A Daring Passion (40 page)

“Why?”

“Why Madeira?” He gave a lift of one broad shoulder. “I have always desired to be wed in my own chapel. However, if you prefer to marry before we leave Paris I do not suppose there is anything to stop the marriage from taking place before the local priest, since you were raised Catholic.”

She sucked in a shuddering breath. He must be teasing her. This had to be a cruel joke intended to punish her for having dared to go against his will.

“Do not jest, Philippe, it is not kind.”

His green eyes narrowed, his expression relentless. “This is no jest, Raine. You will be my wife.”

“But…you do not want to marry me.”

“You are a very clever woman,
meu amor,
but not even you are capable of reading my mind. I have devoted years to avoiding the most determined attempts to trap me into matrimony. If I did not wish to marry you then I would most certainly not do so.”

Raine gave a slow shake of her head, her body cold with shocked disbelief. She felt as if she had been hit by a racing carriage, or tossed off the edge of a cliff. Either of which seemed more likely than Philippe Gautier proposing marriage to her.

“I am your mistress, for goodness' sake,” she breathed in a strangled voice.

His hard lips quirked. “Yes, I do recall spending a number of delicious hours between your soft thighs.”

A rush of heat stained her cheeks. “Gentlemen do
not
wed their mistresses. Not unless they are determined to court scandal.”

He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his fierce expression. He did not look like a man who had taken leave of his senses. Indeed, he appeared in frightening control of himself and the situation.

A far cry from her own numb bewilderment.

“There are few who know that we have lived together in this remote cottage.” He shrugged, his arrogance on full display. “When we arrive at my estate we will simply say that I have brought you from England so that we could exchange our vows in the family church. No one will question my word.”

She gave a choked laugh that was closer to a sob. “Even if we were capable of performing such a charade, not even your word can alter the fact that I am the daughter of a simple sailor, not to mention the Knave of Knightsbridge.”

“There will be no mention of your father's illegal activities,” he warned, easily dismissing any concern at the inevitable gossip. “And while your birth may be humble, it is respectable. Any whispers will be swiftly forgotten once you have given me a son or two.”

Raine's breath caught as a savage longing ripped through her. To have this man's children. To hold them against her breast and offer them all the love that burned in her heart.

But at what price?

She could not begin to fathom the reasons for Philippe's abrupt proposal, but she did know that it had nothing to do with affection. He had long ago buried his more tender emotions, if he had ever possessed them at all. He could never offer her more than passion. And even that would no doubt be shared with dozens of mistresses.

No. She would slowly die being tied to a man that she loved who could never return that love.

Far better for a swift end that offered no hope for a future together. How else could she forge a new life for herself?

Dropping her face into her hands, she cowardly hid her tears from his probing gaze.

“No…no more, Philippe. This is madness. I cannot be your wife.”

His hands gripped her wrists, and with a sharp tug he had them pulled away from her face and pressed against his chest. Without their protection she was forced to meet the blazing green gaze.

“Make no mistake, Raine, you most certainly will be my wife,” he swore coldly. “The sooner the better.”

Her heart halted as she sensed the grim determination that smoldered beneath his icy composure.

“But why? Why me?”

“I have told you.” He leaned forward until his lips were brushing her own. “You belong to me,
meu amor.
This simply makes it official.”

R
AINE WOULD LATER RECALL
very little of the trip from Paris to Madeira. Not that there was much to recall. Once upon Philippe's yacht, she had been virtually held prisoner in her cabin as Philippe had set his crew on a grueling pace. She had been allowed topside for a brief morning stroll and another at sunset, always with a grim Philippe at her side, as if he feared she might fling herself overboard. But otherwise she had been trapped alone in the cramped cabin, taking her meals on a tray and sleeping in the narrow bunk alone.

Through the long days she had nothing to do but brood on her strange, terrifying twist of fate. Over and over she had wrestled to understand what the devil was happening.

She could not believe that Philippe truly intended to wed her. Why would he? He could have any woman he desired. Women who were beautiful, and wealthy, and sleekly sophisticated. Women who came from the same world as he did, with the ability to stand at his side with pride.

What could he possibly want with a female such as her?

She could bring him no dowry, no social connections, no skills beyond playing the role of highwayman. A skill that did not seem entirely suitable for his wife.

And since he had already seduced her into his bed, it could not be an overwhelming passion that would prompt such a desperate offer.

Her hours of contemplation brought no answers. In truth, they did nothing more than leave her with a pounding head by the end of the day.

Crawling beneath the covers, Raine once again settled in for another lonely night. She had long ago stopped fretting over the fact that Philippe did not join her in the cramped bunk when darkness fell. What did it matter if he no longer sought her out? If his desire had already waned then perhaps he would come to see sense. It was, after all, the only thing that they held in common.

She shivered as she drifted off to sleep. A sleep that lasted only a few moments as a hand gripped her shoulder and abruptly shook her awake.

“Raine.” Philippe's voice whispered directly next to her ear. “You must wake.”

“What?” Wrenching her eyes open, she blinked in confusion. “What is it?”

“We have arrived.”

The fog was seared from her mind at his soft words and with a small gasp she scooted upright.

“So soon? I…I thought the trip would be longer.”

There was the scrape of a flint and then candlelight bloomed, revealing Philippe's aristocratic features and the tousled raven curls. Shifting, he turned to stare down at her with that aloof expression that reminded her of the first night they met.

“My ship is built for speed,” he informed her. “A fortunate circumstance, considering the number of times I have been pursued over the years.”

“Somehow I am not at all surprised.”

He shrugged aside her tart words, holding out a slender hand with obvious impatience. “Come, Raine. It is late and I am weary.”

Raine felt her stomach clench as she struggled to breathe. “Please, Philippe, I do not want this. Return me to England, I beg of you.”

Expecting a sharp retort, or even to be hauled from the bed and shoved into her clothes, Raine was startled when his cold features softened and he perched his large body on the edge of the mattress.

“Why do you cower in your bed,
querida?
” he demanded. His voice was rough, but at least the ice had melted. “You have braved the gallows to rescue your father, you entered my bed with the boldness of a trained courtesan and bartered your freedom from a madman. Why does the thought of becoming my wife make you tremble?”

“Because…”
Because I love you and living with you day after day with no hope of having you ever return my love would slowly destroy me.
“Because I will only make a fool of myself, and you, as well. I am not trained to live among nobility.”

His lips twitched. “Trained? Like a thoroughbred?”

Her eyes narrowed as she experienced a spurt of anger. “Precisely as a thoroughbred. Young ladies do not possess some natural instinct to understand how to run a vast household or to move in society. They have governesses who devote years to teaching them the skills they need.”

He grasped her chin, his brows drawing together. “Raine, you are beautiful, finely educated and intelligent enough to learn whatever skills you believe are necessary for my wife. If you have need of assistance we can easily send for one of my far-flung relatives to come and live with us until you feel confident in your abilities.”

“Even if I could learn, I still will not be accepted by society,” she said with a small sniff.

“You worry over nothing,
meu amor,
you will be accepted.”

“Why? Because you say so?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not even you can force a horde of nobles to look upon a sailor's daughter with anything but contempt.”

“But you will no longer be a sailor's daughter,” he said, a smug smile touching his lips. “You will be the wife of Philippe Gautier, and I possess enough wealth and power to make sure even the haughtiest dowager is forced to treat you with the utmost respect.”

“My God, you are arrogant.”

“And you are a liar.”

She tugged her chin from his grasp. “Liar?”

“Whatever is troubling you has nothing to do with what you fear society may think of you. At least not entirely.” The green eyes flared with warning. “Do not try to deceive me, Raine. I can read it upon your face.”

Raine glared in frustration. “Does it matter why?”

The elegant features tightened, almost as if she had managed to wound him, before he was gracefully rising to his feet, and then, reaching down, he scooped her off the bed, her shivering body still wrapped in the blankets.

“Not at the moment,” he said blandly, carrying her with ease out of the cabin and up the narrow passage. “I have an eternity to discover what secrets lurk deep in your soul.”

Raine gave a choked gasp as she hastily tucked the blanket to her chin. “Philippe…what are you doing?”

His features might have been carved from granite as he carried her onto the deck and headed straight for the railing.

“Taking you home.”

“You…you cannot force me to marry you, you know.”

“Never underestimate me,
meu amor,
” he growled softly.

She heaved an exasperated sigh, avidly aware of the crew watching them with broad smiles before they hastily set about lowering the narrow boats that would take them ashore.

“You may put me down, I am not going to leap overboard,” she muttered.

In answer his arms tightened about her, his gaze lowering to tangle with her own.

“I have not forgotten your dislike for small boats,
meu amor.
Close your eyes and hold on tight. I will keep you safe.”

 

R
AINE AWOKE WITH DAWN
and crawled from the vast bed that Philippe had carried her to the night before. It had been too dark to take much note of her surroundings, and in truth, she had been far too vexed by his high-handed behavior to care. Now, however, she was anxious to catch a glimpse of the home that held Philippe's heart.

Pulling a blanket around her light shift, Raine moved to open the French doors that led to the long balcony running the length of the elegant villa. She leaned against the iron-scrolled railing and allowed her gaze to drink in the beauty before her.

A thrill of pleasure raced down her spine as she realized they were perched upon a rolling hill that offered a stunning view of the lush landscape. No, it was more than stunning, she silently mused. It was…breathtaking.

She sucked in the scent of lavender and camellia as her gaze skimmed the valleys and distant cliffs. Accustomed to England's gentle countryside, Raine found the dramatic scenery enough to make her sigh in delight.

She was leaning forward to admire the elegant garden located just below the balcony when a pair of strong, familiar arms encircled her waist and pulled her against a warm body.

“You have awoken early,
meu amor,
” Philippe whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “I hope you find your new home to your liking?”

Pure, searing desire poured through her body at the feel of his hands pressed intimately against her lower stomach. It had been so terribly long since she had known the heat of his kisses and magic of his touch.

She swallowed a groan as she resisted the urge to turn in his arms and put an end to her torment.

“It is…astonishing,” she at last managed to breathe, her gaze blindly locking on the distant waves. “There is something very untamed about its beauty.”

“I could not agree more.” His lips slid down the curve of her face so he could lightly nibble at her neck. “In truth, it is a miracle that the island was even discovered by the Portuguese.

She struggled to make sense of his words. “Why do you say that?”

“Henry the Navigator sent his best navigators to explore the coast of West Africa, but two of them were blown off course and landed upon Porto Santo. From there it was another year before they dared the dangerous waters to claim Madeira for Henry.”

She shivered beneath his caress. “I suppose all this land now belongs to you?”

His lips and teeth continued their assault upon her neck, his hands pulling her sharply against his hardening arousal.

“Not all, but certainly as far as your eye can see. Upon those distant hills are my vineyards,” he murmured.

Her eyes slid closed as her hands clung helplessly to the arms that surrounded her. “Ah, the famous Madeira wines?”

“Precisely.” He trailed his tongue up her neck. “Although Prince Henry no doubt introduced the first vineyards, it was the Jesuit priests who began the wine-trading industry. They once held large tracts of land and their power was quite formidable upon the island.”

“As yours is now?”

“True enough,” he admittedly absently, his mouth now exploring the line of her jaw.

Against her will her head dropped back onto his chest, her body clenching with aching need. Gad, but she wanted him to tug off the blanket and run his warm hands over her quivering body. She wanted him to spread her legs and enter her with a slow, powerful thrust.

She sucked in a deep breath as her entire body shuddered with longing. “I have never understood why the wine is so sought-after,” she said, her voice thick with need.

Philippe chuckled softly, perfectly aware of the havoc he was creating. “It begins with the grapes, of course. The climate and richness of the soil provide the finest vineyards. And then the wines are fortified with brandy and the casks of wine are heated to help preserve them during the long voyages. The process gives the wine a unique flavor. Later I will show you the wine houses, but for this morning I believe you would prefer to prepare for our guest.”

Raine stiffened, the haze of sensual delight disrupted as a chill inched down her spine.

“Guest?”

Easily sensing her abrupt tension, Philippe grudgingly removed his arms and stepped back so she could turn to regard him with a wary gaze.

“The local priest, Father Tomas, will be taking luncheon with us,” he said carefully.

Raine clutched the blanket about her as she glared into his impassive expression. “Do you often share luncheon with your priest?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He met her gaze squarely. “However, he was invited today to begin planning our wedding.”

Her heart lodged in her throat as she gave a shake of her head. “No, Philippe.”

His hand reached out with an impatient motion, sending Raine hastily stepping back to avoid his touch. Unfortunately, she had forgotten the trailing blanket and with a small cry she felt herself plunging back toward the low railing.

With a curse, Philippe moved to sweep her into his arms, carrying her back into the bedchamber and dumping her onto the vast bed.

“Damn you, Raine, I will endure no more of your impulsive foolishness,” he growled as he stood glaring down at her, his face pale as if she had truly frightened him.

She cringed against the force of his furious tone, her eyes wide. “It was an accident.”

His harsh expression did not ease. “An accident that nearly broke your bloody neck. When you are my wife you will exercise a good deal more self-control to overcome your rash habits, is that understood?”

Her own temper snapped as she lifted herself to a seated position and thrust out her chin.

“Perhaps the thought of breaking my bloody neck is preferable to that of marriage to you.”

A dangerous silence entered the room as he slowly bent down until they were nose to nose.

“As soon as your trunks are brought to the room, Miss Wimbourne, you will attire yourself as befits the mistress of this house and present yourself in the drawing room.” His hand lifted to cup the back of her neck, yanking her to meet his lips in a brief, possessive kiss. “Do not even
think
of keeping me waiting.”