A Daring Passion

Yes, now that he truly considered the matter, it seemed the most logical of decisions.

Settling back in his seat, he offered her a taunting smile. “And how do you propose to stop me?”

Without warning she scrambled onto the opposite seat, her expressive face revealing precisely what she thought of his options.

“I do not understand why you are doing this. I have told you that I was simply attempting to help those in need. If you possessed any decency at all you would release me.”

“If you seek to touch my heart with your sad tale you are far off the mark,” he drawled.

“Because you have no heart?”

Philippe smiled coldly. Raine Wimbourne was not the first, nor was she destined to be the last, to learn the truth of him.

“No, tolo pequena, I have no heart whatsoever.”

CHAPTER FOUR

RAINE KNEW THAT SHE MUST be in shock.

What else could explain her befuddled reaction to this horrid man?

One moment she was furious enough to stick a dagger in his heart, and the next she was quivering with excitement beneath his touch.

Oh, yes. She was honest enough with herself to accept that her body had turned traitor the moment his lips had touched her.

Of course, to be fair, she had to admit that she was singularly untutored when it came to the opposite sex. The convent had been secluded enough that the students never encountered unknown gentlemen. And those who did visit were well into their dotage, and usually priest, as well.

How could she, such an innocent, possibly be expected to remain indifferent to a man who was obviously an expert in the matters of lovemaking?

It was entirely his fault.

Now, however, her temperament had turned firmly back in the direction of a dagger through his heart.

Damn his rotten soul. Was he truly evil enough to carry her off to London and hand her over to the Runners?

She would be tossed into Newgate prison. Perhaps even given to the hangman before a cheering crowd of onlookers.

One glance into the indifferent, painfully perfect countenance assured her that he was more than capable of whatever dastardly deeds might suit his purpose.

A shudder raced through her as she once again turned her thoughts as to how to escape the damnable carriage. Her earlier efforts of distraction had been stunningly unsuccessful, but she could not entirely give up hope of escape.

It simply was not in her nature.

Adjusting the cape to wrap it about her shivering body, she sent her captor a resentful glare.

“If you are to hold me captive, may I at least know your name?”

A shaft of moonlight pooled over the man lounging in the corner of the carriage. In the silver light his dark beauty was almost ethereal. As if he was an angel that had tumbled to earth.

But it was more this man had likely been pushed up from the depths of hell.

“Philippe,” he at last retorted.

Raine frowned at the faint accent. It was odd that she could not place it.

“You are not English.”

“Actually I am part English,” he corrected her smoothly. “My father was half French and half English. My paternal gra