drink.”

With reluctance Raine accepted the glass that he thrust into her hands and took a sip. The water had a bitter taste from the herbs, but it did help to ease the pounding in her temple.

Lowering her gaze as she sipped the medicine, she considered her various options. Although Seurat was not a large man, she doubted she could manage to overpower him. And he was jittery enough that if she were to try screaming he might very well knock her senseless again.

Her best means of escape seemed to be luring him into a false sense of ease. If she could distract him, perhaps even charm him, he might lower his guard enough to allow her a moment to escape.

Now, she just needed to discover precisely how a woman set about charming a lunatic.

F
ORCING HERSELF TO DRINK
the last of the water, Raine deliberately glanced around the barren chamber with what she hoped was casual interest.

“Where are we?”

“In my rooms.” Seurat grimaced sourly. “I apologize that they are not more comfortable, but under my present circumstances they are all that I can afford.”

She offered a faint smile, surprised to discover it was not as difficult as it should be. There was no doubt the man was dangerous and capable of striking out without warning, but he seemed determined to be polite to his captive.

“They are simple, but quite nice.”

Taking her empty glass, Seurat deposited it on the low table. His movements were quick but jerky, revealing one leg was partially lame.

“They are fit for nothing more than the peasants who infest this neighborhood. I am a gentleman.”

“Yes, yes, of course you are,” she was swift to agree.

He turned back to regard her with a remarkably shrewd gaze. “You do not believe me, and why should you? No one else does. But I tell you, I have done great things in my life.”

“Have you?” Raine tugged the blanket closer about her. “What sort of things?”

“I have traveled the world, for one thing.”

“Traveled the world? You are, indeed, fortunate.”

“More than fortunate.” He began an unsteady pacing as his gaunt hands waved about with wild gestures. “I have been to the most exotic and remote places a gentleman could dare to travel. I have lived with natives and was allowed to see sights that no white man has ever seen. I have uncovered treasures that would make your heart weep with joy, and learned secrets that have been hidden for centuries.” His hands abruptly lifted to clutch at his head, as if were being tortured by a sudden pain. Or perhaps it was the sudden voice of the demons that obviously plagued him. “And it was taken away from me. Destroyed by Gautier.”

Raine wrapped the blanket more tightly around her chilled body. She could tangibly feel the overwhelming fervor that was like a poison searing through his body. He was a zealot. A man consumed with his dreams.

It was no wonder he had devoted the past thirty years to his need for revenge.

Louis Gautier had taken his life.

Or at least that was how Seurat would consider the betrayal.

“Surely Monsieur Gautier cannot keep you from continuing your travels?” she softly demanded.

Seurat's hands curled at his sides as his brows drew together into a dark frown. “Are you blind? How can I be a guide if I am crippled? There is no one who would hire me, and even if they did, I would be incapable of performing my duties. Gautier left me nothing.”

A horrible notion made Raine's heart give an unpleasant lurch. “It was Monsieur Gautier who…hurt your leg?”

He gave a short, wild laugh. “Not personally, of course. He would never soil his lily-white hands upon a mere servant.
Non,
he hired others to do his dirty work.”

“But why?”

“Because I would not allow him to steal what was rightfully mine. I discovered the tomb, I spent my nights digging through the sand, I was the one to be blessed by the gods.”

“So you threatened Monsieur Gautier?”

“I was not going to be robbed of what I earned.”

Raine hesitated, a warning voice in the back of her mind urging her to halt her prying. After all, whatever happened in Egypt two decades ago had nothing to do with her, did it? She was nothing more than a hapless pawn in this ridiculous game. And all that mattered was finding the means to escape.

Deep in her heart, however, she knew that her growing unease had more to do with Louis Gautier and just what she might discover.

Swallowing heavily, Raine found her gaze straying toward the malformed leg.

“What did they do to you?” she forced herself to ask.

A muscle in Seurat's jaw twitched as he met her wary gaze. “Three men took me far from the tent. I suppose Gautier did not wish to be disturbed by my screams. He need not have bothered. I fainted after they had broken my legs.”

A wave of sickness rolled through her stomach. “You were beaten?”

“Non, ma petite,
I was murdered. When Gautier left Egypt he thought I was dead and left buried in the sand. As did I until I was discovered by a wandering tribe three days later.”

Raine pressed a hand to her mouth. “Dear God.”

“Not God.” The lean features twisted with an expression of pure hatred. “This is the work of a devil. And his devil spawn must pay.”

 

P
HILIPPE AWOKE TO DISCOVER
himself stretched upon the small sofa in the drawing room. He was not certain how long he had been out. An hour? Two hours? Ever since he had ended the hellish search for Raine through the dark streets of Paris.

Or more precisely, ever since Carlos had ended their search.

Despite their best efforts they had managed to uncover precious little. Carlos had found the stables that confessed that they had rented a carriage to a gentleman that fit Seurat's description. He had also discovered that Seurat had returned it only an hour before Carlos arrived. But none of the employees had been able to reveal anything more of the man than that he occasionally used their stables and that he frequented the local markets.

Philippe had been grimly set to remain in the shabby neighborhood and begin searching each building. He did not give a bloody hell if the local citizens were all tucked in their beds and that his intrusion might very well have him hauled away by the King's Guard. Raine was missing and he would do whatever necessary to bring her home.

Carlos had attempted to argue with him, but Philippe had been wrapped in a frigid numbness that had refused to listen to reason. That cold, ruthless sensation was a familiar one to Philippe. It was how he had lived most of his life. Until Raine.

She was the one who had warmed him. The one who released him from his prison of ice.

Without her he could feel nothing.

Not until she was once again in his arms.

Carlos had at last brought an end to the argument by the simple process of knocking Philippe unconscious.

Forcing himself to a seated position, Philippe gingerly rubbed his aching jaw. He had never even seen the blow coming. Not until the pain was exploding through his mind.

At his movement Carlos slowly straightened from a chair beside the fireplace and crossed to hover over him. Philippe grimaced at the sight of his friend's haggard countenance and shadowed eyes. He was not the only one suffering at Raine's disappearance.

Oddly the thought did not make him long to have Carlos horsewhipped.

For the moment they were two men connected by the same driving force, and everything else was a distraction they could not afford.

Philippe scrubbed his hands through his hair. “What is the time?”

“Near half past seven.” There was a short pause as Carlos regarded him with a weary smile. “How are you feeling?”

Philippe smiled wryly. How did he feel? His jaw ached, his entire body was so weary the smallest movement was an effort and his eyes felt as if they had been filled with sand. But overall he felt…frozen. Frozen to his very bones.

“Fortunately for you I am not feeling quite well enough to repay you for your nasty surprise.” He deliberately touched the growing bruise on his jaw. “Give me a few minutes, however, and I am fully confident that I will be capable of returning the favor.”

Carlos shrugged. “I did it for your own good, you know. You cannot rescue Raine if you are chained in a damp cell.”

“The king has more sense than to toss his wealthy visitors into jail.”

“The king's justice can move very slowly, especially a king who fears the mobs more than he fears the aristocracy.”

Philippe could not deny the truth of Carlos's words. Although his wealth and power ensured he was offered the sort of privileges reserved for the most elite, the current king was barely capable of keeping the pretense he was in command of the country.

“Perhaps.”

Carlos folded his arms over his chest. “You know, you could show at least a modest amount of gratitude for my having rescued you from a very unpleasant stay in the local prison.”

“I might have more gratitude if I did not suspect that you took a decided pleasure in knocking me senseless.”

Carlos gave a bark of laughter. “I will admit that it did not break my heart, but I have no desire to repeat the performance.” He shifted his hand to rub the muscles of his neck. “At least not at the moment.”

Philippe frowned. “Have you slept at all?”

“There will be time enough for sleep later.”

“You will do Raine no good if you collapse from exhaustion.”

“I have no intention of collapsing,” Carlos said, his expression set in stubborn lines.

Philippe swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue. He did not have the energy to battle Carlos, even if it was for the man's own good. Instead he concentrated on forcing himself to his feet.

A task that took a great deal more effort than it should have, he acknowledged as he briefly swayed and a pain shot through his head.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I think you might have broken my jaw.”

Carlos appeared remarkably unrepentant. “Be happy that I did not truly intend to hurt you. You would not have awoken for three days.”

Philippe made a rude sound as he attempted to loosen the muscles of his shoulders. “You have ensured that I have wasted enough time.” He moved to pour himself a large shot of brandy. “I am returning to Paris.”

“Not until you have had your breakfast.” Carlos tilted his head toward the low table that held a silver tray. “Madame LaSalle brought that earlier and refused to leave until I had cleaned my plate. She also badgered me to swear on my mother's grave that I would force you to eat before I could rid myself of the woman.”

Philippe drained the brandy in one long swallow, sighing as the heat exploded in the pit of his stomach and rushed through his veins. It did little to ease the pain in his jaw, but it helped to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

“This is all that I need,” he said as he reached to refill his glass.

“Then you can explain to the woman why the tray is not empty,” Carlos complained.

“Surely you do not fear a mere housekeeper?”

“I fear any woman who is bent on coddling a man.” Carlos gave a dramatic shudder. “They are ruthless. Besides, she is upset enough.”

Philippe heaved a sigh as he recalled the staff's horrified distress when he had revealed Raine's kidnapping. The wailing and screaming could have been heard blocks away.

“Yes. Raine has become a favorite of the entire staff.”

Carlos's expression abruptly softened. “Hardly surprising. What other lady in her position would take such an interest in mere servants?”

“She takes an interest in everyone she encounters,” Philippe said dryly. “Hell and damnation, she gave my best pair of gloves to the coalman when he confessed he did not possess any, and a pair of her own boots to that meddlesome old tartar across the road.”

“She has not yet learned to disguise her kind heart.”

Philippe stiffened, sensing a subtle implication that he would somehow steal away that sweet nature. Dammit, he might be an arrogant, selfish bastard, but he would never harm Raine. Certainly he would never destroy something so precious as her generous spirit.

“That is a lesson she will never have to learn. At least not while she is in my care,” he said as his gaze clashed with that of Carlos's. There was a moment of silent antagonism before the chime of the clock on the mantel intruded. Philippe gave a shake of his head before he drained his glass and thumped it onto a table. Christ, he needed to get out of this cottage. He had to feel as if he were doing
something.
“We should have some word from Belfleur by now.”

Carlos sucked in a deep breath, deliberately easing his tight muscles. They were both on the sort of dagger's edge that could lead to a nasty confrontation if they did not take care.

“He has his lads searching through every building in the neighborhood, as well as keeping guard on the streets. It is only a matter of time before we have Seurat cornered.”

Philippe paced toward the window, only absently noting that the rain had stopped and a frozen sunlight was brushing over the village.

Logically he knew that the cunning lads that Belfleur employed were best suited to sneak through the various buildings. Not only were they familiar with the neighborhood, but they could move about without attracting undue notice.

Although he was perfectly capable of picking locks and slipping through windows, there was always the risk he might be spotted by Seurat. If the man took fright he might very well try and escape with Raine. Or worse…hurt her in retaliation.