A Daring Passion

“No one will recognize me, amigo. Not unless I wish them to.”

Philippe abruptly grimaced. “Must you smell like rotting fish?”

“That, amigo, is the smell of money to men on the dock,” Carlos informed him as he vaulted to the street and turned to send Philippe one last glance. “Try not to kidnap any of the pickpockets while I am gone. I think one filthy urchin a week is enough.”

Philippe chuckled as his friend disappeared into the back of the nearest building.

Ah, if Carlos only knew…

Leaning back in his seat Philippe once again found his thoughts turning to Raine Wimbourne. He had yet to discover the reason she affected him with such a strange power. And in truth, he was not certain if he wished to consider it too deeply.

For now she made him feel something beyond duty and endless responsibility, and that was enough.

Lost in thought, Philippe paid no heed to the passing time and it came as something of a surprise when the door to the carriage was opened and Carlos stuck his head inside.

“I have brought someone I believe may be of assistance,” he said before he stepped back and helped a short, squat woman with a plain face and voluminous gown into the carriage. “This is Dolly.”

“Dolly?” With a vague sense of confusion Philippe helped the woman to take a seat opposite him. Carlos had said the name as if he should recognize the woman. Stupid, considering he possessed a distinct distaste in rubbing elbows with commoners. Then a niggling memory tugged at the edge of his mind. Of course. He regarded the rather plain woman with a renewed interest. “Ah, Dolly. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The woman flushed with pleasure. “Get on with you, sir. As if a fancy gent such as yerself would be pleased to meet a mere fishwife.”

He smiled wryly. As a businessman he made it a priority to keep track of any unusual happenings that might threaten or disrupt his fleet of ships that traveled throughout the world. There wasn’t a major port that did not have at least a few agents on his payroll.

He had heard of this woman and her crafty ability to hide reluctant lads from the nefarious press-gangs. It was rumored that she went so far as to hide the hapless boys beneath the folds of her skirts when necessary.

Philippe admired ingenuity in anyone, whether they were male or female.

“Ah, but you are not a mere fishwife,” he murmured. “Your reputation is known far and wide.”

A twinkle entered the rather muddy-brown eyes. “Let us hope not too far and wide, eh, sir?”

“Indeed.”

She briskly squared her shoulders. “Now, yer handsome friend was saying that you were in need of information?”

“Yes. I will be happy to pay.”

“Well, don’t be thinking I’m too good to be taking yer blunt. ’Tis always needed in this place.”

“I would not have it any other way.”

Philippe slid his hand into his jacket to retrieve the purse he had received from Carlos earlier that morning. At the same moment he smoothed over the hidden pocket he always had sewn into his jackets. His heart gave a stutter as he realized that he had forgotten to collect his mother’s locket from the jacket that he had left in the nursery.

It was an unheard-of slip.

He had carried the locket every day of his life since he had found it in his mother’s possessions when he was just ten. Never in the past twenty-one years had he ever forgotten it.

Which made the fact that he had done so this morning seem far more significant than it perhaps should be.

“Sir? Is anything the matter?” Dolly demanded with a growing frown.

“No.” Philippe gave a determined shake of his head and pressed several coins into her hand. “Nothing is the matter.”

Wise enough not to pry, Dolly efficiently tucked away the coins. “Then let us get to brass tacks before someone takes more than a passing interest in such a fine carriage. Carlos said that yer looking for a Frenchman.”

“Unfortunately, that is true.”

“I have heard that you possess an unnatural dislike of your countrymen,” the woman said, proving that she not only knew his identity, but his reputation. Good. It would make certain she would not be foolish enough to reveal this secret meeting. No one who had heard the rumors of his ruthless character would ever dare to cross his will. “Not that I can blame you. Nasty creatures, the French.”