A Daring Passion

by Rosemary Rogers

  That aloof coldness she so detested hardened his features. “As it so happens, making a profit does please me.”

  “And you are never impulsive? Never impetuous?”

  His green eyes glittered like chips of emerald beneath the pale winter sun. “Impulsive is merely a pretty word for those who are rash and irresponsible. Not all of us have the luxury of ignoring our duties.”

  A pang of guilt shot through Raine’s tender heart. This man had not only lost his mother when he was still but a babe, but he had been forced to bear the entire weight of his feckless family. Perhaps it was not so surprising he wrapped himself in a cloak of impenetrable solitude.

  “Do you resent your father and brother?” she asked before she could stop the words.

  “What I resent is being kept in the freezing air while you indulge in your ridiculous inquisition. I, for one, would prefer to spend my time in a warm bath.”

  Without waiting for her response, Philippe was striding toward the back door, his posture rigid and his shoulders tight with annoyance.

  Raine heaved a sigh before trailing behind him.

  She had desired an adventure that would lead her far from the dull tedium of her life.

  She would have to be far more careful of what she wished for in the future.

  PHILIPPE’S MOOD WAS STILL dark when he left the cottage to make his way to Paris later that evening.

  It was unlike him to allow himself to be goaded by another’s opinion of him. Especially a mere chit’s opinion. After all, most people thought of him as a coldhearted bastard who took no pleasure in the world beyond making a profit.

  And in some respects they would not be wrong.

  But the notion that Raine found him lacking because he could not behave as some frivolous, worthless dandy made his gut twist with anger.

  For God’s sake, her father might very well send them both to the gallows with his reckless behavior, and yet she clearly loved him with an unwavering loyalty. Is that what she desired? A man who would risk her life for a mere lark?

  Not that it mattered what she preferred, he acknowledged with a flare of determination. For the moment she belonged to him. And nothing would change that until he decided it was over.

  Weaving his mount through the heavy traffic, Philippe at last arrived at the Palais-Royal. He shook his head at the rather grim shoddiness that was beginning to claim the once majestic buildings and halted his horse before the Grand Vefour.

  Although Paris would always have its share of cafés and coffeehouses, the elegant restaurants that were beginning to sprout up around the city had captured the approval of even the most discerning Parisians.

  It was at this particular restaurant that Philippe had been assured he would discover Lord Frankford, a minor English diplomat who would never possess the skill or drive to make his name among the great politicians. He did, however, have one remarkable talent.

  There would not be a scrap of gossip in all the city that had escaped his attention.

  Entering the restaurant, Philippe handed his coat and hat to the uniformed waiter and allowed his gaze to roam over the smoky interior.

  Like most of the aging buildings there remained remnants of the Ancient Régime. Not that Philippe disliked the elegance of the painted walls and ceilings, or the mirrors that reflected the various diners. It was certainly preferable to the dark, damp and congested taprooms in England.

  It took only a few moments to spot his prey seated at a corner table, and ignoring the speculative glances of the other guests, Philippe made his way through the room to take a seat opposite the rotund gentleman with a rapidly balding head and ruddy features of a true Englishman.

  Glancing up from his plate of oysters, Frankford widened his eyes in shock.

  “Good God. Is that you, Gautier?”

  “For my sins,” Philippe drawled. “I hope you are well, Frankford?”

  The man took a deep sip of his Bordeaux. “Well enough.”

  “And your wife?”

  “Thankfully in England for the time being.” Frankford gave a grunt as he wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “I have found marriage much easier to bear when we reside in different countries.”

  Philippe smiled. “A sentiment shared by many men, which is precisely why I have never bothered to wed.”

  “Always knew you were an intelligent chap.” Frankford settled back in his chair and folded his arms over his remarkably large belly. “Still, never thought to see you here. The last time I invited you to visit you claimed the entire city should be burned to the ground.”

  “I still believe that it could be greatly improved by a match and bit of kindling, but there are occasions when one cannot avoid traveling through the area.”

  “So you are not remaining?” Frankford demanded.

  “That depends.” Philippe stretched out his legs as his gaze casually turned toward the nearby window. “I believe I might be convinced to linger a few days.”

  “Ah, you have stumbled into some sweet business deal, have you not?” Frankford sighed in resignation. “I swear, I do not know how you do it. You must be some damnable Midas.”

  Philippe returned his attention to the round countenance. “Actually, my business is of a more personal nature.”

  “You don’t say.” There was a moment of puzzlement before Frankford was giving a choked cough. “By God, you do not mean a woman?”

  Philippe arched his brows. “Why does that surprise you?”

  “I have never known you to chase after the skirts. And why should you?” Frankford shook his head. “Lud, I’ve never seen so many women making fools of themselves as when you first arrived in London. An embarrassing spectacle, if you ask me.”

  It had been a damn sight more than embarrassing, Philippe silently conceded. He had nearly been stampeded each time he left his home, and he had swiftly discovered there was no more ruthless enemy than a mother intent on marrying her daughter to a fortune.

  Thankfully all but the most persistent were at last frightened off by the realization that no amount of flattery, coercion or even downright treachery would force him to offer for the drab females being tossed at his feet.

  “This one is thankfully different,” he assured his companion.

  Frankford chuckled in a knowing manner. “Ah, of course. Well, Paris is renowned for its courtesans. Beautiful and talented, if you know what I mean. I have tasted a few and I can tell you they are well worth the cost.” The man patted his belly. “Perhaps when you tire of her I will give her a tumble or two myself.”

  Philippe found himself battling the urge to reach across the table and smash his fist into the fat face. Hell and damnation, what was the matter with him? The sole reason Raine was with him was to convince others he was too distracted by his current lover to concern himself with his brother. Or at least, that was one of the reasons, he acknowledged as he felt himself grow hard at the mere thought of her slender body.

  He would ruin it all if he did not take care.

  “She is no courtesan.” He gave a causal shrug. “At least not yet. I managed to stumble across her fresh from the convent.”

  Frankford gave a startled blink. “An innocent?”

  “They do have their charm.”

  “Indeed, they do.” Frankford smiled slyly. “She is beautiful, I suppose?”

  “As lovely as an angel.”

  “Well, well. I hope she does not have any pesky family that might be searching for her? That is the trouble with innocents. There always seems to be some angry brother or father trying to keep one from enjoying such delights.”

  Philippe briefly thought of Josiah Wimbourne. He hoped to hell the man was suffering agonies at the loss of Raine. It would teach the bastard to take better care of his daughter.

  “It hardly matters. I shall not be remaining long in Paris. I must be off to England by the end of the month.”

  A wariness rippled over the florid countenance. “Ah, yes. I suppose you have heard of your brothe
r’s troubles?”

  “I received a rather frantic letter that spoke of dire difficulties and impending doom.”

  “You do not appear to be overly concerned.”

  Philippe gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “My brother is always facing some sort of impending doom or another. If I raced to his side every time he begged for my assistance, I should never get anything accomplished.”

  Frankford shifted with obvious discomfort. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Gautier, but I do believe it is a bit more serious on this occasion. The last I heard he had taken up residence in Newgate.”

  “It will do Jean-Pierre no harm to spend a few days in prison. Perhaps it will teach him a long-overdue lesson in responsibility. Nothing else has been able to do so.”

  Frankford gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Good God, Gautier. You are a coldhearted devil.”

  “I have already contacted my solicitors. I do not doubt by the time I arrive the entire mess will have been straightened out.” Philippe’s tone was soft, but there was an edge that warned his patience was at an end.

  “Yes, well, I suppose you know your business best,” Frankford hastily said.

  “Indeed, I do.” Philippe was forced to pause as a waiter arrived with a large plate of pheasant drenched in a thick mushroom sauce. Once they were alone he turned the conversation in the direction he desired. “And speaking of business, my father has requested that I contact an old friend of his while I am in Paris. A Monsieur Mirabeau.”

  Already tackling the pheasant with an obvious relish, Frankford gave a small grunt.

  “Can’t say that I’ve seen him for some months. Word is that he has become a damnable hermit.”

  “Does he live near Paris?”

  “So far as I know he still possesses his estate near Fontainebleau.”

  “Thank you.” Rising to his feet, Philippe dug into his pocket to pull out a handful of coins that he dropped on the table. “This should cover your meal.”

  “Oh, I say. Very good of you, Gautier,” Frankford said.

  “Think nothing of it. Give my regards to Lady Frankford.”

  Frankford grimaced. “Not bloody likely.”

  Collecting his coat and hat, Philippe left the restaurant and was swiftly making his way back to Montmartre.

  He had managed to discover the information he needed.

  Tomorrow he would begin the hunt for Seurat.

  THE CARRIAGE RATTLED down the rue de Seine before turning onto a narrow street that was lined with ancient hotels that had been transformed into apartments, shops, warehouses and even public baths.

  Just ahead an aging building was being slowly demolished to offer a new thoroughfare. The tumble of bricks and broken pillars only added to the air of escalating shabbiness in the once-elegant neighborhood.

  “It is all changing,” Raine muttered with a hint of sadness. She had been only fourteen when the nuns had brought a handful of students to Paris, but she had remembered it with delight.

  Philippe was seated at her side attired in dark breeches and jacket. The severity of his clothing only served to emphasize his aloof, pale beauty.

  “Hardly surprising. With every new ruler comes the necessity of altering the city to reflect their power.”

  Her lips tightened as she caught sight of a couple of ragged urchins huddled near the street.

  “A pity that they do not feel an equal duty to care for their people. It is a sin to allow their citizens to suffer,” she muttered.

  Philippe remained leaning back in his seat, his expression unreadable.

  “There will always be the poor and destitute, querida. If nothing else the Revolution proved that not even those who boast of equality and the distribution of wealth can alter the fate of the lower classes. They succeeded in nothing more than causing a bloodbath that killed as many of their own as their supposed enemies.”

  She narrowed her gaze at his smooth tone. “So you do not feel that those with wealth should assist those in need?”

  “I employ a great number of servants and tenants and laborers, Raine. I pay them a decent wage and ensure that they have an adequate pension. Because of me they have a very comfortable life. What more would you have of me?”

  She bit back her instinctive words. The annoying man did have a point. From the small amount she had been able to determine about Philippe, his empire extended from Portugal to Brazil to England. He employed thousands of people and invested in countless farms, vineyards, shipping companies and factories. It was a far cry more than she did to help others.

  “Who is this gentleman we are to visit?” she demanded in a blatant attempt to change the conversation.

  His lips twitched, but he readily followed her lead. “Monsieur Mirabeau. He is an old acquaintance of my father.”

  “And you believe that he might know something of this man you are hunting?”

  His features tightened. “Let us hope.”

  Raine smoothed her hands over the pale ivory of her gown. She had matched the dress with a gold Spenser and a bonnet with a thick veil that hid her face.

  “I still do not comprehend what you hope to accomplish by coming to Paris. If this man is in the city, will he not simply flee when he discovers your presence?”

  “That is a possibility, but if he does not yet realize that I am following his trail, then he will more likely believe that it is safer to slink back to his lair and wait for me to leave.”

  Raine studied his grim expression. “There is more than that.”

  Philippe gave a lift of his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You are hoping to draw him out,” she said slowly. “You think he will attempt to strike at you.”

  A ripple of surprise crossed his features, as if he were caught off guard by her perception.

  “I will admit that it has crossed my mind that by having me so near and seemingly unaware of my danger, it might prove to be a temptation too difficult to resist. If he is prodded into attacking me, then I should be capable of trapping him.”

  She stiffened at his nonchalant manner. Had there ever been a man born who did not take some delight in risking his blasted neck?

  “And what if you are hurt? Or, God forbid, killed?”

  Philippe regarded her with an odd smile. “Do not fear, meu amor, Carlos has been instructed to see that you are protected and returned to the care of your father. He will not fail you.”

  For some reason his promise only aggravated her further. “Bloody hell, I do not need Carlos or any other man to protect me.”

  “Then why are you in such a twit?” He reached out to stroke a light finger down the bare skin of her throat. “It could not be that you are concerned for my welfare, could it, querida?”

  She jerked from his touch. It was enough that he knew her treacherous body would respond to his lightest caress. She was not about to let him realize that he was ruthlessly forcing his way into her heart.

  “Your arrogance is beyond belief,” she charged.

  His green eyes glittered. “Why will you not admit that you do not want to see me harmed?”

  “If I do not wish to see you harmed, it is simply because when someone finally does put a bullet into you, I intend to be the one pulling the trigger.”

  Philippe merely laughed. “Ah, my bloodthirsty beauty. You say such charming things. Is it any wonder you have managed to beguile me?”

  “Beguile?” An unwelcome pain raced through her. “Not likely.”

  “You surely have not forgotten last night?”

  She shivered against her will. Of course she had not forgotten last night. How the devil could she? The man had devoted hours to his tender assault. It had almost seemed as if he were determined to brand himself on her very soul as he had made her scream over and over in pleasure.

  Thankfully, she was no fool. She understood the shallow emptiness of mere desire.

  “Lust is not at all the same as beguilement.”

  He lowered his head to brus
h his lips just below her ear. “It feels remarkably similar to me.”

  “No.” Her hands fisted in her lap as she willed herself not to respond. “A man can experience lust for any woman who might cross his path. Beguilement implies that she is somehow special.”

  Pulling back, he studied her pale features barely visible behind the veil.

  “And you wish me to assure you that you are special to me?”

  She turned her head to gaze out the window. “Do not, Philippe.”

  “Raine? What is—”

  “We appear to be halting,” she abruptly interrupted, studying the white building with a portico framing the door.

  “This is our destination,” Philippe said, his hand reaching out to grasp her chin and forcing her to meet his narrowed gaze. “We will finish this later.”

  He gave her no opportunity to respond as he shoved open the door to the carriage and assisted her down. Taking her hand, he placed it firmly on his arm and led her into the building.

  Raine barely managed a swift glance around what appeared to be a literary salon when a lovely woman with glossy blond hair and a curvaceous form tightly encased in a brilliant crimson gown was making her way to stand directly before Philippe. She was stunningly beautiful with the sort of china-doll features and wide blue eyes that Raine had always envied.

  She hated the woman on sight.

  “Ah, Monsieur Gautier.” She held out her hand for Philippe to lift it to his lips. “How pleased I am to welcome you to my small salon.”

  Philippe straightened, a smile curving his lips. “Madame Tulles.”

  “I received your letter requesting to view my library. I believe you will discover some books of interest. If you will follow me?”

  Philippe gave a nod and the woman turned to lead them past the low sofas and marble tables that were scattered throughout the large room. A handful of men were seated in a corner speaking in hushed tones, but none spared more than a fleeting glance toward them.

  They entered a narrow hall and continued down to the last door before the woman came to a halt and turned to flash Philippe an intimate smile.

  “He is waiting for you,” she told him in French.