Raine stiffened, the haze of sensual delight disrupted as a chill inched down her spine.
“Guest?”
Easily sensing her abrupt tension, Philippe grudgingly removed his arms and stepped back so she could turn to regard him with a wary gaze.
“The local priest, Father Tomas, will be taking luncheon with us,” he said carefully.
Raine clutched the blanket about her as she glared into his impassive expression. “Do you often share luncheon with your priest?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He met her gaze squarely. “However, he was invited today to begin planning our wedding.”
Her heart lodged in her throat as she gave a shake of her head. “No, Philippe.”
His hand reached out with an impatient motion, sending Raine hastily stepping back to avoid his touch. Unfortunately, she had forgotten the trailing blanket and with a small cry she felt herself plunging back toward the low railing.
With a curse, Philippe moved to sweep her into his arms, carrying her back into the bedchamber and dumping her onto the vast bed.
“Damn you, Raine, I will endure no more of your impulsive foolishness,” he growled as he stood glaring down at her, his face pale as if she had truly frightened him.
She cringed against the force of his furious tone, her eyes wide. “It was an accident.”
His harsh expression did not ease. “An accident that nearly broke your bloody neck. When you are my wife you will exercise a good deal more self-control to overcome your rash habits, is that understood?”
Her own temper snapped as she lifted herself to a seated position and thrust out her chin.
“Perhaps the thought of breaking my bloody neck is preferable to that of marriage to you.”
A dangerous silence entered the room as he slowly bent down until they were nose to nose.
“As soon as your trunks are brought to the room, Miss Wimbourne, you will attire yourself as befits the mistress of this house and present yourself in the drawing room.” His hand lifted to cup the back of her neck, yanking her to meet his lips in a brief, possessive kiss. “Do not even think of keeping me waiting.”
With his threat delivered, Philippe stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Left on her own, Raine buried her face in her hands.
Dear God, she had to stop this.
PHILIPPE RESTLESSLY PROWLED the drawing room, his temper still frayed and his mood foul. For once the elegant room with its satinwood furnishings and long row of windows that offered a view of the distant cove failed to soothe him. Not even his collection of rare Roman coins offered a distraction.
Instead he paced from one end of the polished floorboards to the other, his hands clenched at his sides.
Damn Raine Wimbourne. It had been nothing short of hell to keep his hands off her during the interminable trip from Paris. Night after night he had lain awake, tormented with the need to seek out her cabin and relieve his aching hunger. But he had forced himself to remain away, ridiculously believing that he owed her the respect of waiting until their wedding night before he once again tasted of her sweet body.
The frustration had taken its toll on his sadly strained nerves. Was it any wonder that he had snapped when she had nearly killed herself attempting to avoid his mere touch?
“Perhaps the thought of breaking my bloody neck is preferable to that of marriage to you.”
He clenched his jaws as he recalled the sight of her pale face surrounded by the halo of golden curls. Her expression had been…what? Fear? Desperation?
Certainly not joy.
Reaching the far wall, he slammed his hand against the paneling before turning to pour a healthy measure of wine.
Damn the vexing wench. There was not a woman throughout Europe who would not faint with delight at the thought of wedding him. Including more than a few with royal connections.
Now a mere sailor’s daughter with a tattered reputation and no hope for a future beyond seclusion in a damp cottage was refusing to even contemplate all he could offer her.
It was enough to make any man long to howl in fury.
He was sipping his way through his third glass of wine when the sound of footsteps had him spinning about to regard the large, heavy-set priest with a thatch of silver hair who entered the room with a wide smile. As always Father Tomas brought with him an air of good cheer and robust energy. It was an energy that he devoted to caring for his flock with uncommon good sense, as well as uncommon kindness.
“Philippe, welcome home,” he boomed as he moved across the room to shake Philippe’s hand with a firm grip.
Forcing a smile to his lips, Philippe regarded the man who had been as much a friend as spiritual adviser for the past ten years.
“Thank you, Father. You are looking well,” he said smoothly.
“A bit too well, I fear.” With a chuckle the priest patted his expanding stomach. “My besetting weakness for bolo de mel is beginning to show for all the world to see.”
Philippe could not prevent a small chuckle. The entire village knew of the priest’s weakness for the sweet honey cakes, and in their love for him they ensured that he was never without his favorite treat.
“Ah, well, we all possess our weaknesses, do we not?”
The shrewd brown eyes studied Philippe’s countenance for a long moment, his smile fading as he seemed to sense the tension that gripped Philippe.
“Is all well, my son?”
“Perfectly well.” With a shrug Philippe set aside his wine. “Carlos is in England releasing Jean-Pierre from his prison cell, and the man who was responsible is in the hands of the king. Our family is once again safe from evil-doers. At least for the moment.”
Tomas gave a slow nod, his expression pensive. “I did not doubt for a moment you would be victorious, Philippe. Never in my long life have I known a gentleman who is more capable of setting a path and seeing it to the end. Some may claim that you were born with the Midas touch, but I know ’tis your own stubborn will that has given you such success.”
“Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?”
Thomas shrugged. “God helps those who help themselves.”
Philippe wryly thought of the woman who had yet to make an appearance despite his command. He was beginning to doubt that even divine intervention could assist him in comprehending the bewildering minx.
“A nice notion, but not always accurate,” he said, the faintest hint of bitterness darkening his low tone.
Tomas tilted his head to the side, studying Philippe with a mixture of curiosity and concern. At last he delicately cleared his throat.
“There have been rumors swirling through the village all morning.”
Philippe gave a humorless laugh as he moved to pour himself another glass of the rich wine. He had known that by announcing to his housekeeper that the woman he had carried into his home was destined to be her mistress, word would spread as swiftly as wildfire. At the time, however, he had merely been intent on making sure that the staff understood that Raine was to be treated with utmost respect. Now he had to wonder why he bothered.
Downing the wine, he slowly turned to meet the priest’s searching gaze.
“Surely a man of the cloth does not lower himself to listening to common gossip?”
Tomas lifted his pudgy hands. “Honey cakes are not my only weakness.”
Philippe gave a short, humorless laugh. “I presume that this gossip must have something to do with my return?”
“It is said that you have brought back an English bride from your travels. I dismissed the rumors as idle chatter until I received your invitation to luncheon.”
Philippe gave a lift of his brows. “You have received an invitation to dine at my home on several occasions without presuming I have towed back a bride.”
“Ah, but those invitations were more a matter of a polite request, not a royal command that I present myself at an appointed hour.”
Philippe blinked in surprise. He h
ad been weary when he had arrived home and dashed off the note to the priest, but he was certain he had not written it as a royal command.
“Surely I was not that ungracious?” he protested.
“Not ungracious, simply abrupt,” Tomas corrected. “Not surprising if you are, indeed, contemplating marriage. Such an important occasion tends to make the most sensible of men rather volatile.” He gave a faint shake of his head. “Rather strange considering they put themselves in such a predicament of their own free will. You would think they would be at peace with their decision.”
Philippe gave a shake of his head and tossed back his wine. “Only a priest would speak such nonsense.”
Tomas blinked in surprise. “And why would you say that?”
“Because if you had any dealings at all with women you would understand perfectly how they can make a man behave as a babbling idiot.”
“Ah.” The large man strolled forward, his brows lowered in concern. “Philippe, why do you not confess to me what is troubling you?”
“I doubt you could be of assistance with my current troubles, Father.”
Not surprising, Tomas was undeterred by Philippe’s sharp tone. He was a man who believed it his duty to assist any of his flock in need, no matter how unworthy they might be.
“It is true that you have brought a woman to be your wife?” he persisted. “An Englishwoman?”
“Yes.” Philippe absently rubbed the tense muscles of his neck. “Miss Raine Wimbourne.”
“I suppose she is beautiful?”
“Beautiful enough to make angels cry with envy.”
“But you are no longer certain that you wish to wed her? Do not torment yourself, Philippe. It is far better to acknowledge your mistake now than for the both of you to live in regret for the rest of your lives. If it troubles you to have to wound the young lady, I shall be happy to speak to her for you.”
“No,” Philippe rasped, desperately wishing it was all that simple. It would be an easy matter to walk away. It was a good deal more difficult to hold on to what he wanted. “I have not changed my mind.”
“Then…”
“It is Miss Wimbourne who has doubts about our marital bliss,” Philippe interrupted.
“Oh.” Tomas blinked several times. “Oh.”
Philippe smiled wryly. “Precisely.”
“Well, I must admit that is a surprise,” Tomas said, gathering his composure. “I may not be a worldly man, but I do know that you are considered quite a catch on the marriage market.”
“Obviously not the catch I had once presumed myself to be.”
“I see.” Tomas frowned in confusion. “Has the young lady revealed the reasons for her objection to the marriage?”
“She claims that she does not believe she is of suitable birth to become my wife.”
“She is not a…” Tomas cleared his throat. “A lady?”
Philippe slammed his glass onto the table, the delicate crystal nearly splintering beneath the force.
“Yes, she damn well is a lady, and anyone who dares to say otherwise will answer to me.”
Tomas held up his hand in swift apology. “Of course.”
“Her birth might have been humble, but it is perfectly respectable.”
“Still, it might be a bit overwhelming to be thrust into an entirely different sort of life. It could be she just needs time to adjust to her new circumstances,” he pointed out softly.
Philippe made a sound of impatience as he resumed his pacing. Raine Wimbourne feared nothing. Not the magistrate, not the ill temper of a powerful nobleman, not the threat of a madman. No, Raine did not make her decisions out of cowardice. She charged through life with a reckless abandon, far too often allowing her heart to lead her.
“That is not why she hesitates,” he muttered.
“Are you certain?”
“No man with a bit of sense could claim to be certain when it comes to a female,” he said dryly. “But I am convinced that there is more bothering Raine than the thought of a luxurious life.”
There was a short silence as Tomas watched his impatient trek across the room. “Forgive me if I am overbold, but could it be that she is in love with another?”
Philippe stiffened as he turned around with a sharp motion. During the long trip home he had brooded for hours upon whether Raine had been swayed by Carlos’s obvious attentions. It would not be surprising. Carlos was young, passionate and possessed an easy charm that Philippe could not hope to compete against.
But, while the possessive need to bind Raine irrevocably to him still roared with stunning force, his more logical self had slowly come to accept that Raine did not consider Carlos as more than a friend.
If she truly loved Carlos, then she would not have allowed Philippe to send him to England without her. At least not without a fierce battle. And certainly she would not still shiver with awareness whenever he was near. Raine’s loyalty to her unworthy father revealed that she would not stray once her heart was given.
“No.” Philippe gave a firm shake of his head. “She would never respond to my touch if she loved another.”
Tomas abruptly lifted his thick brows, as if struck by inspiration. “Ah.”
“What?”
“She cares for you, Philippe,” he said simply. “What are your feelings for her?”
Philippe instinctively shied from the blunt question. “I have offered to make her my wife.”
“Men take wives for any number of reasons, many of which do not take into account the needs and desires of the women that they wed.”
Philippe frowned at the implication that he intended to be some sort of ogre to Raine once they were wed. He may have many faults, but he knew how to care for those who belonged to him.
“What could Raine possibly desire that I cannot give her?”
Tomas met his gaze squarely. “Love.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RAINE REMAINED IN HER ROOMS until dusk began to paint the sky with a spray of soft lavender and pink. She had not been precisely hiding. In fact, she had spent every moment awaiting Philippe to arrive and haul her downstairs for his luncheon with the priest. It was not at all like Philippe Gautier to issue commands and then not insist that they be followed through.
But much to her surprise he had not so much as strayed near her door. And even more surprising, a delicious luncheon that included fresh tuna and fried corn meal had been delivered by a smiling maid.
Of course, there had been no real need to join the two gentlemen, she acknowledged wryly. Philippe was perfectly capable of arranging the wedding without her presence. God knew he had been arranging her life for weeks without consulting her.
Settling on a marble bench, Raine allowed her gaze to roam over the exotic garden and then toward the magnificent villa. It was truly beautiful here. A small glimpse of paradise.
This was a place that she could be happy, she thought with a small sigh. There was such a sense of ease and peace about the estate. Even the servants had openly welcomed her presence, as if they were genuinely pleased at the thought that she would soon be their mistress.
A pity that it was never going to happen.
Ridiculous tears pricked her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. Bloody hell. She had promised herself she would not cry.
“If you do not approve of the gardens, meu amor, you are at liberty to alter them in any manner you desire,” a soft voice whispered from behind her.
With a tiny gasp, Raine spun about, her hand pressed to her pounding heart. “Philippe. I did not hear you approach.”
In the fading light he looked as handsome as ever. He was dressed casually in a blue jacket and buff breeches with his cravat loosened to reveal the strong column of his neck. As he stepped closer, however, Raine was startled to note that there were unmistakable lines of weariness marring his countenance.
Perhaps understandable considering what he had endured over the past months, but it still came as something of a shock. He always seemed…
invulnerable to the normal human weaknesses.
Unaware of her inane thoughts, Philippe studied the unmistakable dampness of her cheeks, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes hooded.
“No, you appeared quite occupied with your thoughts. Would you care to reveal what are you thinking of?” he demanded.
She turned her head to regard the sweeping beauty before her. “I was thinking that you have a lovely home. It is little wonder you were so anxious to return.”
“Lovely, but not lovely enough to tempt you, eh, Raine?”
Raine turned back at the unexpected edge of bitterness in his tone. “Would you truly desire me to marry you simply to gain a lovely estate and garden?”
His expression was inscrutable in the fading light. “Women often marry for such things.”
They did, of course. A woman had little choice but to offer herself to the highest bidder to gain a measure of security. Thankfully, she had her father and his small cottage until she managed to discover a means of supporting herself. She would have no need to sell herself to a man certain to break her heart.
“You are no doubt right, but I am not interested in bartering my future for a comfortable home,” she said.
“Then what do you desire for your future?”
A wistful smile touched her lips. She knew precisely what she desired, what would offer her the happiness she sought.
“I want to find a place where I can feel needed,” she said softly. “Truly needed.”
The green eyes smoldered with a dark emotion. “You believe I do not need you?”
She swallowed the urge to laugh at the thought of this man ever making himself so vulnerable.
“Of course you do not. You are completely independent and certain of yourself. You are not a man who allows yourself to need anyone.”
Without warning he grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet. Raine stumbled in surprise, unable to halt him from wrapping his arms about her waist and pulling her against the length of his body.
“You are wrong, you know, meu amor. I need you,” he rasped, his face buried in her golden curls. “I need you quite desperately at this moment.”
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