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“And what interest should I have in this?”
“He was certain that the jewels were recently purchased from my own modest shop only days ago. Naturally it piqued his interest that they would be so swiftly sold.”
The air was squeezed from Philippe’s lungs as he abruptly began to pace the room. “What sort of jewels were these?”
“Three rather beautiful necklaces.”
“The necklaces I purchased?”
“Oui.”
Philippe reached the small desk and placed his hands flat on the surface. A cold dread was forming in the pit of his stomach. A horrid sense that he was being steadily led to the guillotine.
“A foreign gentleman, you said?”
“Spanish, my friend claimed. Or perhaps Portuguese.”
The coldness spread even further as Philippe straightened with a shake of his head. “Carlos? No. It is impossible.”
Belfleur sighed as he drained the last of his brandy. “I fear my friend was quite clear in his description of the gentleman and it fit Carlos remarkably well.”
“I have known Carlos most of my life. He would never steal from me,” Philippe growled even as a traitorous voice began to whisper in the back of his mind.
Carlos was fascinated with Raine. Even if he had not openly admitted his interest it would have been obvious in every lingering glance, every smile that touched his lips when she entered the room and every frantic hour he had been tortured when she had been missing.
How far would he go to have her as his own?
And more important, did Raine prefer the handsome, passionate young man who might very well be willing to offer her the honor of marriage? She had made it clear that she was shamed by the thought of being a mistress. Perhaps the hope of retrieving her tarnished reputation was too great a temptation.
Was that why she had been so sweetly giving last night? Was she saying goodbye to him?
The mere thought was enough to make him growl with a low, lethal fury.
Easily sensing the violence that now prickled the air, Belfleur held up his hands, eager to remind Philippe that he was innocent of any crime.
“There is nothing certain, Philippe. However, I would suggest that you discover if someone has managed to steal your treasure.”
Philippe was already headed for the door.
No one would steal his treasure.
No matter what he had to do to keep it.
To keep her.
CARLOS GRUDGINGLY LINGERED in the depths of the church as he watched Raine pick her way over the uneven ground of the cemetery. It was not his nature to skulk in shadows while a fragile female went to confront the enemy. Especially when that female was Raine.
But somehow the bewitching minx had managed to wrestle a promise from him. He was not to take a step from the church unless he was convinced that Seurat meant her harm. She was determined to see this desperate plot through, and he discovered he did not possess the will to oppose her.
Which only proved that he was an idiot, Carlos acknowledged with a heavy sigh. He knew all too well that her willingness to place herself in such risk revealed just how deeply she had become attached to Philippe. A realization that made him smolder with an aching frustration.
Had he any sense at all he would have gotten on his horse and ridden from Raine Wimbourne the moment he suspected the truth of his feelings. Someplace far enough that he could ease his passions in a willing woman. Perhaps several willing women. None of whom had a taste for coldhearted, arrogant aristocrats.
His wandering thoughts were abruptly shoved aside as Raine came to a halt in the middle of the cemetery. From behind a crypt a limping form stepped forward to confront the startled woman and Carlos stiffened. Damn, they were t
oo far away. If Seurat intended her harm…
Distracted by the fear that surged through his body, Carlos was uncharacteristically oblivious to his surroundings. A painful mistake, he discovered when he was grasped by the shoulder and spun about to encounter a descending fist.
