A Daring Passion

Tomas lifted his pudgy hands. “Honey cakes are not my only weakness.”

Philippe gave a short, humorless laugh. “I presume that this gossip must have something to do with my return?”

“It is said that you have brought back an English bride from your travels. I dismissed the rumors as idle chatter until I received your invitation to luncheon.”

Philippe gave a lift of his brows. “You have received an invitation to dine at my home on several occasions without presuming I have towed back a bride.”

“Ah, but those invitations were more a matter of a polite request, not a royal command that I present myself at an appointed hour.”

Philippe blinked in surprise. He h

ad been weary when he had arrived home and dashed off the note to the priest, but he was certain he had not written it as a royal command.

“Surely I was not that ungracious?” he protested.

“Not ungracious, simply abrupt,” Tomas corrected. “Not surprising if you are, indeed, contemplating marriage. Such an important occasion tends to make the most sensible of men rather volatile.” He gave a faint shake of his head. “Rather strange considering they put themselves in such a predicament of their own free will. You would think they would be at peace with their decision.”

Philippe gave a shake of his head and tossed back his wine. “Only a priest would speak such nonsense.”

Tomas blinked in surprise. “And why would you say that?”

“Because if you had any dealings at all with women you would understand perfectly how they can make a man behave as a babbling idiot.”

“Ah.” The large man strolled forward, his brows lowered in concern. “Philippe, why do you not confess to me what is troubling you?”

“I doubt you could be of assistance with my current troubles, Father.”

Not surprising, Tomas was undeterred by Philippe’s sharp tone. He was a man who believed it his duty to assist any of his flock in need, no matter how unworthy they might be.

“It is true that you have brought a woman to be your wife?” he persisted. “An Englishwoman?”

“Yes.” Philippe absently rubbed the tense muscles of his neck. “Miss Raine Wimbourne.”

“I suppose she is beautiful?”

“Beautiful enough to make angels cry with envy.”

“But you are no longer certain that you wish to wed her? Do not torment yourself, Philippe. It is far better to acknowledge your mistake now than for the both of you to live in regret for the rest of your lives. If it troubles you to have to wound the young lady, I shall be happy to speak to her for you.”

“No,” Philippe rasped, desperately wishing it was all that simple. It would be an easy matter to walk away. It was a good deal more difficult to hold on to what he wanted. “I have not changed my mind.”

“Then…”

“It is Miss Wimbourne who has doubts about our marital bliss,” Philippe interrupted.

“Oh.” Tomas blinked several times. “Oh.”

Philippe smiled wryly. “Precisely.”

“Well, I must admit that is a surprise,” Tomas said, gathering his composure. “I may not be a worldly man, but I do know that you are considered quite a catch on the marriage market.”

“Obviously not the catch I had once presumed myself to be.”

“I see.” Tomas frowned in confusion. “Has the young lady revealed the reasons for her objection to the marriage?”

“She claims that she does not believe she is of suitable birth to become my wife.”

“She is not a…” Tomas cleared his throat. “A lady?”