These were gowns that belonged to a lady, not a common tart.
Unwittingly, she reached out to stroke her hand over a delectable satin gown in a pale shade of lavender.
Perhaps sensing her confusion, Philippe reached out to grasp her chin and forced her to meet his searching gaze.
“You do not like them?”
“They are beautiful, as you well know, but not precisely what one would expect for a mistress.”
His lips curled. “Ah, but you are not just any mistress. You are to play the role of the innocent maiden fresh from the convent, not the usual Cyprian.”
For some stupid reason Raine found herself disappointed. Why?
Because his words forced her to recall that the clothes were not truly a gift? That they hadn’t been chosen to please her or even to spare her the embarrassment of appearing like a Jezebel? That they were nothing more than a part of the charade she was to play?
“Yes, of course,” she muttered.
Philippe narrowed his gaze and his fingers tightened on her chin.
“Raine, what the devil is the matter with you? I thought you would be pleased with the gowns.”
“Why should I not be? The daughter of a common sailor could hardly dare dream of such luxuries,” she murmured, uncertain why she was becoming so upset but unable to halt the surge of emotions.
“Raine…”
“Of course I am not just the daughter of a sailor any longer, am I?” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Now I am a mistress to a rich and powerful man.”
A dangerous expression settled on Philippe’s face, and without warning his hands landed heavily on her shoulders. Her lips parted to protest at the same moment he pushed her backward and she hit the wall. Her breath was jerked from her lungs, more from surprise than from the actual impact, and she glared into the lean, beautiful face with astonishment.
“You have yet to be much of a mistress, querida,” he growled. “In fact, you have been decidedly slack in your duties. But that is all about to change. I intend to teach you what precisely is required for your position.”
Raine swallowed heavily. She was not afraid of Philippe Gautier. At least, not physically afraid. But, there was no missing the air of barely restrained hunger that smoldered in the green eyes. Or the fierce determination that was etched in his face.
“Philippe…no,” she breathed.
A thin, cruel smile curved his lips as he lowered his head to stroke his cheek over her curls.
“Your first lesson, meu amor, is that you never, ever tell me no,” he said in a low, rasping voice. “A mistress is always pleased to accommodate her lover, no matter what his request.”
Raine was wise enough not to struggle against his hold. When you were cornered by a dangerous predator you did not continue to bait him.
A pity that she had not been a tad wiser before she had provoked the man.
Of course, she had been in no mood to be wise.
She had been…what?
Restless and hurt and in need of something.
A shiver raced through her body as she instinctively responded to his proximity.
Good Lord. It could not have been deliberate, could it? She could not have unwittingly hoped to s
tir his passions? She could not be so desperate to feel wanted and needed, that she would inflame him into making love to her?
Disturbed by the mere thought, Raine pressed her hands to his chest.
“You make a mistress sound like nothing more than a slave. Is that what you prefer? A toadie to pander to your every whim?”