A Daring Passion

“Holds himself responsible?” he demanded in bemusement.

“Yes.” Her hand reached out to touch his arm, sending a blaze of need roaring through his body. “He blames himself for his mother’s death, for Jean-Pierre being imprisoned, and if he is forced to destroy Seurat because his father is too weak-willed to return what he has stolen, then he will hold himself to blame for that, as well.”

Carlos ground his teeth, resisting the urge to inform the gullible woman that Philippe was very far from the saint she desired to paint him. It was not loyalty toward his friend that stayed his tongue. All was fair in love and war. No, he would quite willingly do whatever necessary to turn her from Philippe, but not at the cost of tarnishing that delicate purity.

That was something he would protect with his very life.

“Philippe’s desire to destroy Seurat no longer has anything to do with his family,” he said cautiously. “Seurat sealed his own fate when he kidnapped you.”

Her face paled, her nails digging into his arm. “That would only make it worse. I could not bear to have someone harmed for my sake. How could I live with such a thing?”

Carlos gave a slow shake of his head. Meu Deus. Her father should have left her in that blasted convent where she belonged.

“And you think to prevent this dreadful fate by bribing Seurat?”

“Yes.”

“Could it be, anjo, beyond wishing to keep Philippe from sacrificing what remains of his soul, that a part of you wishes to rescue the madman from his well-deserved fate?” he demanded softly.

A wistful smile curved her lips. “Is that so wrong?”

“No.” Carlos heaved a sigh, knowing he was lost. “It might be foolish, but it is not wrong.”

“Then you will help me?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AFTER WINNING CARLOS’S reluctant agreement to assist with her daring scheme, Raine did not give herself an opportunity to enjoy her victory. There was still any number of obstacles to overcome. The first of which was discovering where Philippe had hidden away the necklaces that she had tossed back in his face.

It had taken the rest of the afternoon to locate them locked in the bottom drawer of his desk. Thanking the heavens that one of her father’s scandalous friends had taught her the art of picking a lock, she at last had the jewels hidden at the bottom of her armoire.

On the morrow Carlos would travel to Paris and sell the gems. Once they had the money she would be prepared to meet with Seurat. Always presuming he did agree to meet with her.

With her task completed, she had taken a long bath and dressed for dinner. Oddly she still did not feel the relief she had been expecting.

Raine tugged her curls into a simple knot as she attempted to determine the source of her niggling unease. It could not be the knowledge that she might very well be hastening the day Philippe would rid himself of her presence. After all, that realization was responsible for the dull ache that clutched at her heart.

It was not until she entered the drawing room to discover Philippe awaiting her that she accepted what it was that troubled her.

Guilt.

Despite the fact that she was truly doing what she thought best for Philippe, she could not entirely dismiss the knowledge that he might not appreciate her efforts to rescue him. Especially when he discovered she had hocked the beautiful jewels he had so generously given to her.

Gentlemen were rarely reasonable when it came to their pride, and Philippe would no doubt be furious with her until he had the opportunity to accept that she had dealt with Seurat in the best means possible.

Not that it truly mattered, a voice mocked in the back of her mind. As soon as he realized that his brother was out of danger, he would be returning to his estates. Without her.

Her mouth was dry and her nerves raw as Philippe noticed her entrance and prowled toward her. He was attired in a black jacket and breeches that molded to his lean body with flawless perfection. His shirt was a crisp white and his cravat intricately tied with a diamond stickpin that shimmered with a cold fire.

In the flickering candlelight his classic beauty was near breathtaking.

Halting before her, Philippe lifted her hand to press a lingering kiss to her fingertips. A kiss that Raine felt to the tip of her toes.

“Ah, meu amor, you look beautiful, as always,” he said, straightening as he peered deep into her eyes.

Raine felt a honey heat spread through her body and instinctively tugged her hand from his grasp and stepped back. Her nerves were wound tight enough without adding the heady force of his potent sensuality.

“Thank you, Philippe.” She could only hope that her smile was not as stiff as she suspected. “Was your afternoon productive?”