Читать книгу A Daring Passion - Rosemary Rogers - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

RAINE WAS FURIOUS as she struggled to free herself from the folds of the damnable cape.

What an impulsive fool she had been.

When she had decided to take on the role of the Knave of Knightsbridge to dupe the magistrate, she had deliberately chosen the back roads and lanes near Knightsbridge to stalk her prey. The pickings were hardly fine, and more than a few nights she was forced to return to the cottage empty-handed, but the dangers were few. And most important, she managed to keep her father from the gallows.

How could Josiah Wimbourne be guilty when he was so visibly seen about the village at the same time the Knave was robbing carriages miles away?

Not that Tom Harper was entirely convinced that Josiah was innocent. But he could hardly arrest the man without some proof.

Today, however, her father had sternly informed her that this would be her last night of playing the dashing Knave. His shoulder had at last healed and the magistrate was temporarily thwarted. He was determined that his daughter would no longer court such risk.

Raine had discovered herself sharply disappointed by his command. Her daring charade had proved to be remarkably exciting as she had dashed about the countryside and collected a small fortune in coins and jewels to be handed over to her neighbors.

She felt as if she were actually accomplishing something important. Something that could give her rather empty life meaning.

An odd sentiment in a young woman, perhaps, but she had never been the sort of maiden to be content with keeping house and pandering to the needs of a man.

With the knowledge that she would soon be returning to her dull existence, Raine had taken a ridiculous gamble and chosen this well-traveled road to make her grand departure as the Knave. Her head had been filled with images of wealthy noblemen dripping in jewels and carrying crates of gold.

Her head should have been filled with the knowledge that such wealthy noblemen never traveled alone, and invariably possessed the sort of servants who were perfectly capable of protecting their masters.

As if to emphasize her stupidity, she was forced to helplessly watch as the dark, irritating Carlos vaulted on top her beloved Maggie and took off down the frozen road. At the same moment the raven-haired gentleman climbed into the carriage and with a low command to the coachman closed the door to lock them together in the shadowed interior.

Gritting her teeth as the carriage jerked to a start, Raine stared at the man seated across from her.

Had they simply met in the street, she had to admit that she would have considered him the most handsome gentleman she had ever laid eyes upon. Not that handsome really suited the elegant male features and startling green eyes, she decided. There was an undeniable beauty in the sweep of his brows, the prominent line of his cheekbones, the aquiline nose and the perfectly chiseled lips.

It was a glacial beauty, however, and Raine abruptly shuddered.

Carlos might be a hot-blooded brute, but she sensed between the two men, this icy fallen angel was by far the more dangerous.

Unnerved by the steady, piercing gaze, Raine halted her struggles with her cape and cleared her throat.

“What do you intend to do with me?” she demanded, careful to keep her voice low. The only bit of luck she had enjoyed this disastrous night was that her captors believed her to be a young boy. It was a belief she intended to encourage. God only knew what would happen if they discovered she was a female. “If you think the magistrate will thank you for…”

“Shut your mouth and do not speak again unless I ask you a direct question,” he snapped, his voice as cold as ice. Instinctively, Raine pressed her lips together. There was something unnaturally commanding about the man. “Good, not entirely a simpleton, then.” The green eyes narrowed as he leaned close enough to wrap her in the scent of warm, male skin. “I have need of information from you. Answer me truthfully and you might actually escape the hangman’s noose.”

She swallowed heavily, her heart lodged in her throat. Dear God, what had she gotten herself into?

“What information?” she rasped.

“I wish to know of any strangers you have noted passing this way during the past fortnight.”

Raine paused as her mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps if she could pretend to have the knowledge he sought she could distract him long enough to escape. It was a desperate plan, but better than none.

“There are always strangers on the road, guv.” She made her voice even rougher. “What yer wishing to know?”

His eyes shimmered with a dangerous light. “A large number of strangers?”

“Oh, aye.”

“Odd, I was informed that this road had been nearly impassable for the past week, and that travelers had been few and far between.”

Blast. She licked her dry lips, wishing he would back away. His proximity was far too distracting.

“Perhaps there have not been so many strangers as usual,” she was forced to concede.

He gave a low, impatient sound. “It will go bad for you if you fib to me, boy. Have you, or have you not, noticed any strangers on the road?”

“There have been a few.”

“Any Frenchmen?”

“Well, as to that, there was one gentleman who spoke with a French accent that passed this way last week,” she readily agreed.

“Describe him.”

She clenched her hands in her lap, fearing the man might actually hear her heart racing.

“He was tall, and thin, with a…large nose and…”

Her words broke off with a gasp as he reached out to grasp her shoulders, giving her a violent shake.

“I warned you not to lie to me.”

“No, please,” she pleaded, but not in time. Even as she struggled to loosen her arms she felt the flamboyant hat tumbling from her head. One last shake and her long curls were dislodged to fall in a river of gold around her shoulders.

Philippe stiffened at the sight of the glossy curls.

“Meu Deus,” he breathed, his hand instinctively reaching to rip the heavy muffler that concealed the thin face.

A female. There could be no doubt.

No doubt at all, he thought as his gaze took in the captivating beauty of her countenance.

Never had he seen such pure ivory skin. God, it nearly glowed against the gleaming amber of her hair. Her nose was a pert, straight line and her lips so lush they could make a man hard at the thought of them pressed to his body. But it was her eyes that caught and held his attention.

They were as black as that of a raven’s wing and surrounded by a tangle of long lashes. Such dark eyes should have been flat and lackluster, but instead they flashed with a smoldering spirit that Philippe could almost swear was tangible.

Suddenly all the elegant, sophisticated women who had shared his bed seemed to be pale imitations of femininity. Whatever their charms, they could never compare to this chit’s vivacious, stunning magnificence.

Philippe gritted his teeth as he grasped her arms even tighter and with one smooth motion pulled her onto the seat next to him. She gave a startled scream, but he never hesitated as he pushed her flat onto her back and trapped her flaying legs between his own.

He was furious. Not the aloof disdain or the cold, calculating anger that he was accustomed to. No, this was a blistering, searing fury that caught him off guard and destroyed his icy composure.

There was no reasonable explanation as to why this woman had stirred such unfamiliar heat, but he found himself unable to battle the sensations that flowed through his body.

“Stop,” she panted, struggling to free herself.

Philippe easily controlled her frantic wiggles as he shifted his hands to capture her wrists above her head.

“Damn you to hell, what are you playing at?” he gritted.

“Let go of me.”

“Oh, no, my beauty, you are staying precisely where you are until I discover who you are and, more important, who put you up to attacking my carriage.”

She should have been terrified. He held her life quite literally in his hands. Instead, she glared at him with a fury of her own.

“You are hurting me.”

“Keep struggling and I shall put you across my knee and beat you as you deserve,” he warned without compunction.

“Brute,” she muttered as she tried to knee him in a most delicate location.

His eyes narrowed. For such a tiny thing she managed to put up a hell of a battle.

“Halt your struggles.”

“Sir…” Her words came to a startled end as the buttons on her jacket were tugged open and the heavy material parted to reveal she wore nothing more than a thin chemise beneath.

“Voce e bonita,” he whispered at the sight of her curved breast perfectly outlined by the clinging muslin. Without warning there did not seem to be enough air in the carriage.

“Bastardo,” she gritted.

His gaze jerked back to her pale face. “You speak Portuguese?”

“I speak any number of languages,” she said with a proud disdain.

His gaze narrowed. So the girl was no peasant. A knowledge that did nothing to ease the burning in the pit of his stomach.

“Then choose one of those numerous languages and explain to me what the hell you are doing here.”

“Will it halt you from behaving like a lunatic?”

His fingers tightened. “Now.”

There was a brief pause before she licked her lips. Philippe ignored the burst of awareness the unconscious gesture sent ricocheting through his body. Those damnable lips would not distract him. Not when he was certain that she was about to tell him a lie.

“This was nothing more than a lark.”

“A lark?”

“My friends and I thought it would be amusing to see if one of us could masquerade as the notorious Knave of Knightsbridge.”

“And who, pray, is the Knave of Knightsbridge?” he demanded in a lethally soft voice.

“A highwayman who has become something of a local legend.” Her lashes lowered to hide her expressive eyes. “The stories of his tedious escapades are repeated so often that my friends and I decided that we should prove his dastardly deeds were not so difficult to accomplish.”

“I see.” He studied the delicate features. “And it did not occur to you that this charade might lead to a bullet through your heart? Or at the very least the destruction of your reputation?”

“I realize now it was a stupid folly. But we meant no harm.”

Philippe deliberately paused, allowing her a brief moment of hope before dashing it with a sharp laugh.

“You really are quite accomplished, you know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The lies tumble from your lips with remarkable ease. I can only presume you are a local actress or a reprehensible hoyden who has a talent for falsehoods.”

Her lips tightened, her dark eyes flashing in the shadows. “You asked me to explain my presence here and I have done so, now, I insist that you release me.”

“Insist?” He gave a lift of his brow. “You are in no position to insist upon anything, querida.”

“You cannot hold me against my will.”

“I can do whatever the hell I please with you.” His gaze lowered to the delicate curve of her throat before roaming down to the tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. The urge to taste of that soft flesh hit him with a force that had him clenching his teeth. “An intriguing notion, is it not?”

Her eyes widened as the air filled with a prickling awareness that she could not fail to sense.

“You are no gentleman.”

He had never felt less a gentleman than at this moment, he accepted with a flare of unease. The things he longed to do to that soft, slender body were more fitting for a randy dockhand.

Fiercely, he turned his thoughts to more important matters. “No, I am a man who is accustomed to doing precisely as he pleases, and one who will halt at nothing to have his way,” he warned. “A knowledge you would do well to bear in mind. I have no compunction in making you suffer if you do not tell me the truth.”

A mutinous expression settled on the beautiful features. “You intend to beat me?”

“If necessary.”

“Fine. You can beat me all you desire. I will not tell you anything.”

Philippe did not doubt her sincerity. She was clearly a chit who possessed none of the usual female sensibilities. A woman prepared to take any outrageous challenge, no matter what the consequences.

A fact that might have inspired his admiration, if her audacious courage had not led her to assault his carriage. He possessed too much pride to easily forgive being treated as a common pigeon waiting to be plucked.

Of course, he had no intention of taking a whip to the ivory skin. It would be a sin against all that was holy. Oh, no. He had a far more pleasant sort of torture in store for this lovely criminal.

“Then I shall have to find another means of persuasion,” he said as he lowered his head.

“What do…?” She stiffened in shock as his lips skimmed the line of her jaw. “Oh.”

Philippe closed his eyes as the heat and sweet scent of lilacs washed through him. By God, she was wasted as a thief. She could make a fortune as a courtesan.

Meu Deus, at this moment he would pay that fortune.

“Such skin,” he whispered, his lips following the long length of her neck. “As perfect as the rarest pearl.”

She gave a small jump as he lightly nipped at the pulse racing at the base of her neck.

“No, you must not.”

His mouth continued its exploration, discovering the swell of her breasts. “Tell me who you are.”

“Raine,” she said on a strangled gasp.

Philippe used his teeth to tug the offending chemise out of his way. “Your real name.”

“That is my real name.” She shivered, but Philippe possessed enough experience to know it was not from fear. “Raine Wimbourne.”

“Raine.” He pulled back to regard the tight rosebud at the tip of her breast. It was already puckered as if pleading for the touch of his mouth. A plea he had no intention of ignoring. “Yes. It suits you.”

“You said if I told you my name you would release me,” she charged.

“You have not told me why you were playing such a dangerous charade.”

“I cannot.”

“Good.” Philippe closed his lips over the hardened nipple, his grip tightening on her wrists as she abruptly arched upward in shocked pleasure.

“Dear God,” she breathed.

Philippe barely noticed her ready response. This was no calculated seduction, no well-rehearsed lovemaking that was designed to captivate his partner while leaving him satisfied, but unaffected.

Far from it. His blood rushed through his veins and his heart pounded with excitement. The woman must be part fey, he decided as he suckled her with a growing insistence. Only some dastardly magic could have set his body on fire with such shocking need.

Any thought of the inappropriateness of seducing some unknown wench in a near-frigid carriage was lost as Philippe pressed his erection against her hip. He wanted to spread her legs and take her with a fierce, pounding passion. He wanted to be so deep inside her that her moist heat surrounded him completely.

Using his teeth and tongue, he mercilessly teased her sensitive flesh. Her soft moans filled the carriage, her head twisting from side to side as if she were battling her rising tide of desire.

“No, I—” she gave a small gasp “—I will confess all.”

Her husky voice was an unwelcome intrusion as Philippe was busily learning the sweet hollow between her breasts.

“Mmm?”

“Stop this and I will tell you the truth.”

Philippe muttered a savage curse as he was forced to pull back and study her flushed face. A portion of his mind might remind him that a confession was precisely what he had desired when he had started this business, but the larger part of him wished she had kept her lips closed. Damn, he had never endured such a brutal need for release.

“Explain,” he at last managed to mutter.

Her dark eyes were stormy. “I am here because of my father.”

Philippe frowned in disbelief. “Your father has forced you to become a highwayman?”

“No, of course not,” she denied. “My father is the Knave of Knightsbridge.”

His gaze flicked over her deliciously rumpled form. “So, you are the daughter of a common criminal,” he said, not without some satisfaction.

He would not hesitate to seduce a noblewoman, of course, but her disreputable position did make sure that there would be no complications.

Raine gave a low hiss of fury. “Josiah Wimbourne is no common criminal. He was a hero in the Royal Navy and decorated by the king.” Her tiny chin tilted. “More than that he is a wonderful person who has devoted his life to caring for me and for his neighbors.”

“You have admitted that he is a highwayman.”

“Only because he was desperate to help the poor and the helpless in our village. The people who are forgotten and neglected by everyone but him.”

Philippe was unmoved. He would wager his finest vineyards that the heroic Josiah Wimbourne kept the lion’s share of his bounty for his own pleasure.

After all, it was obvious the man had no conscience whatsoever.

“I should think more of his efforts if he didn’t willingly risk his own daughter’s life for his noble deeds,” he said coldly.

“I assure you that my father argued fiercely against my taking on his role, but we had no choice.” She paused before she grudgingly continued her explanation. “The magistrate was becoming far too suspicious. It was necessary to divert him before he had my father arrested.”

“And so you took on the role?”

“Just until my father could return.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. Meu Deus, what other woman would have endangered herself in such a manner?

This Raine Wimbourne was either incredibly loyal or touched in the head.

“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.

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.”