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He stilled, his expression impossible to read. “What makes you so certain?”
Did he truly believe she was that naive? Or just stupid? She may have been raised in a convent, but she understood that while a mistress might be readily indulged by her protector, she could never expect to be more than a naughty secret that was hidden from society.
A man’s home, his loyalty and his heart would be reserved solely for the woman he would make his wife.
A pain threatened to clench her heart, but Raine was ruthless to squash it. No. She was not going to allow Philippe Gautier to hurt her. He had already disrupted her life quite enough, thank you.
Which was why it was so imperative that she convince him to let her go.
“Gentlemen do not house their mistresses beneath their own roof,” she said, her tone more tart than she intended. “Not unless they desire to create a scandal.”
He gazed down the length of his aquiline nose, clearly indifferent to the threat of scandal.
“Do you truly imagine I care what others might say of me? My life is not ruled by the gossipmongers. And I assure you, if I decide that I want you beneath my roof that is precisely where you will be.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Dear God, no. It was bad enough to remain here in Paris. It would be nothing short of a disaster if she were to be secluded alone with him at his estate in Madeira.
“You are being ridiculous. Your father and brother would never tolerate such a thing.”
“The estate may belong to my father, but it is my fortune that keeps it profitable,” he said with a magnificent lack of modesty. “He has no say in who I may choose to keep in my care.”
“My God, your arrogance is beyond belief.”
“Yes, you have mentioned that before.”
“Then allow me to mention this—I have no intention of going to Madeira with you.”
His brows slowly lifted. “Are you deliberately attempting to be contrary, meu amor? Just a moment ago you were complaining because I was going to toss you aside rather than take you to my estate, now you claim you will not go.”
“I was not complaining…” She heaved an irritating sigh. “I was pointing out that I am merely a distraction that you will soon grow weary of. When that day comes, what do you suppose will happen to me?”
He paused, studying her tight expression with a strange intensity. “What do you desire to happen?”
“What?”
“What is it you want for your future?” he demanded. “Do you truly want to return to your father and that remote village?”
She lowered her gaze to where his fingers lightly stroked her wrists. Carlos had asked the same question. Unfortunately, she still had no answer. None beyond the obvious.
“It is my home.”
Not surprisingly he shrugged aside her response. “A home is not a prison. At least it should not be. Your father is content with his tiny cottage and role of notorious highwayman. You were meant for much more.”
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “To be some man’s mistress?”
“Surely that is better than ending up as a wife to some dreary farmer?” he demanded, stubbornly refusing to accept responsibility for having stolen away the life that might have been hers.
Her lips thinned with annoyance. “It would at least be respectable.”
“Respectable? A highly overrated virtue, I have always thought.”
“You would.”
The elegant male features tightened, as if he was being harassed beyond bearing. And perhaps he did feel harassed, she acknowledged wryly. Thus far she had yet to meet anyone that would actually dare to stand firm in the face of his considerable will. Well, perhaps Carlos, she amended. But it seemed that most of the world devoted itself to pampering to his outrageous conceit.
“Do you know how many women long to be given the opportunity to be rescued from the tedious bonds of matrimony?” His gaze slid deliberately down to the low scoop of her bodice. “You would be choking on boredom within a fortnight.”
Her chin tilted another notch. “Not if I happened to love the farmer.”
