A Daring Passion

A tantalizing temptation, and yet one she continued to resist. However desperate she might be to escape from the growingly dark room, she had not forgotten the pistol that he carried in the pocket of his jacket. It was difficult to forget when he had a habit of pulling the nasty thing out and rubbing his hand over it as if to remind himself it was always handy.

Seurat might be a lunatic, but he was still quite capable of pulling a trigger.

And so the day passed, with only a handful of embarrassing journeys to the adjoining room to use the chamber pot, with Seurat hovering on the other side of the screen, to provide an interruption.

Raine forced herself to remain patient. The man had to sleep eventually, did he not? She need only make sure that she could stay awake long enough to make her escape.

Not a difficult task when her nerves were so tightly wound she jumped at the slightest noise.

Wrapped tightly in the blanket, Raine watched as Seurat paced toward a wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. There was a flare of light as he struck a match to a candle and then a faint rattle of crockery. Several moments later he turned and crossed the room to shove a plate in her hand.

Raine blinked in surprise at the thick slices of bread that had been spread with butter and honey. It was odd, but she sensed that despite the fact that Seurat held her against her will, the man still considered her some sort of guest.

Thank God. She was well aware that for all her discomfort, her state of affairs could be much, much worse.

And in truth, she could not deny that deep in her susceptible heart she felt a measure of sympathy for the strange, demented man.

He had been treated shamefully by Louis Gautier, and while she could never condone his dreadful deeds, she did understand why he felt the savage need to lash out.

As she continued to stare rather stupidly at the plate in her hand, Seurat gave an impatient click of his tongue.

“You must eat.”

“Thank you, but I am not hungry at the moment.”

A flush stung his cheeks as he plucked the plate from her hand and set it on the wooden table. Almost as if she had offended him.

“I suppose you are accustomed to fancier fare?” he rasped in derision.

“Not at all.” She met his gaze squarely. “I have spent most of my life in a convent where our meals were kept sparse to teach us to be grateful for what we did receive. And even when I returned to my father’s cottage we had to be frugal with our funds. I am…accustomed to a simple life.”

His expression was wary. “You live with Gautier. They toss about their money the way a whore tosses about her favors.”

Raine flinched at the crude comparison but refused to be provoked. She sensed any emotional outburst would send the poor man tumbling over the edge.

“I have only been with Philippe a short time and soon enough I will be back in England.” She gave a small shrug. “Then I’ll be just another sailor’s daughter who does not even have her pride left.”

He studied her intently, seeing the truth of her words written on her face. Slowly the brittle wariness melted like dew beneath the early morning sun. For the moment she had become a sympathetic companion to his misery rather than a possession of his enemy.

“Then you know what it is like to suffer. To watch others who are so less worthy have everything, while we are given nothing.”

She smiled wryly. “I have some notion.”

“I should have better. I deserve better.” His hands trembled as he ran them over his silver hair. “If not for the Gautier family I would be living in luxury. But they will pay. They will all pay.”

“Why his family?” she asked cautiously. “Philippe and Jean-Pierre are innocent. They had nothing to do with what happened in Egypt.”

The pale eyes flared with a wild hatred. “The sons carry the sins of the father. They must be punished.”

“You believe this is some Greek tragedy?”

“It is justice,” he rasped.

Raine licked her dry lips, searching for the means of somehow convincing the man that there was better way of achieving his goals. Not only for her own sake, but because it troubled her to think that once Philippe managed to get his hands on Seurat the unstable man would be crushed beyond salvation. Louis Gautier might strike out when cornered, but Philippe was a lethal predator who would not be satisfied until his foe was destroyed.

“Unfortunately, life is rarely fair and dwelling on the injustices do nothing to alter the ways of the world,” she said softly.

He regarded her as if she were speaking a foreign language before his lips thinned in annoyance.