A Daring Passion

Frankford gave a startled blink. “An innocent?”

“They do have their charm.”

“Indeed, they do.” Frankford smiled slyly. “She is beautiful, I suppose?”

“As lovely as an angel.”

“Well, well. I hope she does not have any pesky family that might be searching for her? That is the trouble with innocents. There always seems to be some angry brother or father trying to keep one from enjoying such delights.”

Philippe briefly thought of Josiah Wimbourne. He hoped to hell the man was suffering agonies at the loss of Raine. It would teach the bastard to take better care of his daughter.

“It hardly matters. I shall not be remaining long in Paris. I must be off to England by the end of the month.”

A wariness rippled over the florid countenance. “Ah, yes. I suppose you have heard of your brothe

r’s troubles?”

“I received a rather frantic letter that spoke of dire difficulties and impending doom.”

“You do not appear to be overly concerned.”

Philippe gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “My brother is always facing some sort of impending doom or another. If I raced to his side every time he begged for my assistance, I should never get anything accomplished.”

Frankford shifted with obvious discomfort. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Gautier, but I do believe it is a bit more serious on this occasion. The last I heard he had taken up residence in Newgate.”

“It will do Jean-Pierre no harm to spend a few days in prison. Perhaps it will teach him a long-overdue lesson in responsibility. Nothing else has been able to do so.”

Frankford gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Good God, Gautier. You are a coldhearted devil.”

“I have already contacted my solicitors. I do not doubt by the time I arrive the entire mess will have been straightened out.” Philippe’s tone was soft, but there was an edge that warned his patience was at an end.

“Yes, well, I suppose you know your business best,” Frankford hastily said.

“Indeed, I do.” Philippe was forced to pause as a waiter arrived with a large plate of pheasant drenched in a thick mushroom sauce. Once they were alone he turned the conversation in the direction he desired. “And speaking of business, my father has requested that I contact an old friend of his while I am in Paris. A Monsieur Mirabeau.”

Already tackling the pheasant with an obvious relish, Frankford gave a small grunt.

“Can’t say that I’ve seen him for some months. Word is that he has become a damnable hermit.”

“Does he live near Paris?”

“So far as I know he still possesses his estate near Fontainebleau.”

“Thank you.” Rising to his feet, Philippe dug into his pocket to pull out a handful of coins that he dropped on the table. “This should cover your meal.”

“Oh, I say. Very good of you, Gautier,” Frankford said.

“Think nothing of it. Give my regards to Lady Frankford.”

Frankford grimaced. “Not bloody likely.”

Collecting his coat and hat, Philippe left the restaurant and was swiftly making his way back to Montmartre.

He had managed to discover the information he needed.

Tomorrow he would begin the hunt for Seurat.

THE CARRIAGE RATTLED down the rue de Seine before turning onto a narrow street that was lined with ancient hotels that had been transformed into apartments, shops, warehouses and even public baths.