The manner that he needed her was rapidly evident as she felt the stir of his erection. For a mad, crazed moment Raine arched against his hard, deliciously warm body. They were all alone in the garden, surrounded by the lush perfume of the night. She ached to be close to him. To lie beneath him as he made her feel as if she were the most important woman in the world to him.
It was only the knowledge that the illusion would be all too fleeting that made her lift her hands to press against his chest in denial.
“No, Philippe.”
His brows snapped together at her rejection. “No?”
She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the fierce heat that flowed through her blood. “What you need is a physical release that could be provided by any woman.”
“Not, I trust, any woman,” he mocked, clenching his jaw.
She shrugged her shoulders, wrapping her arms about her waist. “Any woman who happens to capture your fancy.”
“Dammit,” he ground out, shoving his fingers through his hair as he stared at her in stark frustration. “I do not want any woman but you.”
“For now.” She resisted the temptation to step back from the danger that smoldered in his eyes. “Once we are wed, however, you will swiftly tire of me.”
“So you are capable of reading the future?”
She lowered her head as the tears once again threatened. “Perhaps not, but I am capable of being a realist when I need to be.”
“Raine…”
“Let me finish, Philippe,” she whispered softly.
There was a moment of silence before he released an explosive sigh. “If you insist.”
“Eventually you will tire of me, it is inevitable. And then you will still have your busy life to keep you occupied and no doubt a series of mistresses, while I will be left here alone.”
“Hardly alone,” he growled. “If you would bother to take the time to become acquainted with the estate you will realize that there are a great number of servants and villagers who have need of your generous heart. You could alter their lives in any number of ways.” There was a short pause before his hand reached out to lightly touch her curls. “And, of course, you will have our children to keep you occupied. They most certainly will have need of their mother.”
Pain seared through her at his casual words. Gad, did he have no shame? Did he believe that he could dangle the temptation of children before her and make her forget he had not denied the fact he would abandon her while he enjoyed his life and mistresses far away?
She jerked from his touch, her eyes wide with distress. “Please…do not.”
Philippe allowed his hand to fall, his face tight as he easily read her battered emotions.
“Damn you, Raine, what do you want of me?”
“I have told you what I want of you,” she replied, too overwrought to notice the strange hint of torment in his eyes. “I want you to send me home.”
Dashing past his frozen form, Raine did not look back as she headed for her room and slammed the door.
She might be Philippe’s prisoner, but she would be damned if she would allow him to see her cry.
RAINE WAS NOT CERTAIN what she had expected after her emotional outburst in the garden, but it was not to be abandoned for the next week.
As day after day passed without a glimpse of the irritating man, Raine began to wonder if he had actually left the island. It was either that or he had barricaded himself in his rooms, she decided as she ate her meals alone in the vast dining room and wandered the corridors of the villa late at night.
She told herself that she was relieved that he had gone away to sulk. At least he was not bullying her into a marriage that clearly would be a disaster for both of them.
Ridiculously, however, she found her spirits slowly sinking. Not even in the cottage in Montmartre had she felt quite so lonely, so isolated. The servants were all perfectly kind, but it was obvious that they considered her the mistress of the house and any effort to treat them as friends rather than mere staff was met with an awkward unease.
With nothing to do but brood, Raine found herself spending more and more time in the gardens, seeking a peace to soothe her troubled heart.
On this morning the beauty surrounding her failed to offer the distraction she sought. It did not seem to matter how hard she tried, she could not pull her thoughts from Philippe Gautier. Where was he? Was he truly attempting to avoid her?
Or could it be that he already had a lover here that was keeping him fully occupied?
The last thought was enough to make her heart clench with agony and sent her charging back to the house with a hurried step. She would not dwell on such a terrible notion, she told herself sternly. It would do no good to torment herself with the thought of Philippe in the arms of another woman.
Moving through the seemingly empty villa, Raine made her way to her room and entered with a flurry of muslin skirts. She had barely crossed the threshold, however, when she came to a halt at the sight of the young maid who had been attending to her since her arrival, bustling about the room with a harassed expression on her pretty face.
“Good morning, Maria,” she said, her brows lowered in confusion.
Scooping a handful of gowns from the armoire, Maria moved to place them on the bed and proceeded to fold them with swift hands.
“Good morning to you, Miss Wimbourne,” she said in a distracted tone. “I have brought you your breakfast.”
Raine glanced toward the tray on the bedside table. As always there was a tempting array of fresh fruit and spiced pork that was a favorite among the people of the island. At the moment, however, she had no interest in food.
“Thank you, it looks delicious.” She turned her attention back to the maid. “May I ask what you are doing?”
Maria glanced up in puzzlement. “Doing?”
“With my clothes?”
The puzzlement only deepened. “Am I not folding them to please you?”
Raine gave a slow shake of her head, a cold dread settling in the pit of her stomach. “I have no real preference for how you fold them, but why are you doing so?”
For a moment Maria regarded her as if she thought Raine might have taken leave of her senses, and then a nervous smile touched her lips.
“Ah, you tease me.” She wagged a finger in Raine’s direction. “Very naughty of you when we have so much work to be done. How we shall ever be prepared in time is beyond me.”
Raine pressed a hand to her spinning head. “Maria, please stop for a moment.”
With obvious reluctance the maid dropped the pretty walking gown onto the bed and regarded Raine with an expectant expression.
“Yes?”
Raine licked her lips, wishing her heart were not pounding so loudly in her ears. It made it difficult to concentrate.
“Tell me precisely what you are doing.”
“I am packing your bags as the master requested,” she explained.
Raine stepped backward, leaning against the door as her knees threatened to give way. “Monsieur Gautier requested you pack my bags?”
“Of course.” Maria blinked in bafflement. “We have little time if we are to meet the boat before luncheon.”
Feeling as if she must be in the midst of some strange dream, Raine pressed a hand to her chest. “The boat?”
“Have you forgotten we are to leave for England today?”
“We?”
“Oh.” The maid’s troubled expression cleared. “You did not know that I am to travel with you?”
“No, I did not.”
With a chuckle Maria returned to folding the numerous gowns. “Well, the master said you could not travel alone, even if it is aboard his own ship. It would not be right.”
“I see.”
“You need not worry about me once we arrive. The master has given me plenty of coin to stay at an inn until the ship returns. He even gave me some extra coins so that I can enjoy whatever sights I like while I am in England.”
England?
She was returning to England with Maria?
What of Philippe? Was he joining them? Or was she to be shipped off alone?
“That—” she hesitated and cleared her throat “—that was very generous of him.”
“Sim. It is all very exciting. I have never been so far from home.”
“Will you excuse me, Maria?”
Without waiting for the maid to glance up, Raine was slipping through the door and hurrying down the hall. She had to have a few moments alone.
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.”
UPSTAIRS 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 ab
out he tossed the locket across the room.
Damn the woman.
What the devil had she done to him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
RAINE 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?”
A Daring Passion Page 37