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With a last lingering smile the woman turned to walk back down the hall, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume.
Raine found her teeth gritted as she glared at the man standing at her side.
“Juliana?” she demanded.
“She is an old friend.”
Raine doubted that friendship had anything to do with their relationship. “Did she beguile you, as well?”
A smug smile curved his lips. “You sound almost jealous, meu amor.”
She did sound jealous. Probably because the mere thought of Philippe with the sophisticated blonde was enough to make her want to slap the woman. And then Philippe for good measure.
Damn, the irritating man. What was he doing to her?
“Can we just get this over with?” she demanded as she folded her arms over her oddly tight stomach. “Or are we to spend the entire day standing in this hall?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PHILIPPE RESISTED THE URGE to laugh as he reached to push open the nearby door. As a rule he disliked jealous women. The last thing he desired was a clinging female who believed that she possessed some claim upon him.
But the sight of Raine’s taut expression and the tense annoyance that shimmered about her slender body pleased him in a manner that he did not quite understand.
In truth it made him long to press her into the corner and prove that whatever Juliana’s undoubted charm, it was her own fiery spirit that made him ache with need.
With a shake of his head at his odd mood, Philippe stepped into the small, book-lined room. The scent of aging leather and wood smoke greeted him as he crossed over the threshold. And, as Juliana had promised, there was a thin, gray-haired gentleman seated near the fireplace, his lined countenance set in an expression of peevish annoyance.
Not that he had expected anything else. His gaze slid to where Carlos leaned negligently against the heavy mahogany desk. Not many would dare to defy the large, always dangerous man.
Pausing to settle Raine in a chair beside the door, Philippe moved forward to offer a shallow bow.
“Monsieur Mirabeau?”
The man scowled with annoyance. “Oui.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“There was no agreement.” A gnarled hand banged on the arm of his chair. “Your…henchman simply arrived at my door and commanded that I accompany him. Since he is considerably larger and some years younger than myself I had no choice but to be dragged to this place.”
Philippe crossed to the desk and returned with a small glass of cognac. “Perhaps this will help ease any discomfort you might have suffered.” He offered it to the gentleman, who promptly swallowed the golden spirits in one gulp.
Setting aside the glass, Mirabeau glared at Philippe. “What I desire is an explanation of this outrage.”
“First I believe introductions are in order,” Philippe said smoothly. “Carlos you have already met.” He motioned his hand toward the silent Raine. “This is Mademoiselle Beauvoir. And I am Philippe Gautier.”
A silence shrouded the room before Mirabeau struggled to his feet.
“You are Louis’s son?”
“Yes.”
“Mon Dieu.” He gave a shake of his silver head. “Why did you not simply send me a note? I would have been happy to meet with you.”
“I would prefer that no one realize that we have spoken.”
“Why?”
Philippe met the watery-blue gaze with a grim expression. “I want you to tell me everything you know of a man named Seurat.”
