A Daring Passion

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Merci, Madame LaSalle, but I have no time this morning. I want to make sure that my associates are keeping a careful watch on the roads and coaching inns in case Seurat attempts to flee. Then I intend to return to Paris.”

  The older woman lifted a plump hand to her bosom. “You have received word of Mademoiselle?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But you will find her?” she demanded. “You will bring her back?”

  Philippe met her anxious gaze, his lips curling into a ruthless smile.

  “I will bring her home,” he swore. “You have my word.”

  THE DAY PASSED SLOWLY for Raine. Not only because the rooms were cold, cramped and reeked of stale cabbage, but Seurat proved an unnerving companion. Hour upon hour he would pace the small floor and mutter beneath his breath, seeming to forget her very existence as he succumbed to the delusions of his mind.

  More than once she considered making a dash across the room when he was lost in his madness. Surely she could at least get the door open far enough to scream for help before he could stop her?

  A tantalizing temptation, and yet one she continued to resist. However desperate she might be to escape from the growingly dark room, she had not forgotten the pistol that he carried in the pocket of his jacket. It was difficult to forget when he had a habit of pulling the nasty thing out and rubbing his hand over it as if to remind himself it was always handy.

  Seurat might be a lunatic, but he was still quite capable of pulling a trigger.

  And so the day passed, with only a handful of embarrassing journeys to the adjoining room to use the chamber pot, with Seurat hovering on the other side of the screen, to provide an interruption.

  Raine forced herself to remain patient. The man had to sleep eventually, did he not? She need only make sure that she could stay awake long enough to make her escape.

  Not a difficult task when her nerves were so tightly wound she jumped at the slightest noise.

  Wrapped tightly in the blanket, Raine watched as Seurat paced toward a wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. There was a flare of light as he struck a match to a candle and then a faint rattle of crockery. Several moments later he turned and crossed the room to shove a plate in her hand.

  Raine blinked in surprise at the thick slices of bread that had been spread with butter and honey. It was odd, but she sensed that despite the fact that Seurat held her against her will, the man still considered her some sort of guest.

  Thank God. She was well aware that for all her discomfort, her state of affairs could be much, much worse.

  And in truth, she could not deny that deep in her susceptible heart she felt a measure of sympathy for the strange, demented man.

  He had been treated shamefully by Louis Gautier, and while she could never condone his dreadful deeds, she did understand why he felt the savage need to lash out.

  As she continued to stare rather stupidly at the plate in her hand, Seurat gave an impatient click of his tongue.

  “You must eat.”

  “Thank you, but I am not hungry at the moment.”

  A flush stung his cheeks as he plucked the plate from her hand and set it on the wooden table. Almost as if she had offended him.

  “I suppose you are accustomed to fancier fare?” he rasped in derision.

  “Not at all.” She met his gaze squarely. “I have spent most of my life in a convent where our meals were kept sparse to teach us to be grateful for what we did receive. And even when I returned to my father’s cottage we had to be frugal with our funds. I am…accustomed to a simple life.”

  His expression was wary. “You live with Gautier. They toss about their money the way a whore tosses about her favors.”

  Raine flinched at the crude comparison but refused to be provoked. She sensed any emotional outburst would send the poor man tumbling over the edge.

  “I have only been with Philippe a short time and soon enough I will be back in England.” She gave a small shrug. “Then I’ll be just another sailor’s daughter who does not even have her pride left.”

  He studied her intently, seeing the truth of her words written on her face. Slowly the brittle wariness melted like dew beneath the early morning sun. For the moment she had become a sympathetic companion to his misery rather than a possession of his enemy.

  “Then you know what it is like to suffer. To watch others who are so less worthy have everything, while we are given nothing.”

  She smiled wryly. “I have some notion.”

  “I should have better. I deserve better.” His hands trembled as he ran them over his silver hair. “If not for the Gautier family I would be living in luxury. But they will pay. They will all pay.”

  “Why his family?” she asked cautiously. “Philippe and Jean-Pierre are innocent. They had nothing to do with what happened in Egypt.”

  The pale eyes flared with a wild hatred. “The sons carry the sins of the father. They must be punished.”

  “You believe this is some Greek tragedy?”

  “It is justice,” he rasped.

  Raine licked her dry lips, searching for the means of somehow convincing the man that there was better way of achieving his goals. Not only for her own sake, but because it troubled her to think that once Philippe managed to get his hands on Seurat the unstable man would be crushed beyond salvation. Louis Gautier might strike out when cornered, but Philippe was a lethal predator who would not be satisfied until his foe was destroyed.

  “Unfortunately, life is rarely fair and dwelling on the injustices do nothing to alter the ways of the world,” she said softly.

  He regarded her as if she were speaking a foreign language before his lips thinned in annoyance.

  “Ah, I see.”

  “What?”

  “You are attempting to convince me that I should forget what was done to me.”

  “Perhaps not forget, but…” She gave a lift of her hands.

  His awkward pacing resumed and he shivered beneath his threadbare jacket. “You want me to abandon my plot for revenge so that I will allow you to return to your lover. Well, I am too clever for such tricks. I will not be charmed by a woman, even one so beautiful as you.”

  “Certainly I would prefer not to remain your prisoner, but I did not mean to imply that you should forget the past,” she claimed with perfect honesty. “You were grievously treated by Louis Gautier.”

  A hint of bafflement touched the thin countenance. He did not trust her, but he possessed a near overwhelming need for someone to commiserate with his plight.

  “Which is why I must have my revenge.”

  “It does not seem to have brought you much happiness.”

  Seurat gave a short, shrill laugh. “You do not care about my happiness.”

  “Actually, I do.” With care not to startle the wary man, Raine slowly rose to her feet. She was forced to bite back a groan as her legs tingled in protest. She had been on the sofa for hours and her body had become uncomfortably stiff. Thank goodness she had not given in to her urge to make a mad dash to the door, she acknowledged. She would no doubt have ended up flat on her face. “I believe you have been treated unfairly.”

  Seurat gave a slow shake of his head. “Is this a trick?”

  “No, as I said, I feel sorry for you, but I do not understand what you think to accomplish by imprisoning Jean-Pierre or kidnapping me. Neither will restore the treasure that was stolen from you, nor give you the luxurious lifestyle that you deserve.”

  His features tightened with remembered humiliation. “I have already attempted to gain my rightful reward from Monsieur Gautier. I traveled to his estate in Madeira after I had at last recovered from my injuries and was capable of leaving Egypt. Louis greeted me by slashing my face with a dagger and warning that if I returned he would have me killed. I had no difficulty believing his threat.”

  “No, I do not suppose you did.” Raine grimaced, wondering if Louis Gautier possessed any semblance of conscience. He had stolen a prince’s treasure, attem
pted to have a man murdered and had willingly put his entire family in danger rather than confess his sins. “Is that when you started to plot your revenge?”

  “Oui.” His thin hand curled into claws. Almost as if he was imagining gouging out the eyes of his enemy. “I intend to make Louis Gautier suffer as I have suffered.”

  “That would no doubt offer some satisfaction, but it will not take you from these rooms or provide the sort of comfort you desire.”

  “I have told you that Gautier would give me nothing.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. The hatred still shimmered in his pale eyes, but beneath the predictable emotion was a haunting, heart-wrenching pain.

  Gad, but he was such a pathetic creature. And deep in her soul she knew that he was doomed for some horrible end. Even now Philippe was scouring the streets in search of her. And when he discovered these chambers he would not rest until Seurat had been utterly destroyed.

  She felt as if she were watching the unstable man stumble toward a cliff edge, knowing each step was leading toward his death.

  But what could be done to avert disaster?

  Philippe might not possess his father’s selfish weaknesses, but he most certainly was not a gentleman who willingly turned the other cheek. Especially not when it came to those who threatened his family.

  From a young age Philippe had taken on the role of patriarch, and he possessed a grim determination to protect the Gautier clan. No doubt because he feared deep inside that he had somehow failed to protect his mother. It was precisely the sort of illogical reasoning a young boy would harbor.

  He would never negotiate a peace with Seurat. Only blood would satisfy his need for punishment.

  If there was to be an end to this ridiculous tragedy, it was clearly up to her to provide it.

  Raine stilled as she was struck by a sudden, perhaps outrageous, notion.

  “There might be a means of offering you the fortune you were denied.” The words tumbled from her lips before she could halt them.

  Seurat’s pale eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

  Raine swallowed the lump that threatened to lodge in her throat. The past few weeks should have taught her a sharp lesson in allowing her impetuous heart to lead her. After all, if she had used the least amount of common sense she would even now be safely tucked in her father’s cottage. Instead she was in France, the reluctant mistress of Philippe Gautier, and being held prisoner by a lunatic.

  Being impulsive was too often a very bad notion.

  Unfortunately, her heart was unruly and rarely listened to reason. It demanded that she do whatever was in her power to bring peace.

  “Perhaps you could have at least a portion of the money you desire if you were willing to agree to bring an end to your vendetta.”

  Seurat backed away, his thin hands trembling as he scrubbed them over his face. “You seek to confuse me. Gautier will never give me the fortune I have been denied.”

  “Perhaps not, but I would be willing to offer you the funds.”

  “You?” His hands lowered so that he could regard her with open suspicion. “You claim to be a mere sailor’s daughter.”

  “True enough, but Philippe has been quite generous.” Her lips twisted at the thought of the glittering jewels. Oddly the notion of handing them over to Seurat made her feel nothing but relief, and yet she would not part with the tiny locket that currently hung about her neck for any fortune. The small bit of gold had belonged to Philippe’s mother and held a sentimental worth that was priceless. “I have jewelry that would keep you in a comfortable style for years to come.”

  Seurat’s suspicion only deepened. “You would give me your jewels?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She gave a vague lift of her hands. “Because I believe that you have been ill-used and are due some sort of compensation. And because my father has taught me that it is my duty to assist others in need. You have greater want of the jewels than I.”

  Seurat gave an unconscious shake of his head as he attempted to sort through the tangled confusion in his mind.

  “There is more than that,” he at last muttered. “You do not do this simply because you wish to help me.”

  She opened her lips to deny his claim, only to hesitate. Seurat was unhinged, but he possessed a certain amount of cunning. Who could blame him for doubting that a strange woman was willing to assist him out of the goodness of her heart?

  “Not entirely,” she grudgingly confessed.

  “Tell me why.”

  Raine turned from the burning gaze, wrapping her arms about her waist. It was not a simple matter for her to confess her concern for Philippe Gautier. The man considered her no more than a pretty bauble that he could enjoy for a time before tossing it away. She should detest him. And still she found herself incapable of denying she possessed an overwhelming need to protect him. Even from himself.

  “Philippe is not at all like his father or brother,” she at last said.

  The man behind her made a rude noise. “He is a Gautier.”

  “By blood, yes, but not by deed. He has no interest in devoting his days to pursuing frivolous diversions or squandering his wealth on his own pleasure. Quite the contrary. He is the one who has retrieved their estates from ruin and carries the burdens of the numerous tenants and servants who depend upon him. He is—” Raine abruptly broke off her words as she realized that she was revealing far more than she had intended. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned to meet Seurat’s narrowed gaze. “He is certainly not a saint, indeed, he can claim any number of sins, but he is undeserving of your revenge.”

  The wariness slowly eased as Seurat stepped forward and peered into her pale face. Whatever he read there seemed to satisfy his suspicions.

  “You are in love with the man.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  PANIC CLUTCHED AT RAINE’S heart. In love with Philippe? No. Perhaps she had reluctantly come to care for him. And certainly she desired him. There might even be a renegade part of her that occasionally craved his companionship.

  But love?

  Good God, only the most idiotic female would willingly give her heart to a man who was not only destined to break it in two, but one who would readily use such a weakness to trap her in his silken web. She would never be free of him. Even after he had moved on to another woman she would still be haunted and plagued by the irritating wretch.

  She could not be in love. She would not allow it.

  Ignoring just how ridiculous such a notion might be, Raine sternly thrust the thoughts from her mind. Now was not the time to be dwelling on such nonsense.

  Actually, she preferred never to dwell on the dangerous thoughts.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Raine squared her shoulders and prepared to barter as she had never bartered in her life.

  “Are you willing to accept my bargain?”

  Seurat gave a restless shrug. “What do you demand of me for these jewels?”

  She regarded him with a steely expression. The years she had spent at the convent had not been wasted. There were few in the world who could match a nun for quelling others without ever having to speak a word.

  “I will not give them to you until I have your word that you will halt your attempts to harm the Gautier family. Indeed, I do not want you to come near any of them again.”

  “That is all?” Seurat asked.

  “No.” She folded her arms over her chest, ignoring the realization that she must appear more like a grubby waif than an imposing woman capable of enforcing her will. “I also demand that you write out a confession that you forged the treasonous documents that you hid in Jean-Pierre’s rooms, and I want the confession witnessed by a priest. Once you give me the paper, I will give you the jewels.”

  Seurat paced toward the window as he gnawed his wellordered in unease. Raine remained patient as she carefully watched his tense profile.

  She did not expect it to be an easy matter for him. He desperately desired the
money. It would, after all, provide a comfortable existence and the sort of dignity that was denied him. And yet, the lust for revenge burned fierce in his heart.

  He could not easily turn aside his thirst to punish the man who had stolen his glory and then tried to put an end to his life. It had been the reason he had survived, skulking in the shadows and desperately concocting his schemes for so many years.

  The poison had gone so deep, and had devoured him for so long, it would no doubt be like cutting off one of his limbs to accept peace.

  At last he turned back, licking his lips with a nervous motion. “And how do I know that these jewels are not paste?” he demanded.

  Raine gave a lift of her brows. “Do you truly believe that Philippe Gautier would ever give his mistress fake jewels?”

  Seurat grimaced as he realized how ridiculous his accusation had been. A Gautier might be many things, but frugal was not one of them.

  “Even if they are real I would be arrested the moment I attempted to sell them. No one would believe that they were given to me as a gift,” he challenged. “If we are to make a bargain, then you must give me coin.”

  Raine hated to admit it, but there was some truth to his words. Although there were always the sort of criminals willing to buy goods without tedious questions, they would hardly offer more than a pittance of what the necklaces were worth. And any legitimate jeweler would presume that Seurat had come by them in some illegal fashion.

  Bloody hell. It would be up to her to somehow find the means of selling the blasted things. A task she did not have the faintest notion of how to accomplish. Certainly not without Philippe becoming suspicious.

  “It will take a few days to have the jewels appraised and sold,” she grudgingly agreed. “I can deliver the money here when…”

  “No,” Seurat growled, stepping close enough for that sour smell to assault Raine’s senses. “I am not a fool.”

  Covertly she took a step backward. “What do you mean?”

  He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Do you believe that I will remain here if I allow you to leave? Sacrebleu. I might as well invite Philippe to come and murder me in my sleep.”