His gaze narrowed. So the girl was no peasant. A knowledge that did nothing to ease the burning in the pit of his stomach.
“Then choose one of those numerous languages and explain to me what the hell you are doing here.”
“Will it halt you from behaving like a lunatic?”
His fingers tightened. “Now.”
There was a brief pause before she licked her lips. Philippe ignored the burst of awareness the unconscious gesture sent ricocheting through his body. Those damnable lips would not distract him. Not when he was certain that she was about to tell him a lie.
“This was nothing more than a lark.”
“A lark?”
“My friends and I thought it would be amusing to see if one of us could masquerade as the notorious Knave of Knightsbridge.”
“And who, pray, is the Knave of Knightsbridge?” he demanded in a lethally soft voice.
“A highwayman who has become something of a local legend.” Her lashes lowered to hide her expressive eyes. “The stories of his tedious escapades are repeated so often that my friends and I decided that we should prove his dastardly deeds were not so difficult to accomplish.”
“I see.” He studied the delicate features. “And it did not occur to you that this charade might lead to a bullet through your heart? Or at the very least the destruction of your reputation?”
“I realize now it was a stupid folly. But we meant no harm.”
Philippe deliberately paused, allowing her a brief moment of hope before dashing it with a sharp laugh.
“You really are quite accomplished, you know.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The lies tumble from your lips with remarkable ease. I can only presume you are a local actress or a reprehensible hoyden who has a talent for falsehoods.”
Her lips tightened, her dark eyes flashing in the shadows. “You asked me to explain my presence here and I have done so, now, I insist that you release me.”
“Insist?” He gave a lift of his brow. “You are in no position to insist upon anything, querida.”
“You cannot hold me against my will.”
“I can do whatever the hell I please with you.” His gaze lowered to the delicate curve of her throat before roaming down to the tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. The urge to taste of that soft flesh hit him with a force that had him clenching his teeth. “An intriguing notion, is it not?”
Her eyes widened as the air filled with a prickling awareness that she could not fail to sense.
“You are no gentleman.”
He had never felt less a gentleman than at this moment, he accepted with a flare of unease. The things he longed to do to that soft, slender body were more fitting for a randy dockhand.
Fiercely, he turned his thoughts to more important matters. “No, I am a man who is accustomed to doing precisely as he pleases, and one who will halt at nothing to have his way,” he warned. “A knowledge you would do well to bear in mind. I have no compunction in making you suffer if you do not tell me the truth.”
A mutinous expression settled on the beautiful features. “You intend to beat me?”
“If necessary.”
“Fine. You can beat me all you desire. I will not tell you anything.”
Philippe did not doubt her sincerity. She was clearly a chit who possessed none of the usual female sensibilities. A woman prepared to take any outrageous challenge, no matter what the consequences.
A fact that might have inspired his admiration, if her audacious courage had not led her to assault his carriage. He possessed too much pride to easily forgive being treated as a common pigeon waiting to be plucked.
Of course, he had no intention of taking a whip to the ivory skin. It would be a sin against all that was holy. Oh, no. He had a far more pleasant sort of torture in store for this lovely criminal.
“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 t
o 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.”
CHAPTER FOUR
RAINE 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 gra
ndmother 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.”
A Daring Passion Page 5
