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The servant instantly squared his shoulders and jutted his chin in an aggressive gesture. Swann enjoyed a good fight as well as the next man.
“You know I am prepared to stand at your side.”
“A generous offer, but I fear that I must muddle through this mess on my own.” He tilted his head to the side, noting the thick silence that cloaked the house. “Is my brother at home?”
Swann’s battered countenance hardened with distaste. He rarely bothered to hide his lack of respect for Jean-Pierre.
“No. His valet said something of the fool trying his luck at the local halls before visiting his fancy whore.”
&
nbsp; “I am relieved to discover that his brief imprisonment did not impair his spirits.”
“Bah.” Swann turned his head to spit on the ground. “The boy does not have the wits to be grateful you saved his worthless neck. He was back to his whoring and gambling the moment he walked out of the prison.”
Philippe shrugged. He had done what he could for his brother, but from this day forward Jean-Pierre would have to solve his troubles himself. Philippe intended to concentrate on his own future.
“I possessed little hope that Jean-Pierre would actually change his ways. He has far too much fondness for his life as a hardened rake.”
“Fool.”
“I suppose we are all fools in our own ways,” Philippe said, considering his own hectic flight to England. Then, with a shrug he turned his attention to more important matters. “Has Carlos remained?”
“Aye. He is in your library.”
“We shall speak later.”
With a nod toward his faithful servant, Philippe made his way from the kitchen and up the stairs. Within moments he was entering the library to discover Carlos seated at a chair beside the fireplace with a nearly empty bottle of brandy at his side.
Philippe gave an unconscious grimace as he studied his friend’s brooding expression.
Soon enough, Carlos would have a beautiful woman in his arms that would help him to forget Raine. But in the meantime, Philippe could sympathize with his dark mood.
“Are you attempting to empty my cellars in my absence?” he demanded as he strolled across the Persian carpet.
With a small jerk of surprise, Carlos rose to his feet, his brows lifted in surprise.
“Philippe. What the devil are you doing in London?”
Heaving a sigh, Philippe lowered himself in the seat opposite his friend. His entire body ached with weariness.
“I have hopes that I am merely passing through.”
Carlos’s dark countenance was wary as he resumed his own seat. “Have you brought Raine with you?”
Philippe abruptly turned his head to study the fire. So, Raine had not contacted Carlos to tell him of her return to England. A fierce relief ran through him. She might not yet be his, but she belonged to no one else.
“She is in Knightsbridge with her father,” he at last admitted.
Carlos gave a choked cough. “In Knightsbridge? I did not believe when I left Paris that you intended to ever let her out of your sight again.”
“I did not.” Philippe forced himself to meet his friend’s searching gaze. “After you left I took Raine to Madeira with every intention of making her my wife.”
“Your wife? Meu Deus.” Carlos did not bother to hide his shock. “What happened?”
Philippe’s lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Raine made it clear that she would not wed me.”
There was a moment of silence before Carlos slowly smiled. Damn the bastard. He clearly found it quite amusing that Raine was leading Philippe on such a merry chase.
