A Daring Passion (5 page)

“Aye, but now you have ruined the gloss on your boots and I shall be the unfortunate soul who will have to spend endless hours polishing them,” Swann groused.

“We all have our crosses to bear.”

“Some of our crosses are greater than others,” the groom muttered.

“That is enough,” the highwayman snapped, waving the gun in a dangerous fashion. “Put your hands in the air before I lodge a bullet in your heart.”

“Good God.” Philippe gave a sudden laugh at the high-pitched voice. “I believe it is no more than a babe, Swann.”

“Young enough to still be sucking his mother's teat. A fine welcome to England, eh?” Swann readily joined in Philippe's amusement. “Being robbed by a brat still wet behind the ears.”

The villain sucked in an outraged breath. “I am old enough to pull the trigger, sir.”

Overhead the clouds parted to reveal a slash of moonlight that bathed the frozen landscape in a silver mist. The chilled air stirred the crimson cape, making it appear like a river of blood swirling around the slender form.

Philippe's smile never wavered as he moved forward with a slow, deliberate step. A part of him was aware that Carlos was creeping through the shadows, and that Swann was behind him with a loaded pistol tucked out of sight, but his concentration was centered on the pistol pointed at his heart.

“Ah, but being old enough to pull the trigger is considerably different from being willing to pull the trigger,” he taunted, his pulse perfectly steady. He had courted danger too often to be unnerved by a half-grown brat who dared to interrupt his journey. “It is no easy thing to take a man's life, not even a man who might very well deserve to be in the grave.”

“Stay back,” the boy warned.

Philippe took another step and reached up to grasp the bridle of the lad's mount.

“You see?” He was close enough to see the dark eyes of the highwayman widen with sudden fear. “You should never hesitate. Once you actually begin to consider the cost of murder, you are always lost. You must allow instinct to rule if you intend to kill hapless travelers.”

“Move back.”

“Had you shot when I first appeared I would already be dead on the ground and you would be happily picking through my pockets.” He pretended to consider for a moment. “Of course, it's more likely that Swann would already have put a hole in your head, but…you comprehend my meaning.”

“I said to move back,” the villain commanded.

“Or?”

Without warning there was a loud explosion as the boy did as he had threatened and pulled the trigger of his pistol. The bullet flew harmlessly past Philippe's head and he regarded his adversary with a lift of his brows. By God. He had underestimated the lad's pluck.

“Damnation, the bastard is out of his wits,” Swann snapped. “Stand back, sir, while I…”

“You will tend to the horses, Swann. I shall deal with our feral urchin,” Philippe commanded as he narrowed his gaze. “A brave, but foolish, gesture,
mon enfant.
Unless you have another loaded pistol hidden about your person?”

The brat threw the pistol at his head. “Damn you.”

Philippe ducked and gestured toward the lurking shadow beside the road. The encounter was all very diverting, but he was still hours away from a warm bath and his favorite brandy.

“Carlos.”

On cue the large man leaped toward the horse, and before the hapless lad could so much as squeak, Carlos had him plucked from the saddle and tossed across his shoulder.

Philippe recaptured the reins of the horse before it could bolt, his lips twitching as Carlos struggled to keep control of his squirming bundle.

“Forgive me,
amigo,
I had presumed you more than capable of controlling one small imp. Do you need assistance?”

“What I need is a whip to teach this whelp a lesson in manners,” the man growled.

“When you have finished toying with him, Carlos, perhaps you would be good enough to put him in the carriage?”

“Are you certain? He's a filthy thing with who knows what sort of nasty diseases.” Carlos paused to smack the captive on the bottom. “You kick me again and I shall throttle you.”

“I will do more than kick you. I will lodge a bullet in your arse. I will stick a dagger in your heart,” the lad swore. “I will kill you both, I swear it.”

Philippe grimaced. “Yes, it is a pity to ruin such fine leather with the vile creature. I paid a near fortune to have it imported from Florence, but I will not stand in the frigid air to question a petty criminal.”

“Fine, but do not expect me to share the pungent experience,” Carlos warned as they walked back down the road. With a heave Carlos tossed the snarling lad into the carriage and reached for the reins that Philippe held. “I intend to test this nag and decide if it is worth keeping or not.”

“No.” The would-be highwayman struggled with the cape that had wrapped about him and trapped his arms. “You cannot.”

“Oh, yes, I can.” Carlos narrowed his eyes. “And you will shut your mouth and behave yourself or I'll return and hang you from the nearest tree.
Capisce?
”

“I hope you break your bloody neck,” the lad muttered.

“I would cut out his tongue, if I were you.” Carlos muttered. “It would be a great improvement.”

Philippe ignored his captive's sharp gasp. “Not until I have the information I need. After that…well, you shall be quite welcome to hang him from whichever tree you prefer.”

R
AINE WAS FURIOUS
as she struggled to free herself from the folds of the damnable cape.

What an impulsive fool she had been.

When she had decided to take on the role of the Knave of Knightsbridge to dupe the magistrate, she had deliberately chosen the back roads and lanes near Knightsbridge to stalk her prey. The pickings were hardly fine, and more than a few nights she was forced to return to the cottage empty-handed, but the dangers were few. And most important, she managed to keep her father from the gallows.

How could Josiah Wimbourne be guilty when he was so visibly seen about the village at the same time the Knave was robbing carriages miles away?

Not that Tom Harper was entirely convinced that Josiah was innocent. But he could hardly arrest the man without some proof.

Today, however, her father had sternly informed her that this would be her last night of playing the dashing Knave. His shoulder had at last healed and the magistrate was temporarily thwarted. He was determined that his daughter would no longer court such risk.

Raine had discovered herself sharply disappointed by his command. Her daring charade had proved to be remarkably exciting as she had dashed about the countryside and collected a small fortune in coins and jewels to be handed over to her neighbors.

She felt as if she were actually accomplishing something important. Something that could give her rather empty life meaning.

An odd sentiment in a young woman, perhaps, but she had never been the sort of maiden to be content with keeping house and pandering to the needs of a man.

With the knowledge that she would soon be returning to her dull existence, Raine had taken a ridiculous gamble and chosen this well-traveled road to make her grand departure as the Knave. Her head had been filled with images of wealthy noblemen dripping in jewels and carrying crates of gold.

Her head should have been filled with the knowledge that such wealthy noblemen never traveled alone, and invariably possessed the sort of servants who were perfectly capable of protecting their masters.

As if to emphasize her stupidity, she was forced to helplessly watch as the dark, irritating Carlos vaulted on top her beloved Maggie and took off down the frozen road. At the same moment the raven-haired gentleman climbed into the carriage and with a low command to the coachman closed the door to lock them together in the shadowed interior.

Gritting her teeth as the carriage jerked to a start, Raine stared at the man seated across from her.

Had they simply met in the street, she had to admit that she would have considered him the most handsome gentleman she had ever laid eyes upon. Not that handsome really suited the elegant male features and startling green eyes, she decided. There was an undeniable beauty in the sweep of his brows, the prominent line of his cheekbones, the aquiline nose and the perfectly chiseled lips.

It was a glacial beauty, however, and Raine abruptly shuddered.

Carlos might be a hot-blooded brute, but she sensed between the two men, this icy fallen angel was by far the more dangerous.

Unnerved by the steady, piercing gaze, Raine halted her struggles with her cape and cleared her throat.

“What do you intend to do with me?” she demanded, careful to keep her voice low. The only bit of luck she had enjoyed this disastrous night was that her captors believed her to be a young boy. It was a belief she intended to encourage. God only knew what would happen if they discovered she was a female. “If you think the magistrate will thank you for…”

“Shut your mouth and do not speak again unless I ask you a direct question,” he snapped, his voice as cold as ice. Instinctively, Raine pressed her lips together. There was something unnaturally commanding about the man. “Good, not entirely a simpleton, then.” The green eyes narrowed as he leaned close enough to wrap her in the scent of warm, male skin. “I have need of information from you. Answer me truthfully and you might actually escape the hangman's noose.”

She swallowed heavily, her heart lodged in her throat. Dear God, what had she gotten herself into?

“What information?” she rasped.

“I wish to know of any strangers you have noted passing this way during the past fortnight.”

Raine paused as her mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps if she could pretend to have the knowledge he sought she could distract him long enough to escape. It was a desperate plan, but better than none.

“There are always strangers on the road, guv.” She made her voice even rougher. “What yer wishing to know?”

His eyes shimmered with a dangerous light. “A large number of strangers?”

“Oh, aye.”

“Odd, I was informed that this road had been nearly impassable for the past week, and that travelers had been few and far between.”

Blast. She licked her dry lips, wishing he would back away. His proximity was far too distracting.

“Perhaps there have not been so many strangers as usual,” she was forced to concede.

He gave a low, impatient sound. “It will go bad for you if you fib to me, boy. Have you, or have you not, noticed any strangers on the road?”

“There have been a few.”

“Any Frenchmen?”

“Well, as to that, there was one gentleman who spoke with a French accent that passed this way last week,” she readily agreed.

“Describe him.”

She clenched her hands in her lap, fearing the man might actually hear her heart racing.

“He was tall, and thin, with a…large nose and…”

Her words broke off with a gasp as he reached out to grasp her shoulders, giving her a violent shake.

“I warned you not to lie to me.”

“No, please,” she pleaded, but not in time. Even as she struggled to loosen her arms she felt the flamboyant hat tumbling from her head. One last shake and her long curls were dislodged to fall in a river of gold around her shoulders.

Philippe stiffened at the sight of the glossy curls.

“
Meu Deus,
” he breathed, his hand instinctively reaching to rip the heavy muffler that concealed the thin face.

A female. There could be no doubt.

No doubt at all, he thought as his gaze took in the captivating beauty of her countenance.

Never had he seen such pure ivory skin. God, it nearly glowed against the gleaming amber of her hair. Her nose was a pert, straight line and her lips so lush they could make a man hard at the thought of them pressed to his body. But it was her eyes that caught and held his attention.

They were as black as that of a raven's wing and surrounded by a tangle of long lashes. Such dark eyes should have been flat and lackluster, but instead they flashed with a smoldering spirit that Philippe could almost swear was tangible.

Suddenly all the elegant, sophisticated women who had shared his bed seemed to be pale imitations of femininity. Whatever their charms, they could never compare to this chit's vivacious, stunning magnificence.

Philippe gritted his teeth as he grasped her arms even tighter and with one smooth motion pulled her onto the seat next to him. She gave a startled scream, but he never hesitated as he pushed her flat onto her back and trapped her flaying legs between his own.

He was furious. Not the aloof disdain or the cold, calculating anger that he was accustomed to. No, this was a blistering, searing fury that caught him off guard and destroyed his icy composure.

There was no reasonable explanation as to why this woman had stirred such unfamiliar heat, but he found himself unable to battle the sensations that flowed through his body.

“Stop,” she panted, struggling to free herself.

Philippe easily controlled her frantic wiggles as he shifted his hands to capture her wrists above her head.

“Damn you to hell, what are you playing at?” he gritted.

“Let go of me.”

“Oh, no, my beauty, you are staying precisely where you are until I discover who you are and, more important, who put you up to attacking my carriage.”

She should have been terrified. He held her life quite literally in his hands. Instead, she glared at him with a fury of her own.

“You are hurting me.”

“Keep struggling and I shall put you across my knee and beat you as you deserve,” he warned without compunction.

“Brute,” she muttered as she tried to knee him in a most delicate location.

His eyes narrowed. For such a tiny thing she managed to put up a hell of a battle.

“Halt your struggles.”

“Sir…” Her words came to a startled end as the buttons on her jacket were tugged open and the heavy material parted to reveal she wore nothing more than a thin chemise beneath.

“
Voce e bonita,
” he whispered at the sight of her curved breast perfectly outlined by the clinging muslin. Without warning there did not seem to be enough air in the carriage.

“
Bastardo,
” she gritted.

His gaze jerked back to her pale face. “You speak Portuguese?”

“I speak any number of languages,” she said with a proud disdain.

His gaze narrowed. So the girl was no peasant. A knowledge that did nothing to ease the burning in the pit of his stomach.

“Then choose one of those numerous languages and explain to me what the hell you are doing here.”

“Will it halt you from behaving like a lunatic?”

His fingers tightened. “Now.”

There was a brief pause before she licked her lips. Philippe ignored the burst of awareness the unconscious gesture sent ricocheting through his body. Those damnable lips would not distract him. Not when he was certain that she was about to tell him a lie.

“This was nothing more than a lark.”

“A lark?”

“My friends and I thought it would be amusing to see if one of us could masquerade as the notorious Knave of Knightsbridge.”

“And who, pray, is the Knave of Knightsbridge?” he demanded in a lethally soft voice.

“A highwayman who has become something of a local legend.” Her lashes lowered to hide her expressive eyes. “The stories of his tedious escapades are repeated so often that my friends and I decided that we should prove his dastardly deeds were not so difficult to accomplish.”

“I see.” He studied the delicate features. “And it did not occur to you that this charade might lead to a bullet through your heart? Or at the very least the destruction of your reputation?”

“I realize now it was a stupid folly. But we meant no harm.”

Philippe deliberately paused, allowing her a brief moment of hope before dashing it with a sharp laugh.

“You really are quite accomplished, you know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The lies tumble from your lips with remarkable ease. I can only presume you are a local actress or a reprehensible hoyden who has a talent for falsehoods.”

Her lips tightened, her dark eyes flashing in the shadows. “You asked me to explain my presence here and I have done so, now, I insist that you release me.”

“Insist?” He gave a lift of his brow. “You are in no position to insist upon anything,
querida.
”

“You cannot hold me against my will.”

“I can do whatever the hell I please with you.” His gaze lowered to the delicate curve of her throat before roaming down to the tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. The urge to taste of that soft flesh hit him with a force that had him clenching his teeth. “An intriguing notion, is it not?”

Her eyes widened as the air filled with a prickling awareness that she could not fail to sense.

“You are no gentleman.”

He had never felt less a gentleman than at this moment, he accepted with a flare of unease. The things he longed to do to that soft, slender body were more fitting for a randy dockhand.

Fiercely, he turned his thoughts to more important matters. “No, I am a man who is accustomed to doing precisely as he pleases, and one who will halt at nothing to have his way,” he warned. “A knowledge you would do well to bear in mind. I have no compunction in making you suffer if you do not tell me the truth.”

A mutinous expression settled on the beautiful features. “You intend to beat me?”

“If necessary.”

“Fine. You can beat me all you desire. I will not tell you anything.”

Philippe did not doubt her sincerity. She was clearly a chit who possessed none of the usual female sensibilities. A woman prepared to take any outrageous challenge, no matter what the consequences.

A fact that might have inspired his admiration, if her audacious courage had not led her to assault his carriage. He possessed too much pride to easily forgive being treated as a common pigeon waiting to be plucked.

Of course, he had no intention of taking a whip to the ivory skin. It would be a sin against all that was holy. Oh, no. He had a far more pleasant sort of torture in store for this lovely criminal.