A Daring Passion (17 page)

His lips curled. “Ah, but you are not just any mistress. You are to play the role of the innocent maiden fresh from the convent, not the usual Cyprian.”

For some stupid reason Raine found herself disappointed. Why?

Because his words forced her to recall that the clothes were not truly a gift? That they hadn't been chosen to please her or even to spare her the embarrassment of appearing like a Jezebel? That they were nothing more than a part of the charade she was to play?

“Yes, of course,” she muttered.

Philippe narrowed his gaze and his fingers tightened on her chin.

“Raine, what the devil is the matter with you? I thought you would be pleased with the gowns.”

“Why should I not be? The daughter of a common sailor could hardly dare dream of such luxuries,” she murmured, uncertain why she was becoming so upset but unable to halt the surge of emotions.

“Raine…”

“Of course I am not just the daughter of a sailor any longer, am I?” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Now I am a mistress to a rich and powerful man.”

A dangerous expression settled on Philippe's face, and without warning his hands landed heavily on her shoulders. Her lips parted to protest at the same moment he pushed her backward and she hit the wall. Her breath was jerked from her lungs, more from surprise than from the actual impact, and she glared into the lean, beautiful face with astonishment.

“You have yet to be much of a mistress,
querida,
” he growled. “In fact, you have been decidedly slack in your duties. But that is all about to change. I intend to teach you what precisely is required for your position.”

Raine swallowed heavily. She was not afraid of Philippe Gautier. At least, not physically afraid. But, there was no missing the air of barely restrained hunger that smoldered in the green eyes. Or the fierce determination that was etched in his face.

“Philippe…no,” she breathed.

A thin, cruel smile curved his lips as he lowered his head to stroke his cheek over her curls.

“Your first lesson,
meu amor,
is that you never, ever tell me no,” he said in a low, rasping voice. “A mistress is always pleased to accommodate her lover, no matter what his request.”

Raine was wise enough not to struggle against his hold. When you were cornered by a dangerous predator you did not continue to bait him.

A pity that she had not been a tad wiser before she had provoked the man.

Of course, she had been in no mood to be wise.

She had been…what?

Restless and hurt and in need of something.

A shiver raced through her body as she instinctively responded to his proximity.

Good Lord. It could not have been deliberate, could it? She could not have unwittingly hoped to stir his passions? She could not be so desperate to feel wanted and needed, that she would inflame him into making love to her?

Disturbed by the mere thought, Raine pressed her hands to his chest.

“You make a mistress sound like nothing more than a slave. Is that what you prefer? A toadie to pander to your every whim?”

His fingers eased their punishing grip to stray down her body. His touch was light, but it left a trail of fire in its wake.

“Pandering to my every whim?” he whispered directly into her ear. “Now, that is a most delicious notion.”

She trembled even as she struggled to deny the sensations already coursing through her body.

“I will be no man's slave.”

He merely laughed as he tugged open the cloak and his arms encircled her waist.

“You belong to me, Raine Wimbourne.” He gave her earlobe a nip before his lips stroked down the line of her jaw. “There is nowhere you can run, nowhere you can hide that I would not find you.”

The hands that had been pushing him away now clutched at the lapels of his robe to keep her knees from buckling.

There was sheer male possession in his touch, in his low voice. It should be infuriating her, not making her heart flutter with excitement.

“Do you always consider your mistresses as possessions?” she forced herself to demand.

His lips nuzzled the corner of her mouth. “There has never been another like you.”

Her pounding heart came to a perfect halt.

“What do you mean?”

Philippe pulled back to regard her with a brooding expression. “I wish that I knew,” he muttered. “This obsession is not at all convenient. Unfortunately there seems to be nothing to be done but to allow this madness to run its course.”

She stiffened at his less than flattering words. “So I am an inconvenient madness?”

Something rippled over the breathtaking features before he covered her mouth with a stark, relentless kiss. At the same moment he was wrenching the cloak from her body.

Raine shivered, but not from the cold as he ripped off the straps of her shift and, with practiced efficiency, had it pooled about her ankles.

It happened so swiftly that Raine had barely registered the startling realization that she was naked when his hands were skimming up the curve of her waist and cupping the fullness of her breasts.

She gave a small gasp that was swallowed by his devouring kiss. His thumbs rubbed over her hardening nipples, teasing them with a tender urgency that soon had her entire body pulsing with an aching need.

Bloody hell. It was just as wondrous as she remembered. Just as magical.

Philippe had called it obsession. And perhaps that was what it was. A hot, searing obsession that could easily consume her.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth shifted to brand hot, restless kisses over her face.

“
Meu amor,
” he rasped against her skin, “I need to be inside you. I need to feel your heat.”

A distant part of her urged her to deny his demand. He had already blackmailed her into remaining with him regardless of her own desires. To give into this heady passion would only place her more firmly in his power.

That part of her, however sensible, was unfortunately no match for the sharp ache lodged deep within her.

Her hands clutched at his arms as his head lowered to stroke his tongue down the length of her neck. He nuzzled her pounding pulse before his head was dipping even lower and his lips covered the tip of her throbbing nipple.

Raine moaned at the dizzying sensations. It seemed entirely unfair that any man should have the ability to make her melt with such longing. To quiver with a need that was nearly overwhelming.

Especially one she should hate with her last breath.

He suckled her with a tender urgency that was tightening her muscles and making her legs weak. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his hands skated down her heated skin and grasped her hips. Then, without warning, he was turning her around so that she faced the wall.

Caught off guard she swiveled her head to regard him over her shoulder. “Philippe?”

The lean features were tight and bathed with a damp perspiration, as if he were struggling against a mighty force.

“Shh,
meu amor.
” He tossed aside his robe and pressed his body to her back, burying his face in the curve of her neck. “I promise I will please you.”

“But…”

Her words came to a choked halt as his fingers slid down the gentle swell of her stomach and then through her blond curls to discover the dampness between her legs.

“You should never have run from me,
menina pequena.
” He gave a punishing nip on the curve of her shoulder while his finger slid inside her and began to stroke with a slow insistence. “You belong in my arms. In my bed.”

Her head fell back against his shoulder. A delicious pressure was beginning to build within her. Later she would tell him that she belonged to no man. That she was a woman who would always hold her independence dear.

But that would be later, she thought as she felt his hard shaft pressing between her legs. With gentle care he parted her and then with one slow thrust he was buried deep inside her.

Raine sighed as her eyes slid closed.

Yes, it would all have to be much later.

 

T
HEY ENDED UP IN
Raine's bed.

After he had thrust himself to a shuddering release, Philippe had been too intent on continuing his delicious seduction to bother clearing his own bed of the various piles of clothing. It had been far simpler to carry Raine into the connecting chamber and tumble her onto the bed before she could recall that she was supposed to be furious with him.

Now he held her tightly pressed to his body as he attempted to recover from the intense bout of lovemaking.

Meu Deus.
He was a sophisticated man of the world, a man who could claim the most beautiful and talented of lovers. And yet, none but this woman could make him ache for her touch, drown him in heat just by being near.

A satisfied smile touched his lips as he breathed deeply of her sweet scent.

“You fit in my arms as if you were made for me,” he murmured, his hands trailing down the arch of her back. “And perhaps you were. Perhaps you were born to be my mistress.”

She leaned back to glare into his face, the dreamy expression that had softened her beautiful features swiftly hardening with annoyance.

“Do you even realize how bloody arrogant you are?” she snapped. “I might only be the daughter of a poor sailor, but I have worth beyond becoming some man's mistress.”

Philippe gave her bare bottom a pat. “There are many women who would consider becoming my mistress a worthy goal. Certainly I have never lacked for willing females.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “Willing perhaps, but none of them were true ladies.”

Damn, but the woman was a prickly thing.

“I assure you that being a lady has nothing to do with who your parents might be, or whether or not you are my mistress. I have known any number of so-called ladies, not to mention gentlemen, who were not fit for the title.”

She gave a deliberate lift of her brows. “Do you mean, gentlemen like those who would kidnap an innocent young lady?”

He shrugged aside her insult. “You may not possess the proper blood, but you have something most ladies will never be able to claim.”

“And what is that?”

“Loyalty. There is only one other woman I know who would risk everything for those she loved.”

A portion of her annoyance eased as she regarded him with a hint of curiosity. “Who?”

“My mother.” He brushed his fingers over the golden locket about her neck. “She was a woman who was willing to sacrifice her life to save others.”

There was a brief silence as she studied his countenance. “How did she die?”

Philippe felt his muscles stiffen. He never discussed his mother. Not with anyone. But, for some reason he wanted Raine to know of the woman who had molded his life despite the fact he could not even recall her face.

“When the Revolution hit Paris my father insisted that we travel to his estate in Portugal, and then eventually we moved to his home upon Madeira. He could not, however, persuade the rest of my mother's family to abandon their homes. In the end most of them faced the guillotine.”

Her breath caught at his stark words. “How horrid. No wonder you dislike France.”

“I lost fourteen members of my family,” he said in clipped tones that belied the cold fury that gnawed deep in his soul.

She frowned. “But your mother survived?”

“She survived, but she never forgave herself for allowing her family to be slaughtered.”

“She could not have prevented their deaths.”

His lips twisted. “Grief is rarely reasonable.”

Her dark eyes softened in a manner that revealed she was all too familiar with grief.

“No. No, I suppose not.”

Philippe's gaze lowered to the locket that he had found among his mother's belongings. They had been condemned to the attics after her death, as if his father was determined to banish her memory. Or perhaps it was his guilt he hoped to banish.

Whatever the reason, Philippe had spent hours searching through the large trunks, needing to find some means of bonding to the woman who had given birth to him. A bond that was sharply absent from his feckless, irresponsible father and brother.

At last lifting his head, he discovered Raine regarding him with a searching gaze.

“Once it appeared the worse of the terror was at an end my mother insisted on returning to Paris and searching for any members of her family who might still be alive,” he forced himself to continue. “It was the only way that she could make amends with her troubled conscience.”

“She went alone?” Raine demanded in surprise.

Philippe's lips twisted with an age-old disdain. “My father was not going to risk his neck on a fool's errand, as he called it. Although, he is always quick enough to risk it when he thinks it might bring him a bit of fame among his fellow collectors.”