A Daring Passion. Rosemary RogersЧитать онлайн книгу.
but proving that he wasn’t even the least frightened that she might try to harm him, or dare to escape.
She gritted her teeth and spent the remainder of the cold trip fantasizing on the numerous methods of torturing a raven-haired devil.
PHILIPPE PRETENDED SLEEP until they rattled through the outskirts of London and entered Mayfair. He had purchased his house in Grosvenor Square ten years before, when it had become evident his business would mean remaining in England for at least a few months a year.
It was far too large and elegant for a bachelor, but since many noblemen had decided that it was more fashionable to reside in the newer squares of Portman and Cavendish, he had concluded it was too good a bargain to pass up.
His investment instincts were flawless.
His other instincts, at least at the moment, were open to question.
Glancing across the carriage at the tiny woman who was glaring at him with a murderous intent, Philippe suppressed a sigh. Throughout the tedious journey he had been painfully aware of Raine Wimbourne. Even as he had feigned sleep his senses had been assaulted by her presence. The warm scent of lilacs, the soft sound of her breath, the brush of her slender leg against his own.
It was as if she were branding herself deep into his awareness. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop her.
Only a lifetime of rigid discipline had managed to keep him from reaching out and crushing her in his arms.
Feeling the carriage sway as it descended into Brook’s Mews, Philippe straightened and buttoned his coat. He had commanded Carlos to tell Swann to take them directly to the stables. Not only did he dislike disturbing the elderly couple who were the only staff that actually resided in the house, but he had no intention of alerting the neighborhood he had kidnapped a young lady.
It was the sort of thing that was bound to disturb the aging nobles.
Once they pulled to a halt he reached across to grasp the cape that flowed over the seat, and with one smooth motion had it pulled over Raine’s head.
“Bloody hell, what are you doing?” she rasped.
Stepping out of the carriage, Philippe reached back to grasp his prisoner about the waist and easily tossed her over his shoulder.
“Do you wish the entire neighborhood to see you entering my town house in the middle of the night?” he demanded.
“Oh, certainly not.” She futilely attempted to kick him. “I would not wish to ruin my reputation before I am hauled off to prison.”
“The night is not yet over, cara. Perhaps if you please me enough I will postpone your trip to Newgate.”
“Please you? Please you?” she echoed in disbelief. “I intend to kill you.”
“You are welcome to try.” He adjusted her on his shoulder and clamped an arm around her flailing legs. “Now, do be quiet or I will be forced to gag you. Not a bad notion now that I think upon it.” He turned to discover his groom approaching him with a furrowed brow. “Ah, Swann, stable the horses and warn the Hibberts that I will only be staying a day or two and have no wish to officially open the house. Whatever staff they have come during the day will have to do.”
“And your…companion?” the groom demanded.
Philippe smiled with a surge of anticipation. “I will deal with him.”
Swann turned his head to spit on the ground. “You should have him hauled off to the gallows. Or better yet, leave him here with me. I should soon have him ruing his dastardly ways.”
“Yes, I am certain you would be very persuasive, however, I still have use for the brat.” He chuckled at the muffled curse that was smothered by the cape and headed toward the door. “When Carlos arrives tell him I will meet him in the library after I have settled my guest.”
“Aye, sir.”
Carrying his slight burden without trouble, Philippe crossed to the low gate and entered his tidy gardens. Ahead of him the three-storied house built in a mellowed red brickwork slumbered in shadows. It was not the largest house in the square, but there was an aging dignity in the sturdy garrets, the finely carved stonework and wrought iron railings.
He paused long enough to dig the key from his pocket and opened the door to the lower kitchens. From there he used the servants’ staircase to make his way to the attics that had once housed the nurseries. If his memory served him right there was a narrow bed among the furnishings, and best of all the windows were too high and narrow to prevent even the most determined escape.
At last reaching his destination, he stepped into the musky apartments and tossed his furious bundle onto the bed.
Leaving her to struggle out of the cumbersome cape, Philippe moved to the nearby fireplace and was rewarded to discover a forgotten candle on the mantel. Once he had the wick blazing, he turned to discover Raine tossing aside the cape and standing to slay him with a murderous glare.
Before she could hurl her venomous insults, he moved forward and offered a faint bow.
“These will be your chambers, my lady,” he murmured in taunting tones. “Perhaps not the most elegant room in the house, but no doubt preferable to a cold prison cell?”
Her nose wrinkled at the thick coating of dust. “Barely.”
Against his will Philippe discovered himself laughing at her relentless courage. Meu Deus, what other woman would face him so boldly?
Stepping even closer, he surveyed her pale, perfect features. Even attired in the ridiculous jacket and buckskins with her amber hair in tangles, she was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
“Do you never give an inch, Raine?” he said softly.
Her chin tilted upward. “Do you?”
“Never.”
Her eyes widened at the husky edge of his voice, but before she could react he had wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her firmly against his chest. Philippe waited until her lips parted in protest before he claimed them in a rough kiss.
He could sense her shock. Not that it could be any greater than his own, he ruefully told himself. He certainly hadn’t intended to grab and kiss her as if he were some bumbling stable lad with his first maid. It was hardly the technique of a practiced seducer.
But there was no denying that there was something about this woman that provoked and bedeviled him in a manner he was finding difficult to ignore.
He desired her. He desired her with a power that was quickly becoming an obsession. But more than that, he was fascinated by her.
She was a unique puzzle he felt compelled to solve.
Outlining her full mouth with the tip of his tongue, he slipped between her lips and tasted the decadent wetness within. His breath was squeezed from his lungs. She tasted as sweet and fresh as the lilacs she smelled of. As sweet as spring.
Just for a moment she stiffened, as if she were about to pull away, and Philippe silently cursed. She was not indifferent to his touch. He was experienced enough to know when a woman returned his desire. She might wish him in hell, but she still wanted him.
Then, with a faint sigh, she was melting into his arms.
A shudder shook through him. It was no more than a kiss, but his entire body clenched with pleasure.
Feeling her grasp at the folds of his greatcoat, Philippe traced his hands up the curve of her spine. She was so delicate. So astonishingly tiny in his hands. It was easy to forget her fragility when she was battling him as if she were as large and intimidating as a dockhand.
With gentle care he smoothed his hands back down to her hips. His lips shifted to spread light kisses over her cheek before he lightly stroked the shell of her ear with his tongue.
She shivered beneath his touch and