A Daring Passion (42 page)

Reaching the staircase, she leaned against the scrolled balustrade as she struggled to make sense of her tangled thoughts. A difficult task, she discovered as she sucked in deep gulps of air.

Inanely her mind turned back to her last moments with Philippe in the garden.

“Damn you, Raine, what do you want of me?”

“I want you to send me home.”

Had Philippe at last come to his senses? Had he realized that a marriage between them was a terrible mistake? It seemed the only possible explanation.

Raine waited for the surge of relief that should surely be coming. This was what she wanted. What she had pleaded and begged for. There was no earthly reason not to feel overjoyed that soon she would be on her way home.

But what she felt was not relief.

In truth, she felt nothing at all. As if her heart had become suddenly and inexplicably numb.

Unaware of the passing time, Raine was at last startled out of her daze of shock by the approach of the gray-haired butler, who regarded her pale countenance with a hint of concern.

“May I assist you, Miss Wimbourne?”

Raine was about to send the servant on his way when she paused. She had to speak with Philippe. She had to know if he was, indeed, intent on setting her free. And if so…why.

He had been so adamant that she was to be his wife. So determined that she would belong to him. What could possibly have made him change his mind?

Conscious that the servant was patiently awaiting her response, Raine cleared her throat.

“Yes, I was seeking Mr. Gautier.”

“I fear he left early this morning to inspect his vineyards. He will not be returning until late.”

The breath was squeezed from her lungs at the casual words. Philippe intended to pack her off without even saying goodbye? Was he truly so indifferent to what had passed between them?

Hating herself for the horrid sense of loss that abruptly flowed though her, Raine clenched her hands together and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Did he leave a message for me?”

“He requested that I give you this, miss.”

The butler reached beneath his jacket to remove a carefully folded parchment. With trembling hands Raine took the offered letter and opened it to discover that it was no message. Instead there was a bank draft for three thousand pounds tucked in the folds.

A hot surge of color stained her cheeks as she ducked her head to hide her shamed expression from the butler. It was bad enough to realize she had been callously given her parting payment like a common mistress, but Philippe could not even be bothered to deal with the trifling matter himself. Oh, no, he had left the embarrassing task to a servant to further humiliate her.

Just for a crazed moment, Raine trembled on the edge of shredding the filthy bank draft into a dozen pieces. She was not a whore and had no intention of being treated like one. Only common sense came to her rescue.

As much as she disliked the thought of giving in to Philippe's attempt to shame her, she realized that she would have need of funds once she reached England. She could not simply return home on foot, no matter how her pride might rebel.

Keeping her head lowered, she clenched the bank draft in her trembling fingers and silently damned Philippe to the netherworld.

If he had desired revenge for her refusal to wed him, then he had certainly succeeded. She felt as soiled as any tart, and was wishing to God she had never, ever crossed paths with Philippe Gautier.

“Thank you,” she managed to choke out.

“Will that be all, miss?”

“No…wait,” she breathed in shattered tones, her hands reaching to fumble with the clasp of the necklace about her neck. The golden locket fell into her hand and she briefly gripped it tightly before forcing herself to hand it to the impassive servant. “This belongs to Philippe.”

The servant bowed. “I will see that it is returned to him.”

“And would you tell him…”

Her words trailed away as the servant gave a lift of his brows. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” She gave a shake of her head. “Nothing at all.”

 

U
PSTAIRS IN HIS PRIVATE
chambers, Philippe stood at his window and watched the carriage sweep down the tree-lined drive. Within the hour Raine would be safely stowed upon his ship bound for England. She would be out of his home out of his life and out of his thoughts.

Or at least that was the promise he had made to himself when he had reached the decision to return Raine to England.

He clenched his mother's locket tightly in his hand as his entire body trembled with the urge to dash after the retreating carriage. It had seemed a simple matter in the middle of yet another sleepless night to concede defeat. Why the devil should he attempt to lure an unwilling bride to the altar?

God knew that he had only to crook his finger to have hundreds of eager debutantes flocking to the island to claim him as their husband.

If Raine wished to rot in a damp, isolated cottage, then so be it. He had enjoyed her delectable body for weeks. Soon enough another woman would catch his eye and ease the frustrated ache lodged deep in his body. It was inevitable, was it not?

Now, however, in the cold light of day and with his wits unclouded by brandy, he found the sight of Raine being carried away from his home far from satisfying.

Hell and damnation. Why had he arranged for her to depart so swiftly? Even if his pride had refused to allow him to be in Raine's company for fear he might actually beg her to become his wife, he at least had the pleasure of watching her from afar as she drifted through the gardens or sat in the drawing room gazing at the sea. Or catching the sweet scent of her lilac perfume when he passed by her chamber.

Or most important, knowing that she was always safe.

Who would take care of her in England? Her worthless wastrel of a father? Philippe gave a short, humorless laugh. Josiah Wimbourne was as likely to toss the reckless chit into some disaster as to keep her from harm. Certainly he would not trouble himself to find the means to make his daughter happy.

Realizing the direction of his thoughts, Philippe abruptly turned from the window and paced toward the large portrait of his mother that hung above his fireplace.

He had done the only thing possible, he told himself sternly. It had been sheer torture to have Raine so near and not have her in his arms.

His gaze lifted to study the strong, determined line of his mother's face. Oddly, in the slanting light she appeared vaguely disapproving. Almost as if she were aware of what was occurring and was not at all pleased.

Ridiculous, of course.

His mother had died years ago in her futile attempt to rescue her family. She had made her decision and left behind her son to forge his own path in this life.

But was she truly gone? a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Slowly, his gaze lowered to the locket in his hand. Did he not continue to allow the memory of her loss to haunt him?

Raine had accused him of never depending upon anyone and he had not argued. Why should he? He took pride in his self-sufficiency. It had made him strong enough to care for his family and to build a financial empire.

When a man was foolish enough to depend on others he was only doomed to disappointment.

Besides which, he had never encountered anyone who wanted him to have need of them. To be vulnerable.

Not until Raine.

A sharp pain struck like lightning through his body, nearly sending him to his knees. Whirling about he tossed the locket across the room.

Damn the woman.

What the devil had she done to him?

R
AINE AWOKE TO ANOTHER
morning of heavy clouds with the threat of chilled rain in the air. It was the same as every other morning since she had arrived back in England a fortnight ago.

Resisting the urge to remain in her narrow bed with the covers pulled over her head, Raine forced herself to dress in a warm wool gown and made her way to the small drawing room. If she lingered in her bed it would only cause her father to fret.

Although Josiah had accepted her return without a painful inquisition of what had happened during her absence, he could not completely hide his concern.

He at least suspected that Raine had possessed the poor judgment to fall in love with her captor, and that she still suffered from the pain of leaving him.

This morning, however, she was determined to be done with the ridiculous sense of grief that shrouded her like a dark cloud and get on with her life. She owed it to her father.

After all, he had taken great pains to convince the neighbors that her disappearance from the cottage had been nothing more scandalous than an extended trip to London. She would not undo his good work by continually moping about like some figure from a tragic opera.

Busying herself with lighting a fire and pulling open the heavy drapes, Raine did not hear the sound of footsteps until the door was pushed open and her father stepped into the room.

As always he studied her with that anxious, searching gaze before he forced a smile to his lips.

“I thought I might find you here, pet,” he said as he walked to join her upon the window seat.

“Good morning, Father.” Her brows arched at the sight of the new gray jacket and breeches she had ordered from the local tailor. “You are looking very smart. Are you going to the village?”

“I do have a few errands that I must deal with this morning and then I am joining the magistrate for luncheon. We often meet at the pub for a game of chess and a few pints.”

She leaned back, her eyes wide with surprise. “The magistrate?”

Josiah smiled wryly at her shock. “Since you've been gone I have discovered that Harper is not a bad sort. Certainly he is the only one in the village capable of giving me a decent game of chess. And since I have given up my career as the Knave of Knightsbridge, I no longer have need to consider him my enemy.”

“Good heavens. You have retired your role as highwayman?”

His smile slowly faded, his pale countenance showing every one of his years as he gave a nod of his head.

“Yes.”

Raine reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “Why? You were doing such good.”

“But at what cost?”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“I mean, that I was blinded by my own arrogance,” he said with a sigh. “Even if I did manage to offer a bit of assistance to my friends, I was an idiot to risk my neck when I knew that I was all you have left in the world. And even more an idiot to ever allow you to put yourself in danger.”

Raine abruptly realized how her father must have tormented himself after her disappearance. The lingering pain was etched in the lines of his face and in the depths of his eyes. He clearly blamed himself for all that had happened.

“You did nothing,” she said firmly, her fingers squeezing his arm. “It was my decision to become the Knave of Knightsbridge.”

“Only because I left you no choice. You could hardly stand aside and watch me hang. No. I have not been a good father to you, pet.”

Raine's heart twisted at his words. “Do not say that.”

“It is true.” His expression hardened as he covered her fingers with his own. “After you were taken from me I swore an oath I would do better. And I intend to keep that oath.”

“Oh, Father,” she breathed, reaching up to lay a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I do love you, Raine.”

She smiled at his gentle words, a portion of her aching heart easing as she gazed tenderly at her father. Perhaps Philippe would never return her feelings, but she had a home and a family who cared for her.

It was more than many women had.

“And I love you, Father.”

His hand tightened on her fingers. “You must know that there is nothing I desire more than to see you happy.”

She gave a small jerk as she tugged her fingers from his grasp. “I am happy,” she muttered.

Josiah gave a click of his tongue. “Raine, I may be old, but I am not completely blind. I see the shadows that lurk in your eyes. That bastard hurt you and you are still hurting.”

Her lips parted to deny the claim, only to close at her father's steady gaze. What was the point in lying? She was not nearly a skilled-enough actress to conceal her aching heart. All she could do was assure him that she did not intend to become a tedious companion.

“I cannot deny that he broke my heart. Or that I miss him,” she said, her voice carefully bland. “But, I am not silly enough to devote my life to pining for a gentleman who has no doubt forgotten my existence.”

“Good.” Her father's smile returned, a sly glint in his eyes. “Then perhaps you will join me in the village. The magistrate always manages to casually inquire when you might return. You made quite an impression on him.”

Raine resisted the urge to shudder. The magistrate had been a perfectly nice gentleman, but she had no romantic interest in him. She had no romantic interest in any man.

“A tempting offer, but I am not yet ready to encourage the attentions of Mr. Harper.”

“Raine, you cannot hide yourself in this cottage forever,” her father chided.

Raine shrugged. “I have no intention of doing so.”

“Then, what are your plans?”

Raine rose to her feet as she gazed out the window, her expression pensive. “I have been thinking that I might begin classes for a few of the girls in the village. It would take some time to start a proper school, but for now I could at least make sure they learn to read and write.”

A silence filled the room, broken only by the crackle of the fire. At last she heard her father stir and rise to his feet. Stepping behind her, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Raine.”

Turning, she studied the odd expression on her father's face. “What?”

“You are—” he hesitated and cleared his throat “—you are a remarkable young woman.”

A ridiculous blush touched her cheeks. “Hardly that.”

“Yes, you are.” Josiah's smile held a hint of sadness. “And so much like your mother it makes my heart ache. She was always thinking of others.”

“Just as you do,” she said softly.

Josiah flinched. “No, I am not nearly so noble.”

“But you risked your life.”

He gave a firm shake of his head, his expression one of self-disgust. “There are any number of ways I could have assisted those who had need of me. Certainly, your own desire to educate the poor young girls will give them opportunities far beyond a few coins. I merely chose the one that offered the opportunity to dash about like a hero from some Gothic novel.”

Raine gave a click of her tongue. “You are far too hard on yourself, Father. You are a wonderful man who is most certainly a hero among the villagers.”

His hand gently cupped her face. “From now on, my dear, I intend to be a hero only to you. I allowed myself to be distracted, but no more. You are the most important thing in my world.”

 

P
HILIPPE WAS CHILLED
to the bone by the time he arrived at his London town house. He had never found winter in England particularly pleasant, certainly not when he could be enjoying the pleasant warmth of Madeira.

His mood, however, was startlingly light considering his voyage had been rough enough to shake the nerves of the most hardened sailor, and he had arrived to an icy drizzle that had made the trip to London a misery.

From the moment he had made his decision to return to England and fight for Raine, he had felt a peace he had never before experienced settle in his heart.

All those endless days of roaming through his empty house, unable to concentrate on work, unable to eat or sleep, unable to even find an interest in the numerous women upon the island who made it obvious they would be more than willing to offer him comfort was at an end.

It was as if he had simply been going through the motions, waiting for his mind to at last reach the conclusion his heart had made the moment he had encountered Miss Raine Wimbourne on that dark road.

The mighty had, indeed, fallen, he acknowledged as he entered the back door to the kitchen. And he did not even have the sense to care.

Leaving his heavy coat and hat beside the door, he pulled off his gloves as he moved into the kitchen and discovered his faithful groom seated at a long wooden table eating a bowl of stew.

Perhaps sensing he was no longer alone, Swann abruptly lifted his head, nearly falling backward as he leaped to his feet.

“Bloody hell, sir, you startled me.” Gaining his balance, he gave a tug on his jacket and discreetly wiped his hands on his pants. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Swann.”

“We were not expecting you.” Swann regarded him with a narrowed gaze. “Is there trouble?”

Philippe smiled wryly as he rubbed the aching muscles of his neck. Gads, it had been a long journey.

“You could certainly say that.”

The servant instantly squared his shoulders and jutted his chin in an aggressive gesture. Swann enjoyed a good fight as well as the next man.

“You know I am prepared to stand at your side.”

“A generous offer, but I fear that I must muddle through this mess on my own.” He tilted his head to the side, noting the thick silence that cloaked the house. “Is my brother at home?”

Swann's battered countenance hardened with distaste. He rarely bothered to hide his lack of respect for Jean-Pierre.

“No. His valet said something of the fool trying his luck at the local halls before visiting his fancy whore.”

“I am relieved to discover that his brief imprisonment did not impair his spirits.”

“Bah.” Swann turned his head to spit on the ground. “The boy does not have the wits to be grateful you saved his worthless neck. He was back to his whoring and gambling the moment he walked out of the prison.”

Philippe shrugged. He had done what he could for his brother, but from this day forward Jean-Pierre would have to solve his troubles himself. Philippe intended to concentrate on his own future.

“I possessed little hope that Jean-Pierre would actually change his ways. He has far too much fondness for his life as a hardened rake.”

“Fool.”

“I suppose we are all fools in our own ways,” Philippe said, considering his own hectic flight to England. Then, with a shrug he turned his attention to more important matters. “Has Carlos remained?”

“Aye. He is in your library.”

“We shall speak later.”

With a nod toward his faithful servant, Philippe made his way from the kitchen and up the stairs. Within moments he was entering the library to discover Carlos seated at a chair beside the fireplace with a nearly empty bottle of brandy at his side.

Philippe gave an unconscious grimace as he studied his friend's brooding expression.

Soon enough, Carlos would have a beautiful woman in his arms that would help him to forget Raine. But in the meantime, Philippe could sympathize with his dark mood.

“Are you attempting to empty my cellars in my absence?” he demanded as he strolled across the Persian carpet.

With a small jerk of surprise, Carlos rose to his feet, his brows lifted in surprise.

“Philippe. What the devil are you doing in London?”

Heaving a sigh, Philippe lowered himself in the seat opposite his friend. His entire body ached with weariness.

“I have hopes that I am merely passing through.”

Carlos's dark countenance was wary as he resumed his own seat. “Have you brought Raine with you?”

Philippe abruptly turned his head to study the fire. So, Raine had not contacted Carlos to tell him of her return to England. A fierce relief ran through him. She might not yet be his, but she belonged to no one else.

“She is in Knightsbridge with her father,” he at last admitted.

Carlos gave a choked cough. “In Knightsbridge? I did not believe when I left Paris that you intended to ever let her out of your sight again.”

“I did not.” Philippe forced himself to meet his friend's searching gaze. “After you left I took Raine to Madeira with every intention of making her my wife.”

“Your wife?
Meu Deus.
” Carlos did not bother to hide his shock. “What happened?”

Philippe's lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Raine made it clear that she would not wed me.”