A Daring Passion

AN ICY RAIN HAD BEGUN to fall by the time Philippe and Carlos arrived at the cottage. In silence they rubbed down their mounts before handing them over to the sleepy stable boy. They had alre

ady discussed what Philippe had discovered from Belfleur and made their plans for continuing their hunt when dawn arrived. Now, as they left the stables and entered the garden, Carlos found his feet slowing to a halt.

The cottage slumbered silently before them, the windows glowing with the promise of warmth. The thought of a hot bath and bottle of brandy was tempting. The night had started off cold and was becoming steadily more miserable. To remove his wet clothing and warm his chilled body seemed nothing short of paradise.

But even as he shivered at the cutting wind, a flare of restlessness was smoldering in the pit of his stomach.

He did not want to return to his solitary chambers. Not with the knowledge that just down the hall Philippe would be climbing into bed next to Raine.

Meu Deus. The thought was enough to make his jaws clench and his chest tight. The golden-haired beauty was crawling beneath his skin in a manner he never before experienced. Perhaps it was the mere knowledge that she was forbidden fruit. Or perhaps it was something more. Something he did not even want to consider. Whatever the cause, he knew that he was in dire need of a distraction.

It was that or doing something that he might very well regret the rest of his days.

“Carlos?”

Realizing that Philippe had stopped to regard him with a frown, Carlos gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Go in without me.”

“Is something the matter?”

“I intend to have a smoke and then perhaps I will wander down to the local pub.”

Philippe tensed, his expression impossible to read in the darkness. “It is a cold night for a walk.”

Carlos pulled a cheroot from his pocket. “I have endured worse.”

“The citizens are bound to be a tedious lot.”

“There is always some amusement to be found.”

Philippe instinctively reached out his hand. “Carlos…”

Stepping swiftly backward, Carlos avoided the gesture of what could only be pity.

“Just go, Philippe,” he growled in a rough tone.

There was a pause before Philippe at last gave a nod of his head. “As you wish.”

Carlos watched his friend disappear into the cottage before he sought the protection of the nearby grotto and searched for his flint. It took several tries before he had the cheroot lit, but at last he breathed in deeply of the rich tobacco.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt his tense muscles begin to ease. A sardonic smile even tugged at the edges of his mouth.

This might all be brilliantly amusing if he were not the one standing in the freezing rain, he acknowledged wryly. After all, he was a near legend for his smooth ability to seduce a pretty maid, regardless of whether or not she was attached to another. He had crawled through the windows of countless wives, stolen away nights with betrothed maidens and dodged more than one bullet from a jealous lover.

Hell, he had bedded a bride the night before her wedding.

Perhaps this was all poetic justice.

He dropped the cheroot and ground it beneath his heel before he gathered his coat about him. It was time to find a warm, willing female and rid himself of the aching frustration.

He had managed to take a step toward the side gate when there was an unmistakable roar from the cottage, followed by a loud crash.

Without missing a beat, Carlos had pulled his pistol from his pocket and was sprinting to the cottage. He charged through the back door and headed directly up the stairs, where he could still hear the sounds of destruction.

Had Philippe walked into a clever trap? Or had he stumbled across some villain who had not expected them to return so swiftly?

Carlos was prepared for any sort of danger as he vaulted into the drawing room, only to skid to a stop at the sight of Philippe prowling through the room tossing vases, dishes and figurines. For a moment, Carlos stared at his friend in amazement, wondering if he had lost his wits, and then with a shake of his head he moved forward to grasp the crazed man by his shoulders.