A Daring Passion (6 page)

“Then I shall have to find another means of persuasion,” he said as he lowered his head.

“What do…?” She stiffened in shock as his lips skimmed the line of her jaw. “Oh.”

Philippe closed his eyes as the heat and sweet scent of lilacs washed through him. By God, she was wasted as a thief. She could make a fortune as a courtesan.

Meu Deus,
at this moment he would pay that fortune.

“Such skin,” he whispered, his lips following the long length of her neck. “As perfect as the rarest pearl.”

She gave a small jump as he lightly nipped at the pulse racing at the base of her neck.

“No, you must not.”

His mouth continued its exploration, discovering the swell of her breasts. “Tell me who you are.”

“Raine,” she said on a strangled gasp.

Philippe used his teeth to tug the offending chemise out of his way. “Your real name.”

“That is my real name.” She shivered, but Philippe possessed enough experience to know it was not from fear. “Raine Wimbourne.”

“Raine.” He pulled back to regard the tight rosebud at the tip of her breast. It was already puckered as if pleading for the touch of his mouth. A plea he had no intention of ignoring. “Yes. It suits you.”

“You said if I told you my name you would release me,” she charged.

“You have not told me why you were playing such a dangerous charade.”

“I cannot.”

“Good.” Philippe closed his lips over the hardened nipple, his grip tightening on her wrists as she abruptly arched upward in shocked pleasure.

“Dear God,” she breathed.

Philippe barely noticed her ready response. This was no calculated seduction, no well-rehearsed lovemaking that was designed to captivate his partner while leaving him satisfied, but unaffected.

Far from it. His blood rushed through his veins and his heart pounded with excitement. The woman must be part fey, he decided as he suckled her with a growing insistence. Only some dastardly magic could have set his body on fire with such shocking need.

Any thought of the inappropriateness of seducing some unknown wench in a near-frigid carriage was lost as Philippe pressed his erection against her hip. He wanted to spread her legs and take her with a fierce, pounding passion. He wanted to be so deep inside her that her moist heat surrounded him completely.

Using his teeth and tongue, he mercilessly teased her sensitive flesh. Her soft moans filled the carriage, her head twisting from side to side as if she were battling her rising tide of desire.

“No, I—” she gave a small gasp “—I will confess all.”

Her husky voice was an unwelcome intrusion as Philippe was busily learning the sweet hollow between her breasts.

“Mmm?”

“Stop this and I will tell you the truth.”

Philippe muttered a savage curse as he was forced to pull back and study her flushed face. A portion of his mind might remind him that a confession was precisely what he had desired when he had started this business, but the larger part of him wished she had kept her lips closed. Damn, he had never endured such a brutal need for release.

“Explain,” he at last managed to mutter.

Her dark eyes were stormy. “I am here because of my father.”

Philippe frowned in disbelief. “Your father has forced you to become a highwayman?”

“No, of course not,” she denied. “My father
is
the Knave of Knightsbridge.”

His gaze flicked over her deliciously rumpled form. “So, you are the daughter of a common criminal,” he said, not without some satisfaction.

He would not hesitate to seduce a noblewoman, of course, but her disreputable position did make sure that there would be no complications.

Raine gave a low hiss of fury. “Josiah Wimbourne is no common criminal. He was a hero in the Royal Navy and decorated by the king.” Her tiny chin tilted. “More than that he is a wonderful person who has devoted his life to caring for me and for his neighbors.”

“You have admitted that he is a highwayman.”

“Only because he was desperate to help the poor and the helpless in our village. The people who are forgotten and neglected by everyone but him.”

Philippe was unmoved. He would wager his finest vineyards that the heroic Josiah Wimbourne kept the lion's share of his bounty for his own pleasure.

After all, it was obvious the man had no conscience whatsoever.

“I should think more of his efforts if he didn't willingly risk his own daughter's life for his noble deeds,” he said coldly.

“I assure you that my father argued fiercely against my taking on his role, but we had no choice.” She paused before she grudgingly continued her explanation. “The magistrate was becoming far too suspicious. It was necessary to divert him before he had my father arrested.”

“And so you took on the role?”

“Just until my father could return.”

He gave a slow shake of his head.
Meu Deus,
what other woman would have endangered herself in such a manner?

This Raine Wimbourne was either incredibly loyal or touched in the head.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Almost two months.”

“And you have yet to be caught?” He gave a lift of his brows. “Your magistrate must be a simpleton. Unless, of course, you have bartered those considerable charms to encourage him to overlook your criminal activities? They are certainly tempting enough to make even the most intelligent man toss aside his morals.”

Something very close to hatred smoldered in her dark eyes. “You are repulsive.”

“You did not find me so repulsive a few moments ago,” he was swift to remind her. “Indeed, I have never heard sweeter cries of pleasure.”

“They were cries of disgust, but then I suppose a man who regularly forces himself on unwilling women finds it difficult to distinguish between the two.”

Philippe froze at the deliberate insult. By God, she was a damnable wench. Not a soul would blame him if he
had
forced himself upon her. She was a brazen doxy who had willingly put herself, and her dubious virtue, in danger.

But unlike many gentlemen, he possessed a profound distaste in the thought of bedding an unwilling woman. Why bother when so many were eager to share their bodies? He had done little more than kiss her. And she had enjoyed the experience as well as he had.

He damn well did not appreciate being accused of such infamy.

Pulling back, he glared at her with distaste. “Cover yourself.”

With awkward motions she pulled the coat over her slender form and struggled to sit up. Philippe sternly resisted the urge to rip the coat off her and toss it out the window.

What the devil was the matter with him?

“Will you release me now?” she demanded.

Slipping behind his cool composure, he smoothed his greatcoat and forced his mind to return to the reason that he kidnapped the annoying chit in the first place.

“You say you've been acting the highwayman for the past two months?” he demanded.

She gave a startled blink at his abrupt question. “Yes.”

“Always this road?”

“No. I usually remain closer to Knightsbridge. It is far less dangerous.”

“So this is your first night on the turnpike?”

“Yes.”

He fisted his hands. “Damn.”

A frown tugged at her brows. “Who are you searching for?”

“That is none of your concern.”

Her lips pursed at his aloof reprimand. “Considering you kidnapped me for information on this mysterious person, I would think it very much my business.”

“The only thing that is your business is whether I intend to bed you, beat you or take you to the authorities in London, who will not be so easily seduced as your local magistrate.”

Her eyes widened in startled disbelief. “You cannot take me to London.”

Philippe hid his unease at his impulsive words behind a mask of cool indifference. He hadn't intellectually considered the notion of taking this female to London. Why should he? Not only did she know nothing of the man he was seeking, but this was no time to be distracted by a pretty face and body that would drive a man to insanity.

But now that the words were out of his mouth, Philippe had no urge to take them back.
Why not take her to London?
a devilish voice whispered?

She was clearly in need of a sharp lesson to keep her from endangering herself in such a reckless fashion again. A lesson he sensed would have to be severe enough to overcome that fierce, restless spirit.

And, of course, once he had her suitably settled in his town house he would be at his leisure to explore the strange heat she managed to stir in him. It was…dissatisfying to think of her disappearing before he could actually discover if she could provide the intense pleasure that she promised.

Yes, now that he truly considered the matter, it seemed the most logical of decisions.

Settling back in his seat, he offered her a taunting smile. “And how do you propose to stop me?”

Without warning she scrambled onto the opposite seat, her expressive face revealing precisely what she thought of his options.

“I do not understand why you are doing this. I have told you that I was simply attempting to help those in need. If you possessed any decency at all you would release me.”

“If you seek to touch my heart with your sad tale you are far off the mark,” he drawled.

“Because you have no heart?”

Philippe smiled coldly. Raine Wimbourne was not the first, nor was she destined to be the last, to learn the truth of him.

“No,
tolo pequena,
I have no heart whatsoever.”

R
AINE KNEW THAT SHE MUST
be in shock.

What else could explain her befuddled reaction to this horrid man?

One moment she was furious enough to stick a dagger in his heart, and the next she was quivering with excitement beneath his touch.

Oh, yes. She was honest enough with herself to accept that her body had turned traitor the moment his lips had touched her.

Of course, to be fair, she had to admit that she was singularly untutored when it came to the opposite sex. The convent had been secluded enough that the students never encountered unknown gentlemen. And those who did visit were well into their dotage, and usually priest, as well.

How could she, such an innocent, possibly be expected to remain indifferent to a man who was obviously an expert in the matters of lovemaking?

It was entirely his fault.

Now, however, her temperament had turned firmly back in the direction of a dagger through his heart.

Damn his rotten soul. Was he truly evil enough to carry her off to London and hand her over to the Runners?

She would be tossed into Newgate prison. Perhaps even given to the hangman before a cheering crowd of onlookers.

One glance into the indifferent, painfully perfect countenance assured her that he was more than capable of whatever dastardly deeds might suit his purpose.

A shudder raced through her as she once again turned her thoughts as to how to escape the damnable carriage. Her earlier efforts of distraction had been stunningly unsuccessful, but she could not entirely give up hope of escape.

It simply was not in her nature.

Adjusting the cape to wrap it about her shivering body, she sent her captor a resentful glare.

“If you are to hold me captive, may I at least know your name?”

A shaft of moonlight pooled over the man lounging in the corner of the carriage. In the silver light his dark beauty was almost ethereal. As if he was an angel that had tumbled to earth.

But it was more this man had likely been pushed up from the depths of hell.

“Philippe,” he at last retorted.

Raine frowned at the faint accent. It was odd that she could not place it.

“You are not English.”

“Actually I am part English,” he corrected her smoothly. “My father was half French and half English. My paternal grandmother still resides in Devonshire.”

“And your mother?”

Something flared through his cold green eyes. “French.”

Her frown deepened. “And yet you speak Portuguese?”

“I have spent most of my life in Madeira, although I do try to spend at least a few months each year in London.”

Good Lord, his life seemed complicated. “Which explains your town house.”

“Yes.”

“I suppose you also possess a home in Paris?” she continued dryly.

If possible his expression became even more glacial. “I possess several homes and estates, but none in France.”

“What a grave disappointment that must be for you.”

He shrugged. “Not at all.”

Raine made a rude noise. How casually he spoke of his various homes and estates. As if they were mere trifles that were due a man of his rank.

Of course, men with his arrogance simply took for granted that they should be blessed with such fortune.

“God, but I hate your sort,” she said before wisdom could halt the impulsive words.

There was a startled pause before he gave a lift of his brows. “My sort?”

If she had a trace of sense she would shut her lips and not say another word. The Lord knew that she was in enough trouble as it was. But, she was goaded beyond bearing by the taunting glint in those blasted green eyes.

“Men who believe that because they have a bit of wealth and social position they can go about treating others as if they are no more than rubbish.”

If she thought to wound him then she was doomed to disappointment. Her sharp words did nothing more than bring a smile to his lips.

“Well, that is the point of having wealth and social position, is it not?”

“I haven't the faintest notion,” she hissed.

“Ah, but I believe there is more to you than meets the eye, Miss Wimbourne. Common sailors' daughters do not possess your polished accent, nor do they speak the several languages you claim to know. Could it be you still have not told me the truth?”

Raine frowned, not quite certain how he had so efficiently turned the conversation back on her.

“I was educated in a French convent. I only recently returned to England.”

“And why would a sailor's daughter be schooled in a French convent?”

She tilted her chin at the edge of mockery in his tone. “My mother was the daughter of a successful French sea captain, and it was her wish that I be sent to the same convent that she attended.”

“She is no longer alive?”

“No, she died when I was just a child.”

“As did mine,” he murmured, his voice so low she barely heard the words. Raine stilled as his expression softened with what might have been sorrow, but before she could speak the taunting smile was back with a vengeance. “I suppose it must be difficult for you?”

“Sharing a carriage with you? Yes, extraordinarily difficult.”

His gaze flicked over her with a callous assessment. “I meant being trapped among the rustics. You must be a shimmering diamond among the dross. Such beauty and elegance. Do the local farmers and tradesmen come to worship at your feet?”

Horrid, horrid man.

“Are you always so offensive?”

“Only to those who dare to attack my carriage and point a pistol at my heart.”

Her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap, but she at least possessed the sense not to strike out. He was no doubt the sort who would strike back, even if she was a woman.

“You cannot know how desperately I wish I
had
put a bullet through your heart.”

His smile was suddenly genuine. “Then let this be a lesson to you,
menina pequena,
on the next occasion do not hesitate.”

“Have no fear. I will not so much as blink.”

An unexpected chuckle filled the carriage, flowing down Raine's spine with a delicious warmth.

“So savage, and not at all what one would expect from an English wench,” he murmured in appreciation. “They are usually so dull and bland. But then, what can one expect from such a cold, gray country?”

Raine regarded him warily. She distrusted his heat as much as his ice. Indeed, the heat had proved far more dangerous.

“England is not cold and gray,” she protested as she leaned back in her seat. “And its citizens are certainly not dull.”

“No?”

“No. Especially not those born in Kent. I will have you know that our motto is
Invicta.
”

“Unconquered?” he easily translated.

“Exactly.” A sense of pride flowed through Raine. She had always loved her home. The beauty of the rolling hills and fields. The gentle rivers. The lovely villages with their clapboard cottages and timbered halls. And the hardworking men and women who toiled each day to scrape a living from the earth. “We have produced men such as Wat Tyler and Jack Cade, who raised armies to seek justice for their neighbors. And Nelson himself lived in Chatham.”

“And now, of course, you have the Knave of Knightsbridge.”

“Yes, we do,” she said without the least hint of apology.

“And I have his daughter.”

There was a rap on the carriage window before Raine could reply, not that she knew what she intended to say.

Philippe turned to lower the window and spoke in a low voice to Carlos, who was riding on Raine's beautiful mare beside the carriage. They spoke too low for Raine to catch the words, but she didn't doubt they were plotting something nefarious.

Despicable pair of cads.

With a smooth motion, Philippe closed the window and returned his attention to her angry countenance.

“I suppose your friend has no compunction about kidnapping a young, defenseless woman, either?” she said bitterly.

He tugged a curtain over the window. “At the moment he still believes you to be a young, defenseless lad. I think it best we keep it that way.”

“Why? Does he possess the morals you lack?”

The green eyes narrowed. “Very few, and none when it comes to a beautiful woman who is without the protection of her family. Do I make my meaning clear?”

She swallowed heavily, wishing to heaven this was all just a terrible nightmare that she would wake from.

Unfortunately the large male form consuming far more than his fair share of the carriage was all too real. As was the manner his gaze was straying over her body with increasing frequency.

The fact that his glances were causing the strangest tingles in the pit of her stomach only deepened her anger.

“You call my father a common criminal, but it is you and men like you that are truly evil. I hope someday you get your just rewards.”

His lips twisted, as if he were not entirely pleased with his inner thoughts.

“No doubt I shall, but until my villainous end arrives I intend to enjoy myself thoroughly.” He stretched out his legs and folded his arms over his chest. “Now, I suggest you attempt to get some rest before we reach town. I doubt you will sleep easily once you are tossed into a damp cell.”

With maddening arrogance he closed his eyes, not only ensuring he had the last word, but proving that he wasn't even the least frightened that she might try to harm him, or dare to escape.

She gritted her teeth and spent the remainder of the cold trip fantasizing on the numerous methods of torturing a raven-haired devil.

 

P
HILIPPE PRETENDED SLEEP
until they rattled through the outskirts of London and entered Mayfair. He had purchased his house in Grosvenor Square ten years before, when it had become evident his business would mean remaining in England for at least a few months a year.

It was far too large and elegant for a bachelor, but since many noblemen had decided that it was more fashionable to reside in the newer squares of Portman and Cavendish, he had concluded it was too good a bargain to pass up.

His investment instincts were flawless.

His other instincts, at least at the moment, were open to question.

Glancing across the carriage at the tiny woman who was glaring at him with a murderous intent, Philippe suppressed a sigh. Throughout the tedious journey he had been painfully aware of Raine Wimbourne. Even as he had feigned sleep his senses had been assaulted by her presence. The warm scent of lilacs, the soft sound of her breath, the brush of her slender leg against his own.

It was as if she were branding herself deep into his awareness. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop her.

Only a lifetime of rigid discipline had managed to keep him from reaching out and crushing her in his arms.

Feeling the carriage sway as it descended into Brook's Mews, Philippe straightened and buttoned his coat. He had commanded Carlos to tell Swann to take them directly to the stables. Not only did he dislike disturbing the elderly couple who were the only staff that actually resided in the house, but he had no intention of alerting the neighborhood he had kidnapped a young lady.

It was the sort of thing that was bound to disturb the aging nobles.

Once they pulled to a halt he reached across to grasp the cape that flowed over the seat, and with one smooth motion had it pulled over Raine's head.

“Bloody hell, what are you doing?” she rasped.

Stepping out of the carriage, Philippe reached back to grasp his prisoner about the waist and easily tossed her over his shoulder.

“Do you wish the entire neighborhood to see you entering my town house in the middle of the night?” he demanded.

“Oh, certainly not.” She futilely attempted to kick him. “I would not wish to ruin my reputation before I am hauled off to prison.”

“The night is not yet over,
cara.
Perhaps if you please me enough I will postpone your trip to Newgate.”

“Please you?
Please
you?” she echoed in disbelief. “I intend to kill you.”

“You are welcome to try.” He adjusted her on his shoulder and clamped an arm around her flailing legs. “Now, do be quiet or I will be forced to gag you. Not a bad notion now that I think upon it.” He turned to discover his groom approaching him with a furrowed brow. “Ah, Swann, stable the horses and warn the Hibberts that I will only be staying a day or two and have no wish to officially open the house. Whatever staff they have come during the day will have to do.”