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Philippe moved forward to clap his hand on his companion’s shoulder. “You have done well, Belfleur. I am in your debt.”
“Do not worry, Gautier, I will call in my marker when it is convenient,” Belfleur promised. “Ah, before I forget, I hope your woman properly rewarded you for your generous gifts?”
“Oh, yes, I was certainly rewarded.” Philippe gave a short laugh as he turned and headed for the door. “I assure you, it was a lesson I shall not soon forget.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RAINE RESTLESSLY PACED the cottage after Philippe’s abrupt departure. Lud, the man was without doubt the most arrogant, unreasonable, perverse…jackass ever to walk the earth.
Would he ever accept that she might be more than a pretty bauble that he could keep or toss aside on a whim? That she might possess hopes and dreams of her own?
Of course not.
Philippe might be prepared to pacify her with gaudy jewelry and pretty gowns. After all, it took no more than handing over a wad of bank drafts. There was no danger he might have to actually offer something of himself.
Only a gentleman who cared would concern himself with her true happiness.
And Philippe did not want to care. Not for anyone.
Ridiculously depressed by her dark thoughts, Raine entered the drawing room and stood before the fire. She needed something to distract her, but the cottage was empty of diversions. There were no books to tempt her, no needlework, no duties that needed to be attended.
It was really rather ironic, she acknowledged. She had escaped the confines of one tedious cottage only to be confined to another.
Although the cottage in Knightsbridge did not possess an irritating, ruthless, thoroughly delectable lover who filled her nights with sinful pleasure.
Heat tingled over her skin and her lower body clenched in anticipation. Just the thought of being in Philippe’s arms was enough to make her heart flutter.
Because she was a weak, ridiculous idiot, she told herself sternly.
She was swallowing a sigh when the faint scrape of the door being pushed open had her spinning around. Expecting Philippe, Raine froze at the sight of the stranger who slipped into the room.
He was not a large man. Indeed, he stood only a few inches taller than her, and despite the heavy black coat it was obvious his body was far too thin. With a knit hat pulled low and a muffler wrapped around the lower portion of his face, it was impossible to determine more than a thin countenance with a pair of pale eyes and a pointed nose. At a glance he did not appear remarkably dangerous. Not unless one noted the hectic glitter in his small eyes.
Or the heavy pistol he took from his pocket to point directly at Raine’s heart.
“If you scream for help I will shoot whoever comes through the door to rescue you,” he warned in heavily accented English.
Panic flared through Raine before she was grimly thrusting it aside. This had to be Seurat. Who else would be so daring as to break into the cottage while the household was still awake? And if he was as truly demented as they suspected, she would need her every wit clear and sharp.
She licked her dry lips, just for a moment desperately wishing that Philippe was near enough to come rushing to her rescue. This tiny, emaciated man would be no match for Philippe’s lean, fluid strength.
Then she was giving an unconscious shake of her head.
What was she thinking? Having Philippe here would be nothing short of a disaster. No matter what his strength he was not capable of dodging a bullet. And he was just stubborn enough to try to capture the desperate man regardless of the danger.
Striving for calm, Raine folded her hands before her and squarely met the disturbing intensity of the man’s glare.
“I presume you must be the mysterious Seurat?” she said in conversational tones.
The man appeared caught off guard, but whether it was her lack of terror at his sudden appearance or the fact that she had recognized him, was impossible to say.
“Who I am is of no importance,” he at last growled.
Raine kept her gaze deliberately from straying to the gun still pointed at her heart, as if by ignoring the lethal object it had no power to hurt her. Foolish, perhaps, but it was the only means to keep her dubious courage intact.
“If you are searching for Philippe, I fear he is not here.”
“I know, I watched him leave.”
