The servant appeared horrified by the mere thought of her beloved Jean-Pierre soiling his hands with good, honest work.
“Monsieur Gautier would never be happy in such employment. He is a man who is meant to be surrounded by beauty.”
Raine gave a faint shake of her head. Good Lord. Philippe had not exaggerated the burdens that he was forced to bear. A mother dead when he was just a babe, an unscrupulous father who had all but abandoned him and a charming rapscallion of a brother. It was a wonder he had not long ago washed his hands of his family.
“So long as he need not concern himself with providing the funds to support such beauty,” she pointed out.
“Why should he?” Madame LaSalle shrugged. “His brother is a wealthy man, non?”
Raine bit back her sharp words. Philippe had seemingly accepted the burden of caring for his family. It was not her place to protest Jean-Pierre’s lack of responsibility.
“Jean-Pierre travels here often?” she instead demanded.
Madame LaSalle returned to her kneading. “Not so often as we would wish. Such an elegant man. So charming and kind to the servants. And such a favorite of the ladies. He is a true Frenchman.”
Not overly impressed with the seeming qualities of a true Frenchman, Raine was suddenly distracted by a loud thump that came from above. With a jerky motion she was on her feet and heading toward the door.
“Bloody hell, someone should take a horsewhip to that stubborn fool.” She stomped up the stairs and shoved open the door. Philippe was seated on the edge of the bed fully dressed except for the boots he was struggling to pull on with only one hand. “Whatever are you doing?”
He sent her a dry smile. “I am attempting to put on my boots. Unfortunately I do not appear to be having much success.”
Raine gave a shake of her head. Although he had somehow managed to comb his hair and even shave, there was a pallor to his skin and dark circles beneath his eyes. He was still in pain and weakened from his wound, even if he was too much of an idiot to admit it.
“Which would be a rather obvious indication that you are not recovered enough to be putting on your boots,” she said tartly.
“All I need is a bit of assistance.” He continued with his tugging on the boot. “Where is Carlos?”
“Philippe, you cannot be serious.” Without thinking, she moved to stand directly before him. “You must stay in bed.”
He lifted his head to reveal a wicked smile, his hand running an intimate caress along the line of her hip.
“A tempting offer, meu amor, and one that I will be more than willing to accept once I have Seurat in my grasp.”
She hastily stepped back, her skin tingling from the heat of his hand. How the devil did he manage to stir her senses with the merest touch?
“You cannot even put on your boots, how do you intend to travel to Paris and capture Seurat?”
A determination settled on his pale features as he grimly set about wrestling his boots onto his feet. Then, smoothly rising, he backed her to the wall. He planted his hands on either side of her shoulders and allowed his body to lean heavily against hers.
“One day, Raine, you will realize that it is a mistake to underestimate me,” he murmured.
Raine swallowed the sudden lump in her throat as she glared into his mocking eyes. Her heart was pounding and her knees were weak, but she was not about to give him the pleasure of revealing her reaction to his proximity. He was quite arrogant enough.
“Fine. Dash about Paris all you desire. But when you become ill do not expect me to te
nd to you.”
“Of course you will tend to me.” He smiled as his hand trailed over the curve of her cheek. “You are far too tenderhearted to allow anyone to suffer, no matter how much they might deserve such a fate.”
“You think you know me so well?”
“Not nearly as well as I intend to, meu amor.” He studied her with a brooding gaze. “You withhold far too much of yourself from me, but eventually I will wear down your barriers. I intend to have all of you.”
The lump in her throat seemed to double in size. “Why?”
“Why?”
“You have me in your bed. What more do you want?”