Surely it was only sensible to give in to his wishes and be done with it?
“Fine,” she muttered, climbing onto the bed and allowing Philippe to tug her close to his side. She glared up at Carlos, who was regarding them with an enigmatic smile on his lips. “Satisfied now?”
His dark eyes flared over her slender frame. “I could be more satisfied,” he murmured.
There was a low sound from Philippe. “Go get some sleep, Carlos,” he ordered. “Tomorrow we return to our search for Seurat.”
Carlos studied Raine for a moment before he gave a mocking dip of his head and left the room.
Once alone, Philippe shifted until he had his good arm beneath Raine’s shoulders and her head tucked beneath his chin.
“Do not think to bewitch Carlos, meu amor,” he whispered softly. “No man shall ever have you but me.”
PHILIPPE WAS STILL DEEPLY asleep when Raine awoke the next morning. A mere glance was enough to assure her that his face was not flushed with fever and that the bleeding had stopped.
With care not to disturb him, she slipped from his clinging arms and returned to her own chambers. A half an hour later, she was scrubbed clean and attired in a pale lemon gown with matching ribbons threaded through her curls.
Leaving her room, Raine ignored the nagging urge to return to Philippe. She was not about to hover over him, wringing her hands like some besotted fool. Philippe, not to mention the entire household, was bound to jump to the conclusion that she actually cared if he lived or died. It was horrible enough to secretly accept that she did.
Instead she firmly headed down to the kitchen, and seating herself at the table, she accepted the hot, buttered croissants that Madame LaSalle placed before her.
“How is the monsieur on this morning?” the housekeeper inquired in her halting English. Although Raine spoke perfect French, the older woman was anxious to improve her accent.
“He is still sleeping at the moment, but I believe he is healing.” Raine nibbled at a croissant. “No doubt when he awakens he will be prepared for some of your excellent chicken broth.”
“You are a good girl.” The servant patted Raine’s cheek before moving to begin kneading a large mound of dough. “I must say that I do not like this shooting of the monsieur. It is not so good.”
Raine grimaced. “No, I am not fond of it myself.”
“Why should he be in such a nasty neighborhood? There is nothing to be found there but unfortunate souls who delight in trouble.” She gave a shake of her head. “Monsieur must be a man who seeks out the danger, non?”
Raine suspected that Philippe’s fascination for danger went well beyond Seurat and nasty neighborhoods. He possessed the sort of skills that suggested he was either a master criminal, or an agent for some government.
“Yes, I do believe that he must enjoy a certain amount of danger.”
“So different from his brother.” Madame LaSalle heaved a sigh as she sprinkled flour on the dough. “A pity.”
Raine pushed aside her plate. Ah, an opportunity to learn more about Philippe and his family. It would be intriguing to know precisely what others thought of them.
“You know Jean-Pierre well?” she asked casually.
A sudden smile curved the servant’s lips. Clearly, Jean-Pierre was a favorite of hers.
“But of course. He often comes to stay. He—” she struggled to translate her words “—how do you say—gathers the art?”
“He is an art collector,” Raine helpfully supplied.
“That is it. He comes to Paris and buys such lovely pictures and things. Always such exquisite taste.”
Raine hid her grimace. She had seen enough of Jean-Pierre’s art collection around the cottage to suspect he possessed more enthusiasm than actual skill in choosing his art.
“Well, I do not doubt that it is at least expensive taste,” she muttered.
Madame LaSalle turned to regard Raine with pinched lips. Her loyalty to Jean-Pierre clearly made her blind to his faults.
“Such things are always expensive.”
“Yes, they are. Which makes it an odd choice of a career for a second son.”
“I do not understand.”
Raine shrugged. “As we have both agreed it is ghastly expensive to collect art. It would seem that Jean-Pierre would be better served to have chosen a career in the church or the military that would allow him a measure of independence from his family.”
The servant appeared horrified by the mere thought of her beloved Jean-Pierre soiling his hands with good, honest work.
“Monsieur Gautier would never be happy in such employment. He is a man who is meant to be surrounded by beauty.”
Raine gave a faint shake of her head. Good Lord. Philippe had not exaggerated the burdens that he was forced to bear. A mother dead when he was just a babe, an unscrupulous father who had all but abandoned him and a charming rapscallion of a brother. It was a wonder he had not long ago washed his hands of his family.
“So long as he need not concern himself with providing the funds to support such beauty,” she pointed out.
“Why should he?” Madame LaSalle shrugged. “His brother is a wealthy man, non?”
Raine bit back her sharp words. Philippe had seemingly accepted the burden of caring for his family. It was not her place to protest Jean-Pierre’s lack of responsibility.
“Jean-Pierre travels here often?” she instead demanded.
Madame LaSalle returned to her kneading. “Not so often as we would wish. Such an elegant man. So charming and kind to the servants. And such a favorite of the ladies. He is a true Frenchman.”
Not overly impressed with the seeming qualities of a true Frenchman, Raine was suddenly distracted by a loud thump that came from above. With a jerky motion she was on her feet and heading toward the door.
“Bloody hell, someone should take a horsewhip to that stubborn fool.” She stomped up the stairs and shoved open the door. Philippe was seated on the edge of the bed fully dressed except for the boots he was struggling to pull on with only one hand. “Whatever are you doing?”
He sent her a dry smile. “I am attempting to put on my boots. Unfortunately I do not appear to be having much success.”
Raine gave a shake of her head. Although he had somehow managed to comb his hair and even shave, there was a pallor to his skin and dark circles beneath his eyes. He was still in pain and weakened from his wound, even if he was too much of an idiot to admit it.
“Which would be a rather obvious indication that you are not recovered enough to be putting on your boots,” she said tartly.
“All I need is a bit of assistance.” He continued with his tugging on the boot. “Where is Carlos?”
“Philippe, you cannot be serious.” Without thinking, she moved to stand directly before him. “You must stay in bed.”
He lifted his head to reveal a wicked smile, his hand running an intimate caress along the line of her hip.
“A tempting offer, meu amor, and one that I will be more than willing to accept once I have Seurat in my grasp.”
She hastily stepped back, her skin tingling from the heat of his hand. How the devil did he manage to stir her senses with the merest touch?
“You cannot even put on your boots, how do you intend to travel to Paris and capture Seurat?”
A determination settled on his pale features as he grimly set about wrestling his boots onto his feet. Then, smoothly rising, he backed her to the wall. He planted his hands on either side of her shoulders and allowed his body to lean heavily against hers.
“One day, Raine, you will realize that it is a mistake to underestimate me,” he murmured.
Raine swallowed the sudden lump in her throat as she glared into his mocking eyes. Her heart was pounding and her knees were weak, but she was not about to give him the pleasure of revealing her reaction to his proximity. He was quite arrogant enough.
“Fine. Dash about Paris all you desire. But when you become ill do not expect me to te
nd to you.”
“Of course you will tend to me.” He smiled as his hand trailed over the curve of her cheek. “You are far too tenderhearted to allow anyone to suffer, no matter how much they might deserve such a fate.”
“You think you know me so well?”
“Not nearly as well as I intend to, meu amor.” He studied her with a brooding gaze. “You withhold far too much of yourself from me, but eventually I will wear down your barriers. I intend to have all of you.”
The lump in her throat seemed to double in size. “Why?”
“Why?”
“You have me in your bed. What more do you want?”
“Everything.” His head lowered to scatter tiny kisses over her upturned face. “Your body…your heart…your soul.”
A cold chill inched down Raine’s spine. This man had already taken far too much from her. Any more and he would surely destroy her.
“No,” she breathed in denial.
“Yes.” His tone was fierce as he abruptly cradled her face in his hands and glared into her wide eyes. “Every silken, beautiful, irritating inch of you will be mine.”
“Until you decide to toss me aside.”
“Is that what troubles you? Do you wish me to promise I will keep you always?”
Her heart gave a sharp, uncomfortable jerk before she was steeling herself against his potent appeal.
“You must have been wounded more grievously than I feared if you believe such nonsense,” she accused. “For God’s sake, the only reason I am here at all is because you threatened to harm my father. Or have you managed to forget your disgraceful part in this charade?”
“I have forgotten nothing.” A smile slowly curved his lips. “Certainly not the manner in which you moan with pleasure in my arms, or how you whisper my name in your sleep.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I do not whisper your name in my sleep.”
Philippe chuckled softly, his entire body aching with the need to finish what he had started. Unfortunately he had already wasted too much time. He could not risk Seurat slipping away before he could capture him.
“Do not worry, meu amor,” he whispered in her ear, “so long as it is my name you are whispering you have nothing to fear.”
She opened her lips to offer a cutting reply and he effectively silenced her with a deep, possessive kiss. His hands tightened on her face before he forced himself to reluctantly step away.
Once he had ended the threat to his brother, he could devote his entire attention to Raine. Until then he could not allow himself to become distracted from his duty.
Unable to resist one last light kiss on her lips, Philippe turned to gather his coat and gloves before leaving the room and making his way from the cottage. His arm ached and he suspected that it would not be long before his strength gave out. He could only hope that Seurat would be considerate enough to remain waiting in the alley to be captured.
Gathering his horse from the stables, Philippe headed for Paris, shivering as he was forced to slow his mount to a careful trot. The drizzling rain from the night before had frozen to leave the streets slick with ice. His arm was painful enough. He didn’t need a broken neck.
The trip was cold and tedious and more than once he damned himself for not having remained tucked in his bed with Raine in his arms. Seurat was going to pay for every frustrating moment Philippe spent looking for him rather than enjoying the pleasures of his mistress.
Despite the inhospitable weather the streets of Paris were clogged with traffic. There was the usual clutter of public cabriolets, gentlemen heading toward the gambling houses, ladies intent on reaching the Arcades, and the King’s Guard, which made a show of protecting the local citizens.
Philippe was cursing beneath his breath before he at last managed to locate the filthy alley where they had last seen Seurat. Perhaps unfairly, his foul mood was not noticeably improved when Carlos appeared from the shadows.
The younger man was attired in his usual rough woolen clothing with a cap pulled low on his head. He was also looking annoyingly hale and hearty, Philippe noted as he dismounted and struggled to keep his knees from buckling.
“I should have known you would not have the sense to remain in bed,” Carlos said.
Philippe deliberately met his dark gaze. He may have been disoriented and less than lucid last eve, but he had not forgotten Carlos’s overly familiar manner toward Raine.
“Actually, the notion did cross my mind,” he drawled, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. “My bed seemed uncommonly comfortable this morning.”
“I would imagine any bed would be uncommonly comfortable with Raine in it,” Carlos retorted, his arms folded over his chest.
Philippe clenched his hands at his sides. For a moment their gazes silently battled.
“You tread dangerous ground, amigo,” he warned softly.
Carlos shrugged. “I am not blind. She is a beautiful woman.”
“She is mine.”
“For the moment.”
Philippe had never been a jealous or possessive man, but there was no mistaking the searing fury that raced through his blood. Carlos might be a brother to him, but he would beat the hell out of him if he did not retreat.
“This is no game, Carlos.” His voice was low and lethal. “I will kill any man who touches her.”
Carlos leaned negligently against the side of the building, his expression indifferent.
“You know that you cannot threaten me, Philippe. I shall always do what I desire.”
“And what do you desire?”
The dark gaze momentarily shifted to the pathetic souls that struggled down the cramped street as Carlos considered his answer.
“I have become…fond of Raine. I would not stand aside and allow her to be harmed.”
Philippe frowned at the unmistakable implication. “You think I intend to harm her?”
His friend’s features hardened. “She is not like the other women you have seduced. She has not willingly traded her honor to acquire a wealthy protector.”
Philippe clenched his teeth together. He needed no reminders that he had been forced to blackmail Raine into his bed. Or that his hold on her was tenuous at best.
“What is your point?”
“If you hope to keep her, you will have to win her heart.”
Philippe gave a short, humorless laugh. The woman should already be desperately in love with him. He had swept her from the choking confines of her tedious village. He had draped her in satin and silk. He had tutored her in the arts of passion.
And, God knew that he had used every skill in his seduction arsenal to wring those sweet words from her lips.
What other innocent would still be battling against him?
“A task easier said than done,” he rasped. “She continues to keep me at a distance.”
“She does not trust you.”
“And you believe that she trusts you? You did, after all, assist me in kidnapping her.”
Carlos slowly smiled. “I have not yet forced her to my bed.”
“Enough.” Philippe grimly thrust aside his overwhelming urge to throttle his friend. For the moment he needed Carlos alive and well. “This discussion will be finished later. For now we will concentrate on Seurat. Have you managed to find his apartments?”
In the blink of an eye, Carlos had straightened and his expression was somber. Like Philippe, he possessed the ability to put aside all distractions when he was on the hunt.
“I have searched the buildings on either side of the alley, but there is no one willing to admit to knowing Seurat.”
“Dammit.” With an effort, Philippe moved down the narrow alley, his gaze flicking over the rubbish and filth. “He must have deliberately allowed himself to be seen near the cottage so that we would follow him into his trap.”
“He is clever,” Carlos grudgingly conceded. “And dangerous.”
“He cannot hide forever.” With a frown, Philippe bent down to study the ground, his finger
s touching the rough ridge of the hoofprint that had been left in the frozen mud.
Carlos sensed his sudden tension and crouched beside him. “What is it?”
“How many of the local residents do you suppose possess horses?” Philippe demanded.
“Any horse in this neighborhood is in the cook pot.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Carlos gave a lift of his brows. “Shall we follow the trail?”
Philippe straightened with a nod. “It seems the only course of action open to us at the moment.”
In silence they gathered their mounts and carefully set about following the lone hoofprints left in the alley. It could very well be a wild-goose chase, but as Philippe had already noted they did not seem to have a large number of choices. For the moment Seurat had managed to slip back into the shadows.
They followed the northward trail through the back alleys, occasionally forced to halt and clear away rubbish before being able to continue on.
“It appears he spent some time here,” Carlos murmured as they studied the trampled mud. “The question is why.”
Philippe agreed. They were at the corner of a busy crossroad that catered to various hotels and lodging houses, some of which possessed the stables necessary for Seurat to keep his horse. Was he forced to halt here and hide? Was he waiting for someone?
The various notions floated through his mind as Philippe absently kicked aside the nasty rubbish that lined the nearby buildings. He was cold, weary, and plagued with a chafing need to return to Montmartre. Not just because he desired a hot bath and a few hours of rest, but because he wanted to see Raine.
It was ridiculous. He had left her only a few hours ago, but already he needed to assure himself that she was waiting for him at the cottage, where she belonged. And just as important, he needed to know that she was safe.
The nagging urge was as irritating as it was unexpected, but there was no denying it.
On the point of calling an end to the futile search, Philippe hesitated as the toe of his boot pushed aside a broken crate to reveal a black jacket. He bent down to inspect it more closely and saw a priest’s collar hidden beneath it.
A Daring Passion Page 21