“Why should I not?”
Carlos slowly smiled. “I have never known you to go to such a bother over any woman. Let alone one that you are forced to hold against her will.”
“She…intrigues me.”
“That much is obvious.” Carlos gave a lift of his brows. “But you do realize she might very well jeopardize your plans? If she manages to reach the French authorities and claim she was forced to Paris against her will…”
“She would never risk her father’s neck,” Philippe replied, overriding the dire warning. “Not even to rescue herself from my evil clutches.”
Carlos gave a choked laugh. “Evil clutches?”
“Her words, not mine.”
“Charming.” Carlos paused before giving a casual shrug. “She is a beauty when she isn’t dressed as a dirty little urchin. Anjo.”
Philippe narrowed his gaze, clenching his fists. Meu Deus. There was something almost savage in the flare of fierce possessiveness that raced through him.
“You tread dangerous ground, amigo.”
Carlos met his warning gaze squarely, his own expression unreadable.
“Not nearly as dangerous as the ground you tread. Take care that you do not land yourself in a bog.” He reached out to slap Philippe on the shoulder before stepping back. “I wish to make sure our tracks are covered. I will meet you at the ship.”
Philippe gave a faint shake of his head at his strange behavior. He never allowed a wench to dictate his emotions. Not ever. Certainly not to the point of planting his fist into the face of his closest friend.
Hell and damnation.
“Be careful,” he commanded, not sure if he was warning his friend or himself.
RAINE SHIVERED AS SHE STOOD at the edge of the small bluff. It was not from the cold breeze. The thick cloak managed to ward off most of the chill. Or even the fog that danced eerily through the bushes. One could not be English and not become accustomed to foggy nights.
It could not even be blamed on the realization that she was about to be hauled to France by a man who thought of her as nothing more than a convenient body in his bed.
If she were to be entirely honest with herself, there was a small, treacherous part of her that relished the daring adventure. Her tedious days trapped alone in the small cottage could hardly compare with traveling through France in a luxury she could only dream of. And an even more treacherous part was growing addicted to the sweet passion that Philippe could stir within her.
No, the source of her shivering could be directly blamed on the small boats that were obviously waiting to haul her across the choppy waters.
Intent on her dark broodings, Raine did not notice Philippe’s approach until he was standing directly before her. She gave a small jerk as he reached out to take her hand.
“Come, Raine. It is time we were on our way.”
She pulled free of his grasp, her teeth digging into her lower lip.
“We are going in—” she pointed toward the small rowboats “—that?”
He tilted his head to one side. In the misty fog his features appeared even more unearthly beautiful. As if he were a mystical creature that was not quite real.
“Only for a short distance. My yacht awaits us out of sight of the shore.”
She frowned at his casual tone. “Why is it not docked at the port?”
“I did warn you that I have no desire for anyone to know of my brief stay in England. A difficult task when my ship is docked at Dover port.”
Her teeth bit deeply enough into her lip that she could taste blood. “Oh.”
A frown touched his wide brow. “What is the matter?”
“I…I do not wish to go.”