A Daring Passion

by Rosemary Rogers

  Raine stiffened as a rather ridiculous flare of annoyance raced through her. She did not like having her honor questioned. Even by a madman.

  “I assure you that once I give my word it is to be trusted,” she said stiffly. “I will not tell Philippe where to find you.”

  “I trust no one,” he rasped, his breath coming in short, nervous puffs as he dared to consider the tantalizing offer. How could he not consider it? He clearly lived a miserly existence that would only become worse in the years to come. Revenge would be a cold comfort as he struggled just to survive. “I will contact you with a place for us to meet in three days. A place that I can be certain that you will come alone.”

  Raine reached out a hand, only to drop it when he flinched from her touch. “Then we have a bargain?”

  “I do not know,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as if his head was aching. “I must think.”

  “What is it that troubles you?” she demanded softly.

  “I…”

  They both froze as the sound of a tap on the door echoed through the room. It was so utterly unexpected that for a moment they merely stared at each other in surprise. Then there was the unmistakable scrape of metal as someone attempted to pick the lock. Seurat gave a soft hiss before his hand clamped on her wrist and he hauled her across the room and into the small bedchamber with startling strength.

  Pulling the gun from his pocket, he regarded her with a fierce glare. “Stay in here and do not make a sound. If you try to call out I will kill whoever is on the other side of that door. Do you understand?”

  Raine lifted her hands in a gesture of peace. “I will be as silent as a mouse.”

  He gave one last threatening wave of his gun before he was moving out of the chamber and across the outer room. Raine held her breath as she heard the door being yanked open, silently praying that it was not Philippe on the other side.

  Dear God, she was so close to convincing Seurat to bring an end to this madness, but if he were to be confronted in this fragile moment by the blood of his hated enemy, Raine had no doubt he would pull the trigger without thought, without remorse.

  Pressing her hands to her mouth, she battled back the fierce urge to run screaming into the other room. For the moment she could only do more harm than good by attempting to interfere.

  There was the sound of Seurat’s harsh voice, and then strangely the high-pitched tones of a young boy. Her prayers became more frantic at the mere thought that some innocent child might be harmed. She did not believe Seurat was a heartless killer, but if he felt as if he were threatened he would not hesitate to strike out.

  An eternity seemed to pass as Seurat barked out sharp questions and the lad responded in quick, soothing words. Raine could tangibly feel the tension that filled the small rooms, but thankfully there was no hideous sound of a firing pistol or a screaming child.

  Her knees were feeling decidedly weak when at last the door was slammed shut and Seurat was charging into the room, his thin face flushed with emotion. Without a word to her, Seurat brushed past her frozen form and tugged a shabby bag from beneath the bed. Once it was open, he began tossing in his handful of belongings.

  Raine gave a lift of her brows as she watched his frantic motions. “What are you doing?”

  “I must go.”

  “Go?” She frowned in surprise. “Where are you going?”

  He closed the bag and grasped the threadbare coat from a nearby chair. “Someplace where I will not be found,” he said as he shrugged into the coat.

  “You are leaving this moment?”

  He turned to her. “That boy was looking for me. Even now he is rushing back to tell your precious Philippe Gautier where I can be found. I do not intend to be here when he arrives.”

  Raine balled her hands in frustration. No, she could not allow him to flee until she was certain he would agree to her bargain.

  “You cannot be certain that the boy has anything to do with Philippe.”

  He gave a short laugh. “I have not survived so long without knowing when a trap is about to close upon me.”

  “But what of our bargain? How can I contact you?”

  With his belongings in order, Seurat once again reached beneath the bed and pulled out a length of rope.

  “If I decide to agree to any bargain, I will be the one to contact you,” he warned as he slowly advanced with the rope. “Until then I need to find a place where I cannot be found.”

  Raine abruptly began to back away. “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged as he reached out to grab her arms in a biting clasp. “I am leaving and I need to make sure that you do not call unnecessary attention to my escape.”

  “I have already told you…” Her words broke off in a small cry as she found herself facedown on the filthy mattress with her arms wrenched behind her back. “Damn you, you cannot leave me here like this,” she growled as she felt the ropes being tightly tied about her wrists and then attached to the bedpost. “I could die before someone finds me.”

  “Your lover will soon be rushing to the rescue,” he said without the least hint of sympathy, shoving a rag into her mouth and fastening the ends behind her head. “Until then I need time to make my escape.”

  She heard him leave the bed and gather the bag from the floor. With a flare of panic she kicked her feet, futilely attempting to loosen the bonds that held her. Blast it all. It was all very well for Seurat to assume that Philippe would soon be charging to the rescue. He was crazy, after all. Not to mention the fact that he was not the one gagged and tied to the bed.

  What if the lad had nothing to do with Philippe? What if no one came and she was left to rot in this ghastly place? Or worse, what if she were discovered by some ruffian and…

  “I shall send you word if I decide to take your offer, mademoiselle.” He gave a sudden, wild laugh. “Or perhaps I shall simply shoot Philippe Gautier and toss his body in the Seine. In either event you will have your answer.”

  Anger and fear raged through Raine as she struggled against the damnable rope, not stopping until she felt the blood dripping down her arms.

  Why the devil had she thought she wanted an adventure? If she managed to return to her father’s small cottage she swore that she would never, ever begrudge the peace and quiet again.

  PHILIPPE WAS STANDING in the alley behind Belfleur’s shop when the sun settled behind the horizon. The surrounding buildings protected him from the frigid breeze, but it was still painfully cold as he restlessly paced the filthy cobblestones.

  He could, of course, be within the shop, warming himself beside the fire and sipping the excellent cognac that Belfleur always kept close at hand. A far more sensible choice than standing in the cold while his blood turned to ice in his veins.

  More sensible but impossible, he acknowledged as a shiver racked his body.

  Within the confines of the shop he found it oddly difficult to breathe. As if his lungs were too tight to capture the elusive air. And worse were the nervous glances of his companions, who eyed him with a wary fear. Clearly they thought that he might begin a mad rampage on the streets of Paris at any moment.

  Not that he hadn’t felt the urge to do a bit of rampaging, he ruefully acknowledged. As the hours passed with no sign of Seurat or Raine, his entire being trembled with the need to strike out.

  Instead he was forced to wait in the cold, dank alley as the various boys trotted up to make their reports.

  It had been Belfleur’s notion to make each of the lads return to the shop every two hours and inform them where they had been and where they intended to go next. That would make certain that if one was captured by Seurat they would know swiftly to set out a search and, more important, precisely where to start looking.

  A wise notion, but it did slow the amount of ground that could be covered.

  Philippe pulled a silver flask from his coat pocket and took a deep drink of the brandy. As he returned it to his pocket there was the scrape of approaching footsteps and he hast
ily turned, expecting one of the numerous boys to appear.

  Instead it was a small woman wrapped in a thin cloak who slipped from the shadows to stand directly before him. In the flickering light of his lantern it was easy to determine that she was a pretty wench with a halo of blond curls and blue eyes. He could also determine that she was astonishingly young.

  At least in age, he amended silently, as she reached up to smooth a hand over his chest. There was a weary knowledge in the depths of her eyes that revealed she had already experienced far too much of the world.

  “You are a fine sight on such a miserable night. Such a gentleman should not be alone,” she murmured in inviting tones. “Come with me and I’ll warm the chill from your body.”

  Philippe grimaced as he stepped sharply from her clinging hand. He held no taste for common whores. Especially not those who looked young enough to be in the nursery.

  “Not on this night, child.”

  “I am no child.” She pouted as she pulled open the cloak to reveal a gown that was cut to fully reveal her small curves. “Shall I prove that I am a grown woman?”

  Philippe was startled to discover something very close to sympathy for the girl as she shivered beneath the chilled air. Dammit all. He did not want to notice that she looked cold, and vulnerable and so horribly young.

  It was entirely Raine’s fault, of course. Before the irritating woman had charged into his life he had never been bothered by the great horde of unfortunates who were forever crossing his path. Now he found himself actually considering what Raine would expect of him. As if he feared the notion of disappointing her.

  Hell and damnation.

  He heaved a deep, resigned sigh. “Close your cloak, child, I have no need of your wares.”

  “Every man has need of my wares,” she persisted, grimly attempting to keep her teeth from chattering. “Unless you have peculiar tastes?”

  Philippe gave a low laugh as the image of Raine’s beauty flared through his mind. “Not peculiar, just…particular.”

  Her smile faltered as she sensed that a potential customer was slipping from her grasp.

  “I can be anything you want,” she coaxed.

  “No.” He gave a firm shake of his head. “I have interest in only one woman.”

  “A man who is capable of being faithful?” the whore scoffed in disbelief. “She must be a most intriguing woman.”

  An agonizing pain threatened to pierce the ice that protected him from sheer madness. “She is…perfect.”

  The blue eyes flickered with a hint of envy. “Then why do you stand alone in the cold?”

  “I am waiting to take her home,” he said simply.

  “A fortunate woman.”

  Philippe shrugged. “I am uncertain she would agree, at least not at the moment, but I intend to change her mind.”

  The chit heaved a sigh as she grudgingly tugged the cloak around her thin body. “If you cannot convince her, then you need only return to this street and ask for Jeanette. I can help to ease a broken heart.”

  “I shall keep that in mind.”

  “Such a pity.” A small smile tugged at her lips as she ran a knowing gaze over his large body. “I should not have minded having a man such as you beneath my skirts.”

  The woman moved away and began to disappear back into the shadows. Philippe growled beneath his breath as he experienced that unwelcome surge of pity once again.

  Raine would expect him to do more than send the pathetic whore on her way. She would expect…bloody hell, she would expect him to rescue the wench from the cold, filthy streets.

  “Jeanette,” he called out wearily.

  She halted and turned with an expectant expression. “Oui?”

  Philippe reached beneath his coat to withdraw a small leather bag. “Take this.”

  She took the bag with a puzzled frown. “What is it?”

  “A gift.”

  “You’ve changed your mind?”

  “No.”

  The puzzlement deepened as she gave a slow shake of her head. She was not the sort of woman that received gifts without being expected to offer her body in return.

  “Then why would you offer me anything?”

  Philippe smiled with a trace of self-mockery. “Because I have been told by someone I admire that it is what I should do.”

  With stiff fingers, Jeanette tugged at the strings that held the bag shut and peered within. Her loud gasp echoed through the alley as she slowly lifted her gaze to regard him in a stunned disbelief.

  “Sacrebleu. This is a blessed fortune,” she said in an unsteady voice. “What do you want from me?”

  Philippe did not blame her for her suspicion. Hell, he would be suspicious himself. Those who possessed generous hearts were as rare as the crown jewels.

  “I want you to eat a warm meal and find safe shelter for the night. It is far too cold to be upon the streets.”

  She gave a choked laugh that was closer to a sob. “I can live upon this for a year.”

  “Perhaps it will give you an opportunity to discover a less-dangerous career.”

  The blue eyes filled with tears as she reached up to touch his cheek with frozen fingers. “Are you an angel?”

  “An angel?” Philippe gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Not bloody likely. Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I long ago sold my soul to the devil.”

  “I do not believe it,” she whispered. “You have been sent by God and I will hold you in my prayers every night. Bless you, monsieur.” With a cry she reached up to place a kiss on his cheek. “Bless you.”

  Philippe grasped her shoulders and gently tugged her away. He did not desire flamboyant gratitude. At least not from this woman. He had done this for Raine, and it was her approval that he sought. Rather pathetic, but what was a man to do?

  “Be on your way, child.”

  With a last sob the girl turned and scurried down the alley, as if she feared he might suddenly change his mind and demand back her treasure.

  Philippe gave a rueful shake of his head as he wondered what his acquaintances would think of his peculiar behavior. No doubt they would presume that he had taken the last step to lunacy. And perhaps they would be right.

  “Well, Gautier,” a familiar voice whispered from the doorway behind him. “Are you attempting to be canonized for sainthood or do you intend to join the lovely Jeanette later and allow her to earn that rather tidy fortune?”

  Philippe did not bother to turn his head as Belfleur moved to stand beside him.

  “Neither,” he said in clipped tones. “I simply wished to be rid of her.”

  “You could have accomplished that task with a mere wave of your hand. There was no need for such generosity. Especially if you are not planning to enjoy the sweet rewards of that charity.”

  Philippe heaved a sigh as he turned to regard his friend with a lift of his brows.

  “Did you seek me out with a purpose?”

  Belfleur hesitated before he at last gave a lift of his pudgy hands. “Carlos has commanded that you are not to be allowed alone for any length of time.”

  Philippe stiffened, disliking the notion that he was being discussed behind his back as if he were a babbling idiot.

  “A rather presumptuous command from a mere servant.”

  Belfleur frowned in disapproval at Philippe’s cold words. “Carlos is your friend, and as your friend he is worried.”

  With an effort Philippe eased his tense muscles. Belfleur was right, of course. He might find the concern of others chafing, but he would be a fool to take offense. There were few in this world he truly trusted. He could not afford to lose those that he did.

  “And you have been chosen to become my nanny?” he teased in an effort to lighten the mood.

  Belfleur readily followed his lead as he gave a loud laugh. “A daunting task, I will admit.”

  “Do not fear. I have not yet taken leave of my senses. The city of Paris is safe from my wrath for the moment.”

&
nbsp; “I must admit to some relief.” Belfleur cast a glance about the pale ivory buildings. “I am rather fond of ‘Cara Lutetia,’ as the Emperor Julian once called Paris.”

  Philippe flashed his companion a startled glance. “Meu Deus, do not tell me that you have actually read a book?”

  “Do not spread that ghastly tale about. I should hate to lose my reputation as an uneducated brute.”

  Philippe made a rude sound. “No one who knows you, Belfleur, would ever think you were anything but shrewd, ruthless and as lethal as a snake hiding in the grass.”

  “Here, now. You shall make me blush.”

  “I doubt if you have blushed since you left the nursery.”

  “True enough.”

  They both fell silent as they stared into the shadows. Philippe paid little heed to the sounds just beyond the alley. He had no interest in the screeching vendors or drunken revelers or brawling street thugs. His entire attention was trained upon listening for the soft sound of footsteps that would portend one of the pickpockets returning to offer his report.

  For long moments they remained standing side by side, and then Belfleur reached up to lay a hand on Philippe’s arm.

  “You do know that you cannot stand out here the entire night? You will freeze what few wits you have remaining.”

  “I will come in later.”

  The older man heaved a faint sigh. “This woman…she must mean a great deal to you.”

  Philippe grimaced. “I seem to be hearing that oft of late.”

  “Can you deny it?”

  He could not, of course. Over the past hours he had been forced to accept that the thought of his life without Raine was a bleak destiny that he could not bear to contemplate.

  Until she had arrived he had merely gone through his days with a single-minded determination to build his business, and on occasion, to assist the king. There had been nothing beyond his duty and responsibility.

  He had been cold and alone without ever realizing that such warmth could be found in the companionship of a woman.

  The knowledge should have been terrifying. After all, he had always taken pride in his ruthless independence. He never wanted to share his life with another. The past had taught him that he was bound to be disappointed when he depended on anyone for his happiness.