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Philippe stiffened as he realized that he had, indeed, been careless. Even a moment of inattention in such a neighborhood could lead to disaster.
Still, he was not about to admit as much to his friend. Not when Carlos was bound to suspect that his thoughts had once again been consumed with Raine Wimbourne.
“I have traveled such streets before, Carlos.”
His friend’s dark eyes smoldered with a wicked amusement. “Sim, but never when your thoughts seem to be so…distracted.”
“You do enjoy living dangerously, amigo.”
“What other way is there to live?”
Philippe gave a rueful chuckle as he slowed his mount. “Are we near?”
“He disappeared two streets down. There was a narrow alley that he entered.”
They continued down the dark street at a cautious pace, Philippe vibrantly aware of the numerous whores and thieves who watched them with a desperate hunger. If he and Carlos did not look like they might kill anyone foolish enough to approach them, he did not doubt that they would already be dead in the gutter.
“It is a wonder that Seurat has not had his throat slit living in such a neighborhood,” he muttered, unable to conceive how a small, lame man could have survived even a day.
Carlos shrugged, his gaze carefully shifting for the least hint of danger. “Even the most hardened criminals tend to fear madmen. They are too unpredictable.”
“He cannot be entirely mad,” Philippe pointed out. “He has managed to concoct a devilish trap for my brother, not to mention terrifying poor Mirabeau until he is near a collapse.”
“Not all those who are insane chew on the carpeting and crow at the sunrise. There are many who possess remarkable intelligence.”
Philippe had to grudgingly agree. History was littered with brilliant madmen. Some who had occasionally ruled the world.
Still, Seurat was no demented genius. He was a pathetic worm who had allowed his obsession with revenge to lead him to his own downfall.
“Is this the alley?” he demanded as he brought his mount to a halt.
“Sim.” Carlos began to urge his horse into the narrow path, only to give a grunt of surprise when Philippe reached out to grasp his reins. “What the…?”
“I do not like this,” Philippe said softly, his eyes searching the dark shadows. There was an unmistakable prickling that crawled over his skin. It was a sensation that had warned him of danger on more occasions than he could recall.
Carlos smoothly reached beneath his coat to withdraw a small pistol. “Did you see something?”
“No.” Philippe reached for his own weapon. “But it is too quiet. Every alley we have passed has been filled with whores and drunken peasants. Why would this one be empty?”
“You are right,” Carlos breathed. “It is a trap.”
Philippe had already begun to turn his horse away when there was a bright flash and then a deafening sound of an explosion from the darkness. A gunshot, he realized just as something slammed into his arm and sent him tumbling from his stallion.
Hell and damnation, he had been hit.
It was his last thought as his skull connected with the filthy pavement and blackness engulfed his mind.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAINE WAS DRYING HER HAIR by the fire in her chamber when the sound of footsteps and muffled voices had her rising to her feet. A small trickle of unease inched down her spine as she moved to open the door that connected her room with Philippe’s.
Philippe was a gentleman who moved with a careful, calculated grace. Indeed, there had been several occasions that he had managed to slip up on her without a sound. He would never enter the house with such noise unless there was something wrong.
As she entering the master bedchamber, her unease became sharp disbelief as she watched Carlos carry in an unconscious Philippe and lay him on the bed. The rotund housekeeper, Madame LaSalle, was muttering beneath her breath as she turned to make her way from the room.
With a swift motion, Raine had moved to lightly grasp the servant’s arm. “What has happened?”
The older woman gave a click of her tongue. “Monsieur Gautier has been shot. I must fetch hot water and towels at once.”
