A Daring Passion

“What information?” she rasped.

“I wish to know of any strangers you have noted passing this way during the past fortnight.”

Raine paused as her mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps if she could pretend to have the knowledge he sought she could distract him long enough to escape. It was a desperate plan, but better than none.

“There are always strangers on the road, guv.” She made her voice even rougher. “What yer wishing to know?”

His eyes shimmered with a dangerous light. “A large number of strangers?”

“Oh, aye.”

“Odd, I was informed that this road had been nearly impassable for the past week, and that travelers had been few and far between.”

Blast. She licked her dry lips, wishing he would back away. His proximity was far too distracting.

“Perhaps there have not been so many strangers as usual,” she was forced to concede.

He gave a low, impatient sound. “It will go bad for you if you fib to me, boy. Have you, or have you not, noticed any strangers on the road?”

“There have been a few.”

“Any Frenchmen?”

“Well, as to that, there was one gentleman who spoke with a French accent that passed this way last week,” she readily agreed.

“Describe him.”

She clenched her hands in her lap, fearing the man might actually hear her heart racing.

“He was tall, and thin, with a…large nose and…”

Her words broke off with a gasp as he reached out to grasp her shoulders, giving her a violent shake.

“I warned you not to lie to me.”

“No, please,” she pleaded, but not in time. Even as she struggled to loosen her arms she felt the flamboyant hat tumbling from her head. One last shake and her long curls were dislodged to fall in a river of gold around her shoulders.

Philippe stiffened at the sight of the glossy curls.

“Meu Deus,” he breathed, his hand instinctively reaching to rip the heavy muffler that concealed the thin face.

A female. There could be no doubt.

No doubt at all, he thought as his gaze took in the captivating beauty of her countenance.

Never had he seen such pure ivory skin. God, it nearly glowed against the gleaming amber of her hair. Her nose was a pert, straight line and her lips so lush they could make a man hard at the thought of them pressed to his body. But it was her eyes that caught and held his attention.

They were as black as that of a raven’s wing and surrounded by a tangle of long lashes. Such dark eyes should have been flat and lackluster, but instead they flashed with a smoldering spirit that Philippe could almost swear was tangible.

Suddenly all the elegant, sophisticated women who had shared his bed seemed to be pale imitations of femininity. Whatever their charms, they

could never compare to this chit’s vivacious, stunning magnificence.

Philippe gritted his teeth as he grasped her arms even tighter and with one smooth motion pulled her onto the seat next to him. She gave a startled scream, but he never hesitated as he pushed her flat onto her back and trapped her flaying legs between his own.

He was furious. Not the aloof disdain or the cold, calculating anger that he was accustomed to. No, this was a blistering, searing fury that caught him off guard and destroyed his icy composure.

There was no reasonable explanation as to why this woman had stirred such unfamiliar heat, but he found himself unable to battle the sensations that flowed through his body.