A Daring Passion (7 page)

“And your…companion?” the groom demanded.

Philippe smiled with a surge of anticipation. “I will deal with him.”

Swann turned his head to spit on the ground. “You should have him hauled off to the gallows. Or better yet, leave him here with me. I should soon have him ruing his dastardly ways.”

“Yes, I am certain you would be very persuasive, however, I still have use for the brat.” He chuckled at the muffled curse that was smothered by the cape and headed toward the door. “When Carlos arrives tell him I will meet him in the library after I have settled my guest.”

“Aye, sir.”

Carrying his slight burden without trouble, Philippe crossed to the low gate and entered his tidy gardens. Ahead of him the three-storied house built in a mellowed red brickwork slumbered in shadows. It was not the largest house in the square, but there was an aging dignity in the sturdy garrets, the finely carved stonework and wrought iron railings.

He paused long enough to dig the key from his pocket and opened the door to the lower kitchens. From there he used the servants' staircase to make his way to the attics that had once housed the nurseries. If his memory served him right there was a narrow bed among the furnishings, and best of all the windows were too high and narrow to prevent even the most determined escape.

At last reaching his destination, he stepped into the musky apartments and tossed his furious bundle onto the bed.

Leaving her to struggle out of the cumbersome cape, Philippe moved to the nearby fireplace and was rewarded to discover a forgotten candle on the mantel. Once he had the wick blazing, he turned to discover Raine tossing aside the cape and standing to slay him with a murderous glare.

Before she could hurl her venomous insults, he moved forward and offered a faint bow.

“These will be your chambers, my lady,” he murmured in taunting tones. “Perhaps not the most elegant room in the house, but no doubt preferable to a cold prison cell?”

Her nose wrinkled at the thick coating of dust. “Barely.”

Against his will Philippe discovered himself laughing at her relentless courage.
Meu Deus,
what other woman would face him so boldly?

Stepping even closer, he surveyed her pale, perfect features. Even attired in the ridiculous jacket and buckskins with her amber hair in tangles, she was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

“Do you never give an inch, Raine?” he said softly.

Her chin tilted upward. “Do you?”

“Never.”

Her eyes widened at the husky edge of his voice, but before she could react he had wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her firmly against his chest. Philippe waited until her lips parted in protest before he claimed them in a rough kiss.

He could sense her shock. Not that it could be any greater than his own, he ruefully told himself. He certainly hadn't intended to grab and kiss her as if he were some bumbling stable lad with his first maid. It was hardly the technique of a practiced seducer.

But there was no denying that there was something about this woman that provoked and bedeviled him in a manner he was finding difficult to ignore.

He desired her. He desired her with a power that was quickly becoming an obsession. But more than that, he was fascinated by her.

She was a unique puzzle he felt compelled to solve.

Outlining her full mouth with the tip of his tongue, he slipped between her lips and tasted the decadent wetness within. His breath was squeezed from his lungs. She tasted as sweet and fresh as the lilacs she smelled of. As sweet as spring.

Just for a moment she stiffened, as if she were about to pull away, and Philippe silently cursed. She was not indifferent to his touch. He was experienced enough to know when a woman returned his desire. She might wish him in hell, but she still wanted him.

Then, with a faint sigh, she was melting into his arms.

A shudder shook through him. It was no more than a kiss, but his entire body clenched with pleasure.

Feeling her grasp at the folds of his greatcoat, Philippe traced his hands up the curve of her spine. She was so delicate. So astonishingly tiny in his hands. It was easy to forget her fragility when she was battling him as if she were as large and intimidating as a dockhand.

With gentle care he smoothed his hands back down to her hips. His lips shifted to spread light kisses over her cheek before he lightly stroked the shell of her ear with his tongue.

She shivered beneath his touch and he felt that strange searing heat race through him. A heat that flowed through his entire body, not just the familiar bits and pieces.

The urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the nearby bed was overwhelming.

He wanted to see her spread beneath him. To part her thighs and discover the heart of her pleasure. To thrust himself into her until they were both exhausted and sated.

It was surely what she had been created for?

His arms had already tightened when he gave a low groan.

The devil take it, this was not the time to be indulging in such games. No matter how delightful.

At this moment Carlos was awaiting him in his library, and his brother would be anxiously awaiting word that he had reached London.

He abruptly lifted his head, gazing down at her upturned face with a brooding intensity.

In the flickering candlelight her delicate beauty was enough to steal his breath. The golden curls were a shimmering river as they tumbled about her shoulders, her ivory skin was brushed with a faint flush, and her eyes smoldered with the lingering memory of his kiss.

She looked like a wanton, exotic angel.

Perhaps in another man it might not be so surprising that he had lost all sense. She was lovely enough to tempt a saint.

But he was not just any man, he sternly reminded himself. He was Philippe Gautier. A gentleman who had built a fortune on his ruthless ability to never lose sight of his goals.

Taking a step backward, he sucked in a deep breath. “I have business to tend to. You will remain here until I return,” he said in tones that were more abrupt than he intended.

She frowned as her fingers rose to touch lips still reddened from his kiss.

“What are you going to do with me?”

His lips twisted as he turned and moved to the door. “That is the question, is it not?”

Refusing to glance back, Philippe shut the door behind him, and then, taking a chair from the hall, he lodged it beneath the knob.

He paused in the shadows as his gaze lingered on the door. He knew that she was effectively trapped. There was no way out of the room, and even if she tried to scream there would be no one to hear her.

Still, he found himself reluctant to leave. As if she might disappear into a puff of smoke the moment she was out of his sight.

Ridiculous.

He gave himself a shake as he forced his reluctant feet to carry him toward the main staircase and down to the library.

As always he found the house in pristine condition. Despite her advancing years Mrs. Hibbert kept his home constantly prepared for even the most unexpected arrival. There was no musty air or Holland coverings to be found. Instead he was greeted with the smell of fresh beeswax and carpets that were freshly beaten.

It was the sort of loyal service he expected in all his servants.

Entering the library, he was not surprised to discover that a fire had already been lit to glow warmly off the polished oak paneling and to drive the distinct chill from the room. His gaze shifted to take in the sight of Carlos stretched upon one of the leather couches, a large glass of brandy in his hands.

“At last,” the younger man complained. “I was beginning to fear that you had been overcome by a half-grown waif.” The dark gaze abruptly narrowed as he studied Philippe's tight expression. “Was he more trouble than you expected?”

Philippe crossed the Persian carpet to toss his coat on a wing chair.

“Enough trouble to drive a man to Bedlam,” he muttered.

There was a faint pause before he heard Carlos rise to his feet. “What the devil are you up to, Philippe?”

Reluctantly, Philippe turned to meet his friend's curious gaze. “Attempting to rescue my brother from his latest disaster. What else could I possibly have on my mind?”

“You know I speak of the
crianca.
You should have given him a good thrashing, or handed him over to the authorities if you were determined to see him punished. Why would you risk exposing your arrival in London by holding the pathetic creature captive?”

“Because it suits me to do so.”

Carlos gave a slow shake of his head. He knew Philippe far too well. “There is something more to the boy than you are revealing. You would never have hauled him to London if he did not have some value.”

Philippe shrugged. “He amuses me.”

“He…amuses you?” Carlos gave a sudden laugh. “
Meu Deus,
is there something you wish to confess?”

With a frown Philippe moved toward the heavy mahogany desk set near the bay window. For reasons he couldn't name, he had no desire to reveal that the lad was instead a beautiful young woman. Not even to this man whom he considered a brother.

For now she was a secret he intended to keep closely guarded.

“The only thing I wish is to discover if my agents have managed to complete the tasks I set for them,” he said as he opened the top drawer to pull out a thick packet. He swiftly untied the string and began to spread out the various documents over the desk. “Ah.”

Carlos moved to stand beside him. “What are those?”

Philippe felt his stomach clench as he skimmed through the various papers. Before leaving for England he had sent word to his most trusted agents to begin the investigations to clear his brother's name. Beginning with these papers.

There were promissory notes adding up to an enormous sum, sketched maps of Windsor Castle and the surrounding grounds, lists of guards on duty and a list of drugs that were all lethal.

There were even letters written in French that were supposedly from some cohort that warned Jean-Pierre to murder the king before the end of the year if he expected to collect his reward.

“These are the exact copies of the papers that they found in Jean-Pierre's possession the night he was arrested,” he told his companion. He lifted one of the letters to point toward the small etching in the bottom corner. “Here. This is the mark Jean-Pierre noticed.”

Carlos frowned. “Looks like a scribble.”

“Actually, it's a hieroglyph.”

“How can you tell? I thought you hated anything Egyptian.”

“Only when it is costing me a large fortune to fund my father's idiotic expeditions,” Philippe retorted. “But this particular hieroglyph happens to be very familiar to me. It is the mark of an ancient prince. To be precise it is the mark of the prince that my father unearthed from his tomb nearly twenty years ago.”

“Are you certain, Philippe?” Carlos reached to pluck one of the maps from the desk. “These papers are mere copies, and as fine as your henchmen might be, I doubt that any of them would be able to accurately copy something like a hieroglyph.”

Philippe smiled. “I hired a trained forger to assist my associates. Believe me, he has a talent for the finest detail. Besides, Jean-Pierre recognized it, as well.”

“Which is why we have been searching the roads and posting inns for some mysterious Frenchman from your father's past?” Carlos demanded.

“Precisely.”

“Now what?”

Philippe took a moment to consider. It was far too late to accomplish much this evening, but there was one task he needed completed.

“I want you to go to Newgate and get a message to Jean-Pierre that I have arrived in London.”

Carlos glanced toward the window. “At this hour?”

“You are weary?”

“Yes, but I was thinking more about the guards. I doubt they will be willing to allow me to visit Jean-Pierre at this hour.”

“I do not have a doubt in the world.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and tossed his friend his leather purse. There was enough money within to bribe a dozen guards. Besides, he had already managed to use what influence he possessed with the king to ensure that Jean-Pierre was being held in a cell that was separated from the common riffraff. “When you see him, do not say my name. The guards will be bound to listen and I don't wish them to know that I have arrived. Simply say that you brought his favorite hunter to town. He will know what you mean.”

“Fine.” Carlos pocketed the money with a grimace. “But, you had best hope that your brother has learned a few lessons in humility while he's been in prison. I promised myself that I would beat him bloody the next time we met.”

Philippe clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I promise you can beat him bloody as often as you like once we have him out of Newgate.”