“What do you mean?”
“He disguised himself as an elderly priest who seemed to be wandering aimlessly through the village. If the lads had not been watching for him he would easily have escaped notice.”
“Did you manage to catch sight of him?” Philippe demanded, wanting more than the word of a handful of boys who were anxious to be paid for their work.
“Sim. He hid behind the stables for nearly two hours before he at last slipped away.”
“Would you recognize him again?”
Carlos shrugged. “It would be difficult. He managed to keep his hat pulled low and most of his face was covered by a thick scarf. I can say little more than that he was a small man with a faint limp.”
Philippe did not miss the hint of smugness in his friend’s countenance. The man may not be able to recognize Seurat, but he did know something.
“What else did you discover?” he demanded.
“I followed him to Saint-Marcel. He must have rooms in the neighborhood.”
A flare of satisfaction raced through Philippe. He could always depend upon Carlos. No matter what he might ask of him.
“Saint-Marcel,” he said softly. “A nasty place.”
Carlos gave a slow nod, his expression somber. “Even nastier than usual. The mobs are growing restless and discontent beneath their new king. It is only a matter of time before the city erupts into riots.”
Philippe grimaced. He had sensed the same dark pulse that throbbed beneath the frantic gaiety of the streets. Despite the revolution and efforts to halt corruption, the disparity between the wealthy and masses of poor and immigrants remained unaltered.
For the moment the soldiers managed to keep the peace, but it would take only a spark to kindle the waiting bonfire.
“I intend to be far away by then. After I am gone they can tear the bloody city to the ground stone by stone as far as I am concerned.” Moving toward the horses that Carlos already had saddled, he vaulted on top of the black stallion. “Show me where you last had sight of Seurat.”
Carlos readily mounted his own horse and glanced toward Philippe. “Are we going alone?”
Philippe took a moment before giving a decisive nod of his head. “Yes. We do not want to startle him into flight. If we are careful I can have my hands around his throat before he ever realizes we are near.”
“Do not forget we desire him alive,” Carlos warned.
“Only until my brother is free. After that the man will learn what it is to threaten a Gautier. Let us go.”
AS USUAL THE STREETS OF Paris were clogged with pleasure-seekers strolling past the crowded cafés, the arcades and the theaters. The air was filled with the sound of their chatter and the incessant calls of the street vendors.
And that was not all the air was filled with, Philippe acknowledged as he wrinkled his nose at the pervasive smells of food and sewage and decay that were rampant in any vast city.
It was little wonder that he far preferred his pristine estate on the cliffs of Madeira.
A sense of longing for the untamed beauty of his home washed through Philippe. What would Raine think of the rolling hills that were covered with his vineyards? Or the tiny villages where the fishermen anchored their small boats and their wives waited on the shores for their return?
Would she be bored by the solitude as his father and brother were? Or would she sense the subtle charm that had enchanted him since he was a child?
“Philippe, you might wish to take heed.” Carlos abruptly broke into his musings, his voice dry. “This place is seething with pickpockets and cutthroats. You will not do Jean-Pierre much good if you end up floating in the Seine.”
Philippe stiffened as he realized that he had, indeed, been careless. Even a moment of inattention in such a neighborhood could lead to disaster.
Still, he was not about to admit as much to his friend. Not when Carlos was bound to suspect that his thoughts had once again been consumed with Raine Wimbourne.
“I have traveled such streets before, Carlos.”
His friend’s dark eyes smoldered with a wicked amusement. “Sim, but never when your thoughts seem to be so…distracted.”
“You do enjoy living dangerously, amigo.”
“What other way is there to live?”
Philippe gave a rueful chuckle as he slowed his mount. “Are we near?”
“He disappeared two streets down. There was a narrow alley that he entered.”
They continued down the dark street at a cautious pace, Philippe vibrantly aware of the numerous whores and thieves who watched them with a desperate hunger. If he and Carlos did not look like they might kill anyone foolish enough to approach them, he did not doubt that they would already be dead in the gutter.
“It is a wonder that Seurat has not had his throat slit living in such a neighborhood,” he muttered, unable to conceive how a small, lame man could have survived even a day.
Carlos shrugged, his gaze carefully shifting for the least hint of danger. “Even the most hardened criminals tend to fear madmen. They are too unpredictable.”
“He cannot be entirely mad,” Philippe pointed out. “He has managed to concoct a devilish trap for my brother, not to mention terrifying poor Mirabeau until he is near a collapse.”
“Not all those who are insane chew on the carpeting and crow at the sunrise. There are many who possess remarkable intelligence.”
Philippe had to grudgingly agree. History was littered with brilliant madmen. Some who had occasionally ruled the world.
Still, Seurat was no demented genius. He was a pathetic worm who had allowed his obsession with revenge to lead him to his own downfall.
“Is this the alley?” he demanded as he brought his mount to a halt.
“Sim.” Carlos began to urge his horse into the narrow path, only to give a grunt of surprise when Philippe reached out to grasp his reins. “What the…?”
“I do not like this,” Philippe said softly, his eyes searching the dark shadows. There was an unmistakable prickling that crawled over his skin. It was a sensation that had warned him of danger on more occasions than he could recall.
Carlos smoothly reached beneath his coat to withdraw a small pistol. “Did you see something?”
“No.” Philippe reached for his own weapon. “But it is too quiet. Every alley we have passed has been filled with whores and drunken peasants. Why would this one be empty?”
“You are right,” Carlos breathed. “It is a trap.”
Philippe had already begun to turn his horse away when there was a bright flash and then a deafening sound of an explosion from the darkness. A gunshot, he realized just as something slammed into his arm and sent him tumbling from his stallion.
Hell and damnation, he had been hit.
It was his last thought as his skull connected with the filthy pavement and blackness engulfed his mind.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAINE WAS DRYING HER HAIR by the fire in her chamber when the sound of footsteps and muffled voices had her rising to her feet. A small trickle of unease inched down her spine as she moved to open the door that connected her room with Philippe’s.
Philippe was a gentleman who moved with a careful, calculated grace. Indeed, there had been several occasions that he had managed to slip up on her without a sound. He would never enter the house with such noise unless there was something wrong.
As she entering the master bedchamber, her unease became sharp disbelief as she watched Carlos carry in an unconscious Philippe and lay him on the bed. The rotund housekeeper, Madame LaSalle, was muttering beneath her breath as she turned to make her way from the room.
With a swift motion, Raine had moved to lightly grasp the servant’s arm. “What has happened?”
The older woman gave a click of her tongue. “Monsieur Gautier has been shot. I must fetch hot water and towels at once.”
Shot? Raine barely noticed as the housekeeper scurried to the door, her own feet carrying her toward the bed. Halting nex
t to Carlos, she gazed down at Philippe, her heart freezing in horror as she caught sight of the dark blood spattered over his pale cheek and staining his jacket.
“Philippe,” she whispered softly, her hand reaching out to touch the tousled dark curls. “Good Lord.”
“Does anyone in this household ever sleep?” Carlos muttered as he firmly moved Raine back from the bed and set about cutting the thick jacket from the motionless Philippe.
She licked her dry lips as she pressed a hand to her stomach. “Is he…?”
“Dead? No, he will live.” With a ruthless efficiency he had cut through the fabric of the jacket and the linen shirt beneath to expose an ugly wound on Philippe’s upper arm. “The bullet passed cleanly.”
Raine battled her instinctive flare of panic at the sight of the torn flesh. Instead she forced her gaze to move to Philippe’s pale, lifeless countenance.
“Then why is he not awake?” she demanded.
“He fell from his horse when he was shot and hit his head on the pavement.”
“We must send for a doctor.”
“There is no need, anjo.” Carlos turned his head to flash a wry smile. “His thick skull has taken worse blows than this and he survived with his wits intact. Besides, it will be a blessing if he remains unconscious until I am done cleaning the wound.”
Raine bit her lip as she wrapped her arms about her waist. “How did this happen?”
Carlos shrugged. “We were following the trail of Seurat. Regrettably he was one step ahead of us yet again.”
A surprising anger flooded through Raine. Was there ever a man born who did not believe that he was utterly impervious to danger?
First her father. And now Philippe. Really, it was enough to make any sensible woman long to slap some sense into them.
“The fool,” she muttered. “The stubborn, idiotic fool.”
Carlos did not bother to argue as he pressed a clean handkerchief to the wound. Raine watched him in silence until at last Madame LaSalle returned with a heavy tray that she placed on the table next to the bed.
“Here we are.” She straightened and struggled to catch her breath. “Hot water, towels and a bottle of brandy. And I am making a nice, rich broth for when the monsieur awakens.”
Carlos ignored the servant as he reached for the brandy and poured a large measure into the wound. Raine winced in sympathy despite the fact that Philippe did not so much as twitch beneath the rough treatment, and she turned her attention to the woman silently inching her way toward the door.
“Thank you, Madame LaSalle,” she said with a smile. “You have been very kind.”
The round face flushed with pleasure at Raine’s soft words. Raine had swiftly discovered that the housekeeper, despite her rather prickly nature, possessed a tender heart and a motherly ferocity when it came to protecting the young maids in her care.
She also possessed a girlish delight in the least display of appreciation for her services.
“Oh, it is nothing.” She reached out a plump hand to pat Raine’s cheek. “Now, you don’t be wearing yourself to the bone; there is barely enough of you as it is. If you need someone to sit with the master, you call for one of the maids.”
“Yes, I will,” Raine promised.
“And leave that tray where it is,” she sternly commanded. “I will collect it in the morning.”
Raine watched as the woman left the room,, before returning to stand beside the bed. Thankfully Carlos had finished cleaning the wound and was wrapping a linen bandage around Philippe’s arm.
Keeping his gaze on his task, the handsome devil allowed a faint smile to curve his lips.
“You seem to have made a staunch friend in the old tartar.”
Raine stiffened. “And why should I not? She happens to be a lovely woman.”
His smile widened at her prickly tone. “And what of the maids? Are they lovely, as well?”
“They are good girls who work hard to help their families survive.”
“Ah.” He finished his bandaging and turned his unnervingly perceptive gaze in her direction. “Is that why you were in the kitchen this morning helping them learn to read?”
Raine felt a blush staining her cheeks. “What do you care if I happen to enjoy the company of servants?”
Carlos tilted his head to one side, the firelight slanting over his dark skin and rich black hair. There was no doubt he possessed the sort of smoldering good looks that would make any woman a bit weak in the knees.
At the moment, however, Raine seemed to have her hands quite filled with handsome, arrogant, impossible men.
“I am just curious as to why you would have made an effort to befriend such women,” he said. “Most ladies in your position consider servants beneath their notice.”
“My position?” Raine gave a short, humorless laugh. “I am the daughter of a common sailor and currently living with a man who is not my husband.”
He gave a lift of his dark brows, his expression thoughtful. “Your connection to Philippe could give you a great deal of power and position, anjo, if you would choose to grasp it.”
“And what, pray tell, would I do with such nonsense in Knightsbridge?”
“You intend to remain forever in the tiny village?”
Raine abruptly turned from his relentless regard. She did not want him to see the discomfort that must be sketched across her face.
The truth was that she was stubbornly refusing to contemplate the future. However anxious she was to see her father and reassure him that she was not harmed, she had no notion what would happen when she returned to the small village. Would there be a scandal surrounding her sudden absence? Would she be shunned and treated as a harlot?
And more important, could she possibly bear to return to her dull, uneventful life?
“It is my home,” she at last said with a small sigh.
“I do not doubt that Philippe will be very generous when you part,” Carlos said softly. “You could live anywhere you choose.”
Raine clenched her fists as she whirled back to glare at the odious man. Was he making a deliberate attempt to insult her?
“You think that I would take money from him?”
He studied her for a long moment. “Why should you not? He can easily afford to share.”
“How dare you—”
Her angry words were broken off as Philippe stirred on the bed, his lashes lifting to reveal dazed green eyes.
“Carlos?” he called out.
Swiftly, Carlos was reaching to grasp Philippe’s arm. There was no mistaking his concern.
“I am here, amigo.”
“Seurat?”
“He managed to take a shot at you before disappearing into the shadows.”
Philippe grimaced in frustration. “Hell and damnation.”
“He will not get far,” Carlos promised. “I will have the neighborhood watched night and day until we manage to capture him.”
Philippe gave a pained nod, his lashes fluttering downward before he was visibly struggling against the clinging darkness.
“Raine…” he croaked.
Raine resisted the urge to toss herself forward. She did not want to feel this aching need to touch his damp countenance and offer him comfort. Not when it revealed the susceptibility of her heart.
Carlos placed a firm hand against Philippe’s shoulder. “It is late, amigo. You need to rest.”
“Why is she not here?” Philippe weakly struggled to lift himself from the pillows. “Where has she gone?”
“Philippe, you must remain still or you will open your wound.”
“I need to find Raine. She cannot leave…”
“She is right here,” Carlos soothed, turning to Raine with an impatient glare. “Come.”
Still, Raine hesitated. For a change Philippe was in no position to force his will upon her. She was quite at liberty to return to her chambers and ignore his demands. It was a tempting thought, but even as it teased at her mind Philippe turned his head and
captured her with pain-filled eyes.
“Raine?”
With a faint sigh at her own stupidity, Raine discovered her feet moving her forward. “I am here.”
His hand shot out to grasp her fingers in a tight grip. “Where have you been?” he demanded with an edge of his customary arrogance. “Why are you not in bed?”
“You have been injured, Philippe,” she said. “You must rest.”
He gave a tug on her fingers. “I will rest as soon as you join me.”
Good Lord, he was impossible even when he was hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. “Philippe, I will be right here.”
“I want you next to me.”
“For all your undoubted talents you are in no shape to have a beautiful woman in your bed,” Carlos protested sternly. “Be content with your brandy until you have regained your strength.”
“No.”
“Philippe…”
Philippe gave his friend a steely glare. “She will leave. She will slip away while I am unable to stop her.”
Carlos slid a dark glance toward the silent Raine. “I will not allow her to slip away, that I promise.”
“You cannot halt her. Only I can.”
“Good heavens, Philippe,” Raine muttered. “Where the devil do you imagine I’ll go?”
“Perhaps it would be best to humor him for the moment,” Carlos unexpectedly commanded. “If you were to join him, then perhaps he would relax and cease his struggles.”
As usual no one appeared to be the least interested in what she desired. If Philippe wanted her in bed then it was seemingly her duty to crawl in next to him.
“He is your friend, you join him,” Raine snapped.
Carlos’s lips twitched. “I somehow doubt that my presence would offer quite the comfort as your own.”
About to respond, Raine was distracted by the feel of Philippe running a caressing thumb over her knuckles. She reluctantly turned her head to discover the injured man regarding her with a brooding expression.
“Querida, I merely want you near. Is that so much to ask?”
Their gazes battled for a silent moment and then Raine heaved a deep sigh. Bloody hell. The night was bound to be a long and painful one for Philippe, and if he continued to thrash about he might very well bring on an infection. Goodness only knew how long they would be trapped in Paris if that occurred.
A Daring Passion Page 20
