A Daring Passion (12 page)

Soon she would be on her horse and leaving London and Philippe Gautier far behind.

The damnable man would discover not to trifle with Miss Raine Wimbourne.

A
S ARRANGED
, S
WANN WAS
waiting with Philippe's carriage near St. Paul's. Commanding his groom to take them to the Cock and Bull near the docks, Philippe climbed in to discover Carlos sprawled in the corner, fast asleep.

Philippe did not disturb his companion as he settled on the leather seat. He needed to consider what he had been told and what his next steps should be.

Unfortunately his treacherous thoughts refused to obey his stern commands. Rather than focusing on his brother and the man who was determined to destroy him, his mind was instead consumed with the thought of a small, pale face and pair of flashing dark eyes that made him smolder with desire.

Raine was no doubt furious with him, he wryly conceded. She possessed far too much pride and spirit to easily accept her captivity.

Still, he did not doubt that he would soon be able to coax her from her ill humor. Perhaps he would stop by a jewelers on the way back to his house. A sparkling bauble always managed to smooth even the most ruffled feathers.

He was just at the point of debating between diamond earrings and a ruby bracelet when Carlos stirred and opened his eyes to narrow slits.

“Judging by the smell of the streets I can assume we are not returning to Mayfair for a hot bath and hearty breakfast?”

“We are headed to the docks.”

“Ah, what could be finer than strolling the docks on an empty stomach?”

Philippe smiled. “I have been informed that there was a Frenchman who was recently boasting of his intent to release an Egyptian curse at a pub known as the Cock and Bull.”

Carlos was abruptly straightening as he regarded Philippe with a hint of surprise.

“Egypt again.”

“Precisely.”

“A strange choice of words, but not any real evidence,” Carlos warned.

Philippe had already determined that a handful of drunken words spoken in a seedy pub were not enough to clear his brother.

“No, no tangible evidence, but it gives me a place to begin my search for the damnable villain.”

Carlos considered for a long moment before glancing out the window. “From what I know of the Cock and Bull you won't find many willing to speak to a man of your pedigree. Sailors in the whole have little use for fribbles and fops.”

Philippe gave a lift of his brows. “Why else do you suppose I brought you along?”

Carlos flashed his white teeth. “I assumed it was for the charm of my company.” The carriage began to slow and Carlos bent to grasp the bag he had tossed on the floor. He rummaged through it until he pulled out a threadbare wool coat and battered hat. Pulling them on, he was pushing open the door before the carriage came to a full halt. “Remain here, I will find someone who can help us.”

Philippe reached out to grasp his arm before his friend could disembark. “Take care, Carlos. If you are seen it will be known that I am in London.”

“No one will recognize me,
amigo.
Not unless I wish them to.”

Philippe abruptly grimaced. “Must you smell like rotting fish?”

“That,
amigo,
is the smell of money to men on the dock,” Carlos informed him as he vaulted to the street and turned to send Philippe one last glance. “Try not to kidnap any of the pickpockets while I am gone. I think one filthy urchin a week is enough.”

Philippe chuckled as his friend disappeared into the back of the nearest building.

Ah, if Carlos only knew…

Leaning back in his seat Philippe once again found his thoughts turning to Raine Wimbourne. He had yet to discover the reason she affected him with such a strange power. And in truth, he was not certain if he wished to consider it too deeply.

For now she made him feel something beyond duty and endless responsibility, and that was enough.

Lost in thought, Philippe paid no heed to the passing time and it came as something of a surprise when the door to the carriage was opened and Carlos stuck his head inside.

“I have brought someone I believe may be of assistance,” he said before he stepped back and helped a short, squat woman with a plain face and voluminous gown into the carriage. “This is Dolly.”

“Dolly?” With a vague sense of confusion Philippe helped the woman to take a seat opposite him. Carlos had said the name as if he should recognize the woman. Stupid, considering he possessed a distinct distaste in rubbing elbows with commoners. Then a niggling memory tugged at the edge of his mind. Of course. He regarded the rather plain woman with a renewed interest. “Ah, Dolly. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The woman flushed with pleasure. “Get on with you, sir. As if a fancy gent such as yerself would be pleased to meet a mere fishwife.”

He smiled wryly. As a businessman he made it a priority to keep track of any unusual happenings that might threaten or disrupt his fleet of ships that traveled throughout the world. There wasn't a major port that did not have at least a few agents on his payroll.

He had heard of this woman and her crafty ability to hide reluctant lads from the nefarious press-gangs. It was rumored that she went so far as to hide the hapless boys beneath the folds of her skirts when necessary.

Philippe admired ingenuity in anyone, whether they were male or female.

“Ah, but you are not a mere fishwife,” he murmured. “Your reputation is known far and wide.”

A twinkle entered the rather muddy-brown eyes. “Let us hope not too far and wide, eh, sir?”

“Indeed.”

She briskly squared her shoulders. “Now, yer handsome friend was saying that you were in need of information?”

“Yes. I will be happy to pay.”

“Well, don't be thinking I'm too good to be taking yer blunt. 'Tis always needed in this place.”

“I would not have it any other way.”

Philippe slid his hand into his jacket to retrieve the purse he had received from Carlos earlier that morning. At the same moment he smoothed over the hidden pocket he always had sewn into his jackets. His heart gave a stutter as he realized that he had forgotten to collect his mother's locket from the jacket that he had left in the nursery.

It was an unheard-of slip.

He had carried the locket every day of his life since he had found it in his mother's possessions when he was just ten. Never in the past twenty-one years had he ever forgotten it.

Which made the fact that he had done so this morning seem far more significant than it perhaps should be.

“Sir? Is anything the matter?” Dolly demanded with a growing frown.

“No.” Philippe gave a determined shake of his head and pressed several coins into her hand. “Nothing is the matter.”

Wise enough not to pry, Dolly efficiently tucked away the coins. “Then let us get to brass tacks before someone takes more than a passing interest in such a fine carriage. Carlos said that yer looking for a Frenchman.”

“Unfortunately, that is true.”

“I have heard that you possess an unnatural dislike of your countrymen,” the woman said, proving that she not only knew his identity, but his reputation. Good. It would make certain she would not be foolish enough to reveal this secret meeting. No one who had heard the rumors of his ruthless character would ever dare to cross his will. “Not that I can blame you. Nasty creatures, the French.”

“'Tis not so much dislike as indifference. I may have been born in France, but my home is in Madeira.”

“And so you owe yer loyalty to the House of Bragnaca?”

He gave a faint shrug. “I am a businessman. My loyalty belongs to whoever is likely to offer me the most profit.”

She gave a sudden laugh. “A gent with intelligence. A rare combination. I shall keep my eye on you, sir. I've a sense you'll be going far.”

“No doubt straight to hell,” Philippe said dryly.

“Oh, aye. In time.” She did not seem particularly concerned about his imminent trip to the fiery depths of the netherworld, but then neither was Philippe. “Now, about this Frenchman. He was at the Cock and Bull near three weeks ago.”

Philippe leaned forward. “What did he look like?”

“A small, slight man with gray hair that was thin on top. He was dressed in plain, good wool and carried an ebony cane. There was a scar here…” Dolly lifted her hand to point at the edge of her right brow. “It ran down his cheek.”

Philippe froze as the memory of a stranger who had so unexpectedly arrived at their estate in Madeira rose to mind. Philippe had been young, no more than eleven or twelve when the man had forced his way past the servants and began to storm through the house, demanding the return of his property. Watching from the staircase, Philippe had listened as the demented stranger had threatened to kill Louis Gautier if he did not give him the precious artifacts discovered in the tomb of the Egyptian prince. Whether or not he would have carried out the threat went unknown as Louis had pulled a dagger from his boot and sliced the stranger from his brow to the edge of his mouth.

A terrible wound that exactly matched the scar that Dolly described.

A cold flare of satisfaction raced through him. “That is the man I seek. Did you catch a name?”

“One of the sailors called him Seurat.”

“Seurat.” He tested the unfamiliar name. Louis had sworn over the years that he had no notion who the stranger might be, or why he had been so determined to claim the artifacts as his own, but he had never quite given up his fear that the madman might return. A fear that was obviously well founded. “Was anyone with him?”

“Nay. He came by himself.”

“Did he speak to anyone in particular?”

Dolly gave a firm shake of her head. “Sat in a corner and drank his self senseless three nights running. Occasionally he would talk to himself loud enough to disturb the other customers.”

Damn. Philippe clenched his teeth. He had hoped that there might be someone in London who could give him a clue to Seurat's eventual destination.

“Have you seen him since?”

“Nay. He has not been near the docks.”

It was what Philippe had expected. The villain would hardly be considerate enough to hang about to be captured. Still, he could not deny a flare of disappointment.

“Thank you, Dolly. I will remember your assistance.”

The woman gave a nod of her head as she rose and awkwardly climbed out of the carriage. Once on the street she turned back to regard Philippe with a somber expression.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Most folk around here have some sort of trouble or sickness, but this Seurat…”

“What about him?”

“He was sicker than most.”

Philippe frowned. “He has an illness?”

“Up here.” She tapped a finger to her temple. “There is something queer in his attic. He's a dangerous man. A desperate man.”

“I will keep that in mind,” he murmured.

She gave a brisk nod before she walked away and Carlos took her place. Entering the carriage, the large man took his seat and banged the roof to send Swann on his way.

“Well?” he demanded with a hint of impatience.

Philippe shrugged. “Not much more than a name. Seurat. And the fact he has not been seen near the docks for the past three weeks.”

“You think it his true name?”

“He was foxed when he uttered it, so yes, I think it probable that is his true name.”

Carlos crossed his arms over his chest. “Then the hunt is on”.

R
AINE KEPT TO THE LESS
traveled streets as she made her way from London, inwardly cursing her father's crimson cape and hat that drew far too much attention.

Thankfully it was still too early in the day for any members of society to be about, and the horde of servants, tradesmen and merchants who clogged the streets were far too busy to have time for more than a startled glance before hurrying on their way.

Eventually, she managed to fumble her way through the maze of neighborhoods until she was on the road home. A stroke of fortune, since she had begun to fear she was going to devote the entire day to going in circles.

Her brief spate of good luck, however, turned once she was past Blackheath. Without any buildings to block the biting wind and occasional snowflakes, she soon discovered she was not dressed nearly warmly enough. Even riding low to the saddle she was frozen to the very bone within a few moments.

Her discomfort only intensified over the next two hours as her stomach began to cramp with hunger and a pain began to throb behind her temples. Even worse, she discovered that her night of illicit passion had made her tender in places that a young lady should not be tender.

All in all it was proving to be an unpleasant journey, she decided grimly.

Lowering her head, Raine forced herself to keep going forward. She did not know when Philippe would return to his town house, but she wanted to make sure she was far, far away before he discovered that she had escaped.