A Daring Passion

“I haven’t the least doubt in the world, but it does not seem entirely fair that you should have all the fun.” Philippe kept his gaze upon the highwayman, who had shifted the pistol in his direction. Seated upon a dappled gray, the bandit sported a brilliant crimson hat and flowing cape, and he had possessed the sense to wrap a muffler around his lower face. Still, Philippe sensed that beneath the gaudy costume he was a small, nervous sort of man. A cold smile touched his lips. “There is nothing like a bit of target practice to relieve the tedium of a journey.”

“Aye, but now you have ruined the gloss on your boots and I shall be the unfortunate soul who will have to spend endless hours polishing them,” Swann groused.

“We all have our crosses to bear.”

“Some of our crosses are greater than others,” the groom muttered.

“That is enough,” the highwayman snapped, waving the gun in a dangerous fashion. “Put your hands in the air before I lodge a bullet in your heart.”

“Good God.” Philippe gave a sudden laugh at the high-pitched voice. “I believe it is no more than a babe, Swann.”

“Young enough to still be sucking his mother’s teat. A fine welcome to England, eh?” Swann readily joined in Philippe’s amusement. “Being robbed by a brat still wet behind the ears.”

The villain sucked in an outraged breath. “I am old enough to pull the trigger, sir.”

Overhead the clouds parted to reveal a slash of moonlight that bathed the frozen landscape in a silver mist. The chilled air stirred the crimson cape, making it appear like a river of blood swirling around the slender form.

Philippe’s smile never wavered as he moved forward with a slow, deliberate step. A part of him was aware that Carlos was creeping through the shadows, and that Swann was behind him with a loaded pistol tucked out of sight, but his concentration was centered on the pistol pointed at his heart.

“Ah, but being old enough to pull the trigger is considerably different from being willing to pull the trigger,” he taunted, his pulse perfectly steady. He had courted danger too often to be unnerved by a half-grown brat who dared to interrupt his journey. “It is no easy thing to take a man’s life, not even a man who might very well deserve to be in the grave.”

“Stay back,” the boy warned.

Philippe took another step and reached up to grasp the bridle of the lad’s mount.

“You see?” He was close enough to see the dark eyes of the highwayman widen with sudden fear. “You should never hesitate. Once you actually begin to consider the cost of murder, you are always lost. You must allow instinct to rule if you intend to kill hapless travelers.”

“Move back.”

“Had you shot when I first appeared I would already be dead on the ground and you would be happily picking through my pockets.” He pretended to consider for a moment. “Of course, it’s more likely that Swann would already have put a hole in your head, but…you comprehend my meaning.”

“I said to move back,” the villain commanded.

“Or?”

Without warning there was a loud explosion as the boy did as he had threatened and pulled the trigger of his pistol. The bullet flew harmlessly past Philippe’s head and he regarded his adversary with a lift of his brows. By God. He had underestimated the lad’s pluck.

“Damnation, the bastard is out of his wits,” Swann snapped. “Stand back, sir, while I…”

“You will tend to the horses, Swann. I shall deal with our feral urchin,” Philippe commanded as he narrowed his gaze. “A brave, but foolish, gesture, mon enfant. Unless you have another loaded pistol hidden about your person?”

The brat threw the pistol at his head. “Damn you.”

Philippe ducked and gestured toward the lurking shadow beside the road. The encounter was all very diverting, but he was still hours away from a warm bath and his favorite brandy.

“Carlos.”

On cue the large man leaped toward the horse, and before the hapless lad could so much as squeak, Carlos had him plucked from the saddle and tossed across his shoulder.

Philippe recaptured the reins of the horse before it could bolt, his lips twitching as Carlos struggled to keep control of his squirming bundle.

“Forgive me, amigo, I had presumed you more than capable of controlling one small imp. Do you need assistance?”

“What I need is a whip to teach this whelp a lesson in manners,” the man growled.

“When you have finished toying with him, Carlos, perhaps you would be good enough to put him in the carriage?”

“Are you certain? He’s a filthy thing with who knows what sort of nasty diseases.” Carlos paused to smack the captive on the bottom. “You kick me again and I shall throttle you.”