A Daring Passion

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Almost two months.”

“And you have yet to be caught?” He gave a lift of his brows. “Your magistrate must be a simpleton. Unless, of course, you have bartered those considerable charms to encourage him to overlook your criminal activities? They are certainly tempting enough to make even the most intelligent man toss aside his morals.”

Something very close to hatred smoldered in her dark eyes. “You are repulsive.”

“You did not find me so repulsive a few moments ago,” he was swift to remind her. “Indeed, I have never heard sweeter cries of pleasure.”

“They were cries of disgust, but then I suppose a man who regularly forces himself on unwilling women finds it difficult to distinguish between the two.”

Philippe froze at the deliberate insult. By God, she was a damnable wench. Not a soul would blame him if he had forced himself upon her. She was a brazen doxy who had willingly put herself, and her dubious virtue, in danger.

But unlike many gentlemen, he possessed a profound distaste in the thought of bedding an unwilling woman. Why bother when so many were eager to share their bodies? He had done little more than kiss her. And she had enjoyed the experience as well as he had.

He damn well did not appreciate being accused of such infamy.

Pulling back, he glared at her with distaste. “Cover yourself.”

With awkward motions she pulled the coat over her slender form and struggled to sit up. Philippe sternly resisted the urge to rip the coat off her and toss it out the window.

What the devil was the matter with him?

“Will you release me now?” she demanded.

Slipping behind his cool composure, he smoothed his greatcoat and forced his mind to return to the reason that he kidnapped the annoying chit in the first place.

“You say you’ve been acting the highwayman for the past two months?” he demanded.

She gave a startled blink at his abrupt question. “Yes.”

“Always this road?”

“No. I usually remain closer to Knightsbridge. It is far less dangerous.”

“So this is your first night on the turnpike?”

“Yes.”

He fisted his hands. “Damn.”

A frown tugged at her brows. “Who are you searching for?”

“That is none of your concern.”

Her lips pursed at his aloof reprimand. “Considering you kidnapped me for information on this mysterious person, I would think it very much my business.”

“The only thing that is your business is whether I intend to bed you, beat you or take you to the authorities in London, who will not be so easily seduced as your local magistrate.”

Her eyes widened in startled disbelief. “You cannot take me to London.”

Philippe hid his unease at his impulsive words behind a mask of cool indifference. He hadn’t intellectually considered the notion of taking this female to London. Why should he? Not only did she know nothing of the man he was seeking, but this was no time to be distracted by a pretty face and body that would drive a man to insanity.

But now that the words were out of his mouth, Philippe had no urge to take them back. Why not take her to London? a devilish voice whispered?

She was clearly in need of a sharp lesson to keep her from endangering herself in such a reckless fashion again. A lesson he sensed would have to be severe enough to overcome that fierce, restless spirit.

And, of course, once he had her suitably settled in his town house he would be at his leisure to explore the strange heat she managed to stir in him. It was…dissatisfying to think of her disappearing before he could actually discover if she could provide the intense pleasure that she promised.