A Daring Passion (29 page)

“Do not worry, Gautier, I will call in my marker when it is convenient,” Belfleur promised. “Ah, before I forget, I hope your woman properly rewarded you for your generous gifts?”

“Oh, yes, I was certainly rewarded.” Philippe gave a short laugh as he turned and headed for the door. “I assure you, it was a lesson I shall not soon forget.”

R
AINE RESTLESSLY PACED
the cottage after Philippe's abrupt departure. Lud, the man was without doubt the most arrogant, unreasonable, perverse…jackass ever to walk the earth.

Would he ever accept that she might be more than a pretty bauble that he could keep or toss aside on a whim? That she might possess hopes and dreams of her own?

Of course not.

Philippe might be prepared to pacify her with gaudy jewelry and pretty gowns. After all, it took no more than handing over a wad of bank drafts. There was no danger he might have to actually offer something of himself.

Only a gentleman who cared would concern himself with her true happiness.

And Philippe did not want to care. Not for anyone.

Ridiculously depressed by her dark thoughts, Raine entered the drawing room and stood before the fire. She needed something to distract her, but the cottage was empty of diversions. There were no books to tempt her, no needlework, no duties that needed to be attended.

It was really rather ironic, she acknowledged. She had escaped the confines of one tedious cottage only to be confined to another.

Although the cottage in Knightsbridge did not possess an irritating, ruthless, thoroughly delectable lover who filled her nights with sinful pleasure.

Heat tingled over her skin and her lower body clenched in anticipation. Just the thought of being in Philippe's arms was enough to make her heart flutter.

Because she was a weak, ridiculous idiot, she told herself sternly.

She was swallowing a sigh when the faint scrape of the door being pushed open had her spinning around. Expecting Philippe, Raine froze at the sight of the stranger who slipped into the room.

He was not a large man. Indeed, he stood only a few inches taller than her, and despite the heavy black coat it was obvious his body was far too thin. With a knit hat pulled low and a muffler wrapped around the lower portion of his face, it was impossible to determine more than a thin countenance with a pair of pale eyes and a pointed nose. At a glance he did not appear remarkably dangerous. Not unless one noted the hectic glitter in his small eyes.

Or the heavy pistol he took from his pocket to point directly at Raine's heart.

“If you scream for help I will shoot whoever comes through the door to rescue you,” he warned in heavily accented English.

Panic flared through Raine before she was grimly thrusting it aside. This had to be Seurat. Who else would be so daring as to break into the cottage while the household was still awake? And if he was as truly demented as they suspected, she would need her every wit clear and sharp.

She licked her dry lips, just for a moment desperately wishing that Philippe was near enough to come rushing to her rescue. This tiny, emaciated man would be no match for Philippe's lean, fluid strength.

Then she was giving an unconscious shake of her head.

What was she thinking? Having Philippe here would be nothing short of a disaster. No matter what his strength he was not capable of dodging a bullet. And he was just stubborn enough to try to capture the desperate man regardless of the danger.

Striving for calm, Raine folded her hands before her and squarely met the disturbing intensity of the man's glare.

“I presume you must be the mysterious Seurat?” she said in conversational tones.

The man appeared caught off guard, but whether it was her lack of terror at his sudden appearance or the fact that she had recognized him, was impossible to say.

“Who I am is of no importance,” he at last growled.

Raine kept her gaze deliberately from straying to the gun still pointed at her heart, as if by ignoring the lethal object it had no power to hurt her. Foolish, perhaps, but it was the only means to keep her dubious courage intact.

“If you are searching for Philippe, I fear he is not here.”

“I know, I watched him leave.”

Her heart gave a painful squeeze. He knew that Philippe was not here and yet he still had entered. Which meant he had deliberately desired to find her alone.

“What…?” She was forced to take a deep breath before she could continue. “What do you want?”

A violent tremor wrenched through his small body. “I want what has been taken from me, but for now you will do.”

“Me?” Her voice was thick but thankfully steady. “I have nothing to offer you.”

“On the contrary, you can offer me more than I dared to hope for.”

“And what is that?”

“With you my revenge shall be one step closer.”

Raine covertly backed nearer to the fireplace. There was a heavy candlestick on the mantel that she could use as a weapon. Not that it would halt a bullet if he decided to shoot her, but if he had other ghastly plans on his mind she could at least put up a decent fight.

“What could I possibly have to do with your revenge?” she demanded. “From my understanding, your quarrel is with the elder Monsieur Gautier, a gentleman I have never even met.”

His pale eyes flashed with a dangerous fury. “My revenge will be visited upon the entire Gautier family, beginning with Jean-Pierre and ending with Louis.”

Raine shivered at the shrill edge to his voice. Madness, indeed.

“I still do not understand what I have to do with this nasty business. I am not a member of the family.”

“Perhaps not, but Philippe is besotted with you.”

Even terrified Raine could not stop the sharp laugh. “You are mistaken, sir. I am just a woman who is currently sharing Philippe's house. Soon enough I will be replaced by another.”

He gave a jerky shake of his head. “No, I have seen you together. I have seen how he looks at you.”

“And how does he look at me?”

“As if you are a precious treasure that he fears might slip from his grasp. To lose you would wound him more deeply than any reprisal I can devise.”

Bloody hell, the man truly was delusional if he thought Philippe looked at her as anything beyond a temporary convenience.

“I still do not understand what you want from me.”

Seurat gave a dangerous wave of the gun. “I need you to come with me.”

Her eyes widened in horror. Allow herself to be carried off by this madman to God knew where? Oh, no. She might be naive, but she possessed enough sense to know that was a very bad notion.

“I will not.”

With a low hiss he moved to stand directly before her, the sour smell of his desperation hitting Raine with a sickening force.

“You are in no position to argue with me.”

“Do you intend to shoot me?”

“If necessary.”

“Then shoot.” Her chin tilted. She would rather a clean death as opposed to whatever evil the man was plotting. “I will not go with you.”

“I had hoped we could be civilized, but…”

Her heart lodged in her throat as the hand holding the gun slowly lifted higher. Bloody hell, he was going to shoot her in the head. The thought had barely registered when his hand astonishingly flashed forward and the butt of the weapon connected with her chin.

Darkness engulfed her and, without so much as a sigh, she slid to the ground.

 

A
N ICY RAIN HAD BEGUN
to fall by the time Philippe and Carlos arrived at the cottage. In silence they rubbed down their mounts before handing them over to the sleepy stable boy. They had already discussed what Philippe had discovered from Belfleur and made their plans for continuing their hunt when dawn arrived. Now, as they left the stables and entered the garden, Carlos found his feet slowing to a halt.

The cottage slumbered silently before them, the windows glowing with the promise of warmth. The thought of a hot bath and bottle of brandy was tempting. The night had started off cold and was becoming steadily more miserable. To remove his wet clothing and warm his chilled body seemed nothing short of paradise.

But even as he shivered at the cutting wind, a flare of restlessness was smoldering in the pit of his stomach.

He did not want to return to his solitary chambers. Not with the knowledge that just down the hall Philippe would be climbing into bed next to Raine.

Meu Deus.
The thought was enough to make his jaws clench and his chest tight. The golden-haired beauty was crawling beneath his skin in a manner he never before experienced. Perhaps it was the mere knowledge that she was forbidden fruit. Or perhaps it was something more. Something he did not even want to consider. Whatever the cause, he knew that he was in dire need of a distraction.

It was that or doing something that he might very well regret the rest of his days.

“Carlos?”

Realizing that Philippe had stopped to regard him with a frown, Carlos gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Go in without me.”

“Is something the matter?”

“I intend to have a smoke and then perhaps I will wander down to the local pub.”

Philippe tensed, his expression impossible to read in the darkness. “It is a cold night for a walk.”

Carlos pulled a cheroot from his pocket. “I have endured worse.”

“The citizens are bound to be a tedious lot.”

“There is always some amusement to be found.”

Philippe instinctively reached out his hand. “Carlos…”

Stepping swiftly backward, Carlos avoided the gesture of what could only be pity.

“Just go, Philippe,” he growled in a rough tone.

There was a pause before Philippe at last gave a nod of his head. “As you wish.”

Carlos watched his friend disappear into the cottage before he sought the protection of the nearby grotto and searched for his flint. It took several tries before he had the cheroot lit, but at last he breathed in deeply of the rich tobacco.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt his tense muscles begin to ease. A sardonic smile even tugged at the edges of his mouth.

This might all be brilliantly amusing if he were not the one standing in the freezing rain, he acknowledged wryly. After all, he was a near legend for his smooth ability to seduce a pretty maid, regardless of whether or not she was attached to another. He had crawled through the windows of countless wives, stolen away nights with betrothed maidens and dodged more than one bullet from a jealous lover.

Hell, he had bedded a bride the night before her wedding.

Perhaps this was all poetic justice.

He dropped the cheroot and ground it beneath his heel before he gathered his coat about him. It was time to find a warm, willing female and rid himself of the aching frustration.

He had managed to take a step toward the side gate when there was an unmistakable roar from the cottage, followed by a loud crash.

Without missing a beat, Carlos had pulled his pistol from his pocket and was sprinting to the cottage. He charged through the back door and headed directly up the stairs, where he could still hear the sounds of destruction.

Had Philippe walked into a clever trap? Or had he stumbled across some villain who had not expected them to return so swiftly?

Carlos was prepared for any sort of danger as he vaulted into the drawing room, only to skid to a stop at the sight of Philippe prowling through the room tossing vases, dishes and figurines. For a moment, Carlos stared at his friend in amazement, wondering if he had lost his wits, and then with a shake of his head he moved forward to grasp the crazed man by his shoulders.

“Philippe, what is it?” With a growl Philippe attempted to wrench himself from Carlos's grim hold and Carlos gave him a sharp shake. “Tell me. What has happened?”

For a moment Philippe continued to struggle, and then without warning he grasped Carlos by the lapels of his coat and nearly lifted him off the floor.

“I will kill him,” he swore, his face dangerously pale. “I will squeeze the life from him. I will rip out his heart and shove it down his throat.”

A cold dread clenched Carlos's heart. “Is it Seurat? Has he done something? Dammit, Philippe, talk to me.”

Half expecting the distracted Philippe to throw him across the room, Carlos was unprepared when the man abruptly released him and sank to his knees, his hands covering his face.

“He has taken her,” he said in a harsh voice.

The coldness spread through Carlos as his gaze caught sight of the crumpled note in the center of the carpet. Feeling almost numb, he moved to pluck it from the floor and smoothed it open.

Fury, black and unrelenting, raced through Carlos's veins. Raine.
Meu Deus.
She was so tiny, so fragile. To be at the mercy of some demented monster…

“Bastardo,”
he hissed, his thoughts a tangled mess as he paced the room and imagined the numerous and bloody ways he intended to murder Seurat.