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“Not until you have had your breakfast.” Carlos tilted his head toward the low table that held a silver tray. “Madame LaSalle brought that earlier and refused to leave until I had cleaned my plate. She also badgered me to swear on my mother’s grave that I would force you to eat before I could rid myself of the woman.”
Philippe drained the brandy in one long swallow, sighing as the heat exploded in the pit of his stomach and rushed through his veins. It did little to ease the pain in his jaw, but it helped to clear the cobwebs from his mind.
“This is all that I need,” he said as he reached to refill his glass.
“Then you can explain to the woman why the tray is not empty,” Carlos complained.
“Surely you do not fear a mere housekeeper?”
“I fear any woman who is bent on coddling a man.” Carlos gave a dramatic shudder. “They are ruthless. Besides, she is upset enough.”
Philippe heaved a sigh as he recalled the staff’s horrified distress when he had revealed Raine’s kidnapping. The wailing and screaming could have been heard blocks away.
“Yes. Raine has become a favorite of the entire staff.”
Carlos’s expression abruptly softened. “Hardly surprising. What other lady in her position would take such an interest in mere servants?”
“She takes an interest in everyone she encounters,” Philippe said dryly. “Hell and damnation, she gave my best pair of gloves to the coalman when he confessed he did not possess any, and a pai
r of her own boots to that meddlesome old tartar across the road.”
“She has not yet learned to disguise her kind heart.”
Philippe stiffened, sensing a subtle implication that he would somehow steal away that sweet nature. Dammit, he might be an arrogant, selfish bastard, but he would never harm Raine. Certainly he would never destroy something so precious as her generous spirit.
“That is a lesson she will never have to learn. At least not while she is in my care,” he said as his gaze clashed with that of Carlos’s. There was a moment of silent antagonism before the chime of the clock on the mantel intruded. Philippe gave a shake of his head before he drained his glass and thumped it onto a table. Christ, he needed to get out of this cottage. He had to feel as if he were doing something. “We should have some word from Belfleur by now.”
Carlos sucked in a deep breath, deliberately easing his tight muscles. They were both on the sort of dagger’s edge that could lead to a nasty confrontation if they did not take care.
“He has his lads searching through every building in the neighborhood, as well as keeping guard on the streets. It is only a matter of time before we have Seurat cornered.”
Philippe paced toward the window, only absently noting that the rain had stopped and a frozen sunlight was brushing over the village.
Logically he knew that the cunning lads that Belfleur employed were best suited to sneak through the various buildings. Not only were they familiar with the neighborhood, but they could move about without attracting undue notice.
Although he was perfectly capable of picking locks and slipping through windows, there was always the risk he might be spotted by Seurat. If the man took fright he might very well try and escape with Raine. Or worse…hurt her in retaliation.
He could not risk it.
Even if it was tearing him apart to wait about like a worthless bit of rubbish.
“Ah, monsieur, you are awake.” Madame LaSalle bustled into the room and Philippe turned to watch as she placed a ceramic pot on the tray. Her round face was pale and her eyes reddened by tears. “I have made you a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Merci, Madame LaSalle, but I have no time this morning. I want to make sure that my associates are keeping a careful watch on the roads and coaching inns in case Seurat attempts to flee. Then I intend to return to Paris.”
The older woman lifted a plump hand to her bosom. “You have received word of Mademoiselle?”
“Not yet.”
“But you will find her?” she demanded. “You will bring her back?”
Philippe met her anxious gaze, his lips curling into a ruthless smile.
“I will bring her home,” he swore. “You have my word.”
THE DAY PASSED SLOWLY for Raine. Not only because the rooms were cold, cramped and reeked of stale cabbage, but Seurat proved an unnerving companion. Hour upon hour he would pace the small floor and mutter beneath his breath, seeming to forget her very existence as he succumbed to the delusions of his mind.
More than once she considered making a dash across the room when he was lost in his madness. Surely she could at least get the door open far enough to scream for help before he could stop her?
