A Daring Passion

The thought was intolerable. Beyond intolerable.

Raine was his. Every silken inch of her belonged to him.

And he was sharply aware that the time had come to take the necessary steps to make sure that she was firmly and irrevocably bound to him.

But first he had to put an end to Seurat.

Concealing his burning awareness of the vexing female standing directly behind him, Philippe regarded Seurat with a frigid expression of disgust.

“Carlos, take our prisoner and return to England with him.” With a flick of his wrist he tossed the packet of money toward the younger man. “Hire as many men as necessary to make sure he does not escape.”

Carlos easily caught the bundle and tucked it beneath his jacket. Just for a moment he narrowed his gaze, as if he were contemplating the notion of refusing the command. After all, traveling to England would take him far from Raine.

Philippe took a step forward, his hard gaze warning his friend that it would not matter how near he might be to Raine. She would never be his.

With a grimace, Carlos gave his captive a sour glance. “And once I am in England?”

“Take him to my town house,” Philippe said, his thoughts sorting through the swiftest means of having his brother released. “I will send a message to Windsor so that the king is aware of your arrival.”

Carlos gave a choked cough. “Not the most comforting thought. I have no desire to awaken one morning to discover the king waiting in the foyer.”

Philippe smiled wryly, ignoring the various curses that Seurat was spewing. “Do not fear, the king will not bestir himself to such an effort. He will command that you bring your guest to the palace to make his confession.”

Carlos gave the small man a shake. “And if he will not confess?”

Philippe did not hesitate. “Kill him.”

Seurat gave a shrill moan, but neither gentleman paid him any heed. Instead they locked gazes in the silver moonlight.

“While I am rescuing Jean-Pierre what do you intend to do?” Carlos demanded.

“That, amigo, is none of your concern,” Philippe said softly.

Carlos narrowed his gaze. “Philippe.”

“Return your favors to those women who are forever tossing up their skirts for you.” Philippe allowed a smile of anticipation to touch his lips. “Raine will soon be beyond yours, and every other man’s, touch.”

RAINE WAS FORCED TO BITE her tongue as Carlos hauled poor Seurat across the cemetery and toward the carriage that was waiting behind the church.

Damn and blast. Had she not suspected that something was bound to come along and spoil her excellent plan?

Unfortunately, not even her darkest imaginings had envisioned Philippe Gautier arriving like an avenging angel and destroying all that she had attempted to achieve.

Which was foolish. When was Philippe not charging in and making a muck of her life? It was beginning to seem as if that was his sole duty in this world.

As if sensing her brooding thoughts, Philippe turned to her and held out an imperious hand.

“Come.”

She took a step back, her brows drawn together in annoyance. “No, Philippe, you must listen to me.”

He growled low in his throat, moving forward until he loomed over her with intimidating force. “I have told you not to speak.”

“I will bloody well speak whenever I wish, and I am not going anywhere until you hear me out,” she retorted.

His expression was cold and edged with a dangerous intent. “I have obviously coddled you too well, Miss Wimbourne. You believe you can flaunt my commands without danger of reprisal. That assumption is about to come to an end.”

Her lips parted to demand his meaning when his hands were encircling her waist, and before she knew what was occurring, she found herself tossed over his shoulder as he headed toward the nearby road.