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It was near two hours later when he at last was able to make his way to his bed and stretch out beside the slumbering Raine. They would be docking in Calais well before dawn, but he was not yet prepared to approach the Custom House. There would be time enough for a short rest, he decided, as he gathered Raine close and allowed his tense muscles to relax.
Surprisingly, he slept deeply and the sun was well over the horizon by the time he had shaved and attired himself in a pair of black breeches and dark jade coat. Pulling on his caped greatcoat, he made his way up the narrow stairs and crossed to stand at the polished railings.
As always the wharf was bustling with a variety of passengers, common sailors and crowds of spectators. There were also the inevitable runners who waited anxiously to whisk an unwary passenger to whatever nearby inn employed them.
His gaze skimmed the throng, searching for anyone who might be displaying an unusual interest in the sleek yacht, before shifting toward the looming Custom House and the towering lighthouse that had been er
ected to mark the return of Louis XVIII from exile. It was claimed that his footprint could still be found on the beach if one cared enough to go in search of it.
Philippe did not.
One French despot was much like another as far as he was concerned.
Beyond the Custom House, the town of Calais was separated by an iron gate. It was a drab stone town with narrow streets that were usually dirty and clogged with traffic. Not that it mattered to Philippe. Carlos had slipped from the yacht well before dawn and would have a carriage waiting for them. He intended to begin the trek to Paris as soon as he had dealt with the tedious formalities. And more important, once the word began to spread that Philippe Gautier had returned to France and in the company of a mysterious young woman.
As if on cue, Raine appeared at his side, once again wrapped in the heavy cloak with the hood pulled to hide her face in the shadows. Her caution was perhaps understandable, but that didn’t halt the surge of annoyance that rippled through him.
He had never possessed a lover who was ashamed to acknowledge her liaison with him. Meu Deus. They usually made certain that it was known throughout whatever city they happened to be in. A fact that had always bothered him until now.
Resisting the childish urge to brush the hood from her head, Philippe leaned against the railing and offered her a faint smile.
“You see, querida, I have kept my promise. You have arrived safely.”
“Why have we docked here?” she demanded.
Philippe gave a lift of his brows. “Why should we not?”
She gave an impatient click of her tongue. “I shall have to go through Customs. In case you have forgotten, I did not precisely prepare for a trip to the Continent. I do not have my papers.”
“Really, Raine, must you continue to underestimate me?” he drawled, reaching beneath his coat to pull out the folded papers that Juan had provided. “I would not bring you to France without your passport.”
With a wary expression, she reached to take the packet and pulled it open.
“Mademoiselle Marie Beauvoir?”
“Most recently a dedicated student at the convent in Turin. That is until our paths crossed and I convinced you to travel with me to Paris.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “This is forged.”
His lips twisted at her shocked disbelief. The chit had spent God knew how many nights terrorizing travelers along the roads of Knightsbridge. Now she balked at a handful of fake documents?
“I should not say that too loudly, querida,” he warned. “Not unless you wish to be hauled before the Custom officials.”
She studied him with a narrowed gaze. “Good Lord, are you a smuggler?”
He gave a short laugh. “Not as a rule.”
“You must be involved in some sort of illegal activities. You are far too adept at concealing your identity and slipping past authorities for an honest gentleman.”
Philippe abruptly straightened from the railing. “A businessman must possess many skills.”
“Fah.”
“Come along, meu amor.” Taking her arm, he led her across the deck. Now was not the moment to confess the truth to her. “Our baggage has already been unloaded. Let us be done with this tedious task.”
IT WAS JUST AS TEDIOUS as Philippe had feared. There was nothing more ghastly than a petty autocrat who thought his tiny bit of power gave him license to bother and bedevil anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path.
When they were at last done, Philippe left his secretary and a burly crewman to deal with the luggage, as well as to protect Raine, while he traveled into Calais to meet with Carlos.
