A Daring Passion (39 page)

“Oui, monsieur.”

Striding toward the cottage, Philippe did not spare even a glance toward the woman he held in his arms. It was as if he had forgotten her altogether, Raine acknowledged with a jaundiced glare at his perfect countenance. And perhaps it was for the best. It was better to be forgotten than to be dumped in the rose bushes.

They reached the cottage and, lifting his leg, Philippe kicked open the back door to carry Raine over the threshold.

With a squeak of surprise Madame LaSalle rushed forward, her hands pressed to her ample breasts as she regarded Raine clutched to Philippe's chest.

“Blessed Mary, has there been an accident?”

“We are both well, Madame LaSalle,” Philippe assured the fluttering woman, moving past her with a tight smile. “All we need is a measure of privacy.”

The woman flushed as she gave a small chuckle. “Oh.
Très bien.
”

“Does it please you to embarrass me?” she muttered as they headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

His cold green gaze lowered to meet her mutinous expression. “The only thing that would please me at the moment is to place you over my knee and acquaint your backside with my hand.”

She flinched at his biting tone. “You said you did not strike women.”

“Then I shall have to find some other means of pleasing myself.” He stepped into his rooms and without warning Raine found herself set roughly on her feet. She was still attempting to regain her balance when Philippe moved to the connecting door that led to her chambers and turned the key in the lock. Slipping the key into his pocket, he turned and regarded her with an aloof, unreadable expression. “Take off your clothes.”

Whatever Raine had been expecting it was not this. Pressing her hands to her heaving stomach, she backed toward the center of the room.

“What?”

He put his hands on his hips, his expression icy. “I spoke quite clearly. Take off your clothing.”

“No.” She gave a wild shake of her head. “I will not.”

“Then I will do it for you.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief, but before she could do more than take a few hasty steps backward, he had his arms around her and easily tossed her onto the large bed.

Raine fought him, of course, kicking and scratching as each piece of clothing was roughly ripped from her body. She could not accept that Philippe would force himself on her. Not that it would be force for long, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind. He had only to touch her to make her melt in need. But, to be coerced against her will was no better.

“Brute,” she muttered futilely struggling as he tugged off the last of her garments to leave her stark naked. “Arrogant, loathsome beast.”

Astonishingly he did not join her on the bed. Instead he stood looming over her, a satisfied smile on his lips.

“Now attempt to escape me, Miss Wimbourne,” he challenged.

Raine frowned in puzzlement, a puzzlement that only deepened as he smoothly gathered her clothing from the floor and headed for the door. Without a backward glance he stepped out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him. In the silence Raine heard the key tumble the lock.

He had effectively trapped her in the room, she realized with a vague sense of confusion. With both doors locked her only hope of escape would be the window, and no matter how desperate she might be, she was not about to risk her neck by leaping from such a height. Especially not when she was stuck without a stitch of clothing.

But why?

Did he think she might flee from him in terror? Did he truly believe her to be that cowardly?

Absently, Raine wrapped the covers over her shivering body. Despite the fire that burned with cheery persistence in the grate, she felt chilled to the bone. Only to be expected, she supposed after standing in the damp cemetery for so long. But more than that, she realized that the cold had seeped into her heart.

She had failed. Miserably.

Seurat was captured and convinced that she had betrayed him. Carlos was being commanded to England and obviously in Philippe's bad graces.

And she…

Well, truth be told, she did not know what Philippe intended for her. All she knew was that she had made a mess of the entire situation and she had no one to blame but herself.

Brooding on the disastrous night, Raine felt her heart leap as the lock was turned and Philippe stepped through the door. Closing it behind him, he placed the tray that he held on a low table and then calmly began peeling off his elegant garments.

Raine scooted to a sitting position on the bed, the covers pulled to her chin.

“What are you doing?”

He did not falter as he dealt with the last of his clothing and then strolled across the room with complete indifference to his nudity. Raine did not want to watch, but how could she resist? The play of firelight over the sculpted lines of his body was enough to steal the wits of any woman.

Seemingly unaware of her lingering gaze, he reached to pull on a thick robe and tied it firmly about his waist as he returned to the table and plucked the napkin from the tray.

“First I intend to enjoy the dinner that you so rudely interrupted.”

Raine gritted her teeth, telling herself that she was not the least disappointed that he had was not eagerly leaping into the bed beside her.

“If your dinner was interrupted, the blame is your own,” she said, her tone peevish even to her own ears. “I certainly did not seek your presence.”

He held her gaze as he ate a portion of the ham. “No, I do not suppose you did. Tell me,
meu amor,
what did you hope to accomplish with your little ploy?”

Her lips thinned as she pointed to the parchment that had fallen to the floor while he had so efficiently stripped her of her clothing.

“That.”

He gave a lift of his brows as he continued to consume the large amount of food piled on his plate.

“What is it?”

Her temper stirred at his obvious indifference. “It is a confession from Seurat that is signed by a priest. If you had not interfered, my
little ploy
would have rescued Jean-Pierre without all this fuss.”

He wiped his hands on a napkin and reached for his glass of wine. “By this fuss I presume you mean Seurat's well-deserved punishment?”

“I believe he has been punished enough.”

The green eyes darkened to reveal he was not as composed as he would have her believe.

“But it was not your decision to make,” he reminded her in a cold voice. “You knew that I would not approve of your absurd plan. That is, after all, why you chose to turn to Carlos for assistance, is it not?”

She unconsciously dampened her dry lips. “I thought it best for everyone involved.”

“Best?” He moved to tower over the bed. Instinctively, Raine burrowed deeper into the pillows behind her. “You thought it for the best to offer the enemy that I have sought for months my own fortune to allow him to escape?”

“It was not your fortune.” She clutched the blankets even tighter. “The money came from the necklaces that you gave to me.”

“Necklaces that you refused to accept, if you will recall,
meu amor,
” he drawled with a humorless smile.

She bit her bottom lip, eying him warily. It was unnerving to realize that she had not the least notion of what was going on behind that aloof expression.

“Is that why you are angry? Because I sold the necklaces?”

His body stiffened, but his expression did not alter. His command was strangely frightening.

“It no longer matters. Seurat will soon be in the king's hands and Jean-Pierre will be released. Your betrayal has at least brought an end to the bastard.”

Her eyes widened. Not only at his callous dismissal of Seurat, but at his blunt accusation.

“I did not betray you.”

“No?”

“No.” She forced herself to meet his searing gaze. “I told you that I was hoping to halt Seurat's revenge and bring an end to your need to destroy him. Even if you will not admit the truth, you must know deep in your heart that the blame of this horrid situation belongs on your father's shoulders. You seek to punish the wrong man.”

“I shall punish whomever I desire,” he warned.

“Even if it is wrong?”

He made a sound deep in his throat as he turned and paced toward the fireplace. She did not need to read his mind to realize he was annoyed by her refusal to meekly accept his verdict of Seurat's guilt.

“You seek to be my conscience?” he demanded.

“It would seem that someone needs to be.”

“Enough, Raine,” he growled. “I have no desire to speak of Seurat. Instead we shall concentrate on what I am to do with you.”

Her mouth was suddenly dry as she realized what was coming. This was it. He was going to inform her that he was done with her.

She told herself that she was relieved. At last she could return to her father and the life he had stolen from her. These brief days of madness would soon become nothing more than a distant dream.

Somehow the words did not lighten the heaviness that tugged at her heart, but she managed a stiff smile as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“You have accomplished what you desired in Paris,” she said in a voice that thankfully did not shake. “I assume that you will be returning to Madeira.”

“On the morrow.”

Her fingers clutched the covers. “So soon?”

“There is no need to delay, and I will admit that I am anxious to be home.”

“Then it is perfectly obvious what is to be done with me.”

A strange smile touched his lips as he moved back to the bed. “I am relieved that you agree,
meu amor.
I feared that you might foolishly attempt to battle the inevitable.”

She smiled wryly. He would, of course, be arrogant enough to assume she would plead to stay at his side. Had he ever possessed a mistress who was not anxious to keep him as a lover?

Well, if he expected such nonsense from her, he was destined to be disappointed.

She managed to tilt her chin to a proud angle. “I only ask one favor of you.”

He quirked a dark brow. “And what is that?

“I ask that you offer me sufficient funds so that I can return to England in at least some comfort.”

“Ah.” With an unexpected motion he shifted to sit on the bed next to her. “I fear that will not be possible.”

Raine glared into the impossibly handsome features.

“You promised that you would see that I was returned to England in safety.”

“And so you shall be…in time,” he drawled sardonically. “My business demands that I spend at least part of the Season in London. And no doubt you will wish to visit your father while we are there.”

“Visit?” Her frown only deepened. “I do not understand.”

He shrugged, his expression revealing nothing of his inner thoughts. “I cannot imagine why. It all seems rather straightforward to me.”

“You said you were going to Madeira.”

“And so we are,
meu amor.
Indeed, we will travel straight to the island in just a few hours. I have already spoken to my groom to assure we have a carriage awaiting us at first light.”

She straightened from the pillows, her jaw clenched. He intended to take her to his home? No. As painful as it might be to have Philippe walk away from her, it was preferable to being dragged to Madeira.

Gad, did he not realize how humiliating it would be to endure the disdain of the servants and villagers who had known him since he was a small lad? To live in the home that would someday be filled with his children?

“No, Philippe, I will not go to your estate,” she said, her expression set in determined lines. “It is not proper.”

He slowly shifted, his arms landing on each side of her body to trap her beneath the covers. He was close enough that his breath brushed her cheek and the scent of his warm body wrapped her in its potent force.

“You are wrong. Nothing could be more proper. It is where you belong.”

“A mistress does not reside beneath her lover's roof.”

“No,” he whispered, his eyes watching her with a strange intensity, “but a wife most certainly resides with her husband.”

Shocked silence filled the room as Raine struggled to accept that she had not misheard the low words.

“Good Lord,” she rasped, pressing herself into the pillows, “you've gone mad.”

His lips twisted as he stroked a finger down her flushed cheek. “We have already established that is a distinct possibility, but that does not alter the fact that I intend to make you my bride as soon as we return to Madeira.”