A Daring Passion. Rosemary Rogers
and half English. My paternal grandmother still resides in Devonshire.”
“And your mother?”
Something flared through his cold green eyes. “French.”
Her frown deepened. “And yet you speak Portuguese?”
“I have spent most of my life in Madeira, although I do try to spend at least a few months each year in London.”
Good Lord, his life seemed complicated. “Which explains your town house.”
“Yes.”
“I suppose you also possess a home in Paris?” she continued dryly.
If possible his expression became even more glacial. “I possess several homes and estates, but none in France.”
“What a grave disappointment that must be for you.”
He shrugged. “Not at all.”
Raine made a rude noise. How casually he spoke of his various homes and estates. As if they were mere trifles that were due a man of his rank.
Of course, men with his arrogance simply took for granted that they should be blessed with such fortune.
“God, but I hate your sort,” she said before wisdom could halt the impulsive words.
There was a startled pause before he gave a lift of his brows. “My sort?”
If she had a trace of sense she would shut her lips and not say another word. The Lord knew that she was in enough trouble as it was. But, she was goaded beyond bearing by the taunting glint in those blasted green eyes.
“Men who believe that because they have a bit of wealth and social position they can go about treating others as if they are no more than rubbish.”
If she thought to wound him then she was doomed to disappointment. Her sharp words did nothing more than bring a smile to his lips.
“Well, that is the point of having wealth and social position, is it not?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion,” she hissed.
“Ah, but I believe there is more to you than meets the eye, Miss Wimbourne. Common sailors’ daughters do not possess your polished accent, nor do they speak the several languages you claim to know. Could it be you still have not told me the truth?”
Raine frowned, not quite certain how he had so efficiently turned the conversation back on her.
“I was educated in a French convent. I only recently returned to England.”
“And why would a sailor’s daughter be schooled in a French convent?”
She tilted her chin at the edge of mockery in his tone. “My mother was the daughter of a successful French sea captain, and it was her wish that I be sent to the same convent that she attended.”
“She is no longer alive?”
“No, she died when I was just a child.”
“As did mine,” he murmured, his voice so low she barely heard the words. Raine stilled as his expression softened with what might have been sorrow, but before she could speak the taunting smile was back with a vengeance. “I suppose it must be difficult for you?”
“Sharing a carriage with you? Yes, extraordinarily difficult.”
His gaze flicked over her with a callous assessment. “I meant being trapped among the rustics. You must be a shimmering diamond among the dross. Such beauty and elegance. Do the local farmers and tradesmen come to worship at your feet?”
Horrid, horrid man.
“Are you always so offensive?”
“Only to those who dare to attack my carriage and point a pistol at my heart.”
Her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap, but she at least possessed the sense not to strike out. He was no doubt the sort who would strike back, even if she was a woman.
“You cannot know how desperately I wish I had put a bullet through your heart.”
His smile was suddenly genuine. “Then let this be a lesson to you, menina pequena, on the next occasion do not hesitate.”
“Have no fear. I will not so much as blink.”
An unexpected chuckle filled the carriage, flowing down Raine’s spine with a delicious warmth.
“So savage, and not at all what one would expect from an English wench,” he murmured in appreciation. “They are usually so dull and bland. But then, what can one expect from such a cold, gray country?”
Raine regarded him warily. She distrusted his heat as much as his ice. Indeed, the heat had proved far more dangerous.
“England is not cold and gray,” she protested as she leaned back in her seat. “And its citizens are certainly not dull.”
“No?”
“No. Especially not those born in Kent. I will have you know that our motto is Invicta.”
“Unconquered?” he easily translated.
“Exactly.” A sense of pride flowed through Raine. She had always loved her home. The beauty of the rolling hills and fields. The gentle rivers. The lovely villages with their clapboard cottages and timbered halls. And the hardworking men and women who toiled each day to scrape a living from the earth. “We have produced men such as Wat Tyler and Jack Cade, who raised armies to seek justice for their neighbors. And Nelson himself lived in Chatham.”
“And now, of course, you have the Knave of Knightsbridge.”
“Yes, we do,” she said without the least hint of apology.
“And I have his daughter.”
There was a rap on the carriage window before Raine could reply, not that she knew what she intended to say.
Philippe turned to lower the window and spoke in a low voice to Carlos, who was riding on Raine’s beautiful mare beside the carriage. They spoke too low for Raine to catch the words, but she didn’t doubt they were plotting something nefarious.
Despicable pair of cads.
With a smooth motion, Philippe closed the window and returned his attention to her angry countenance.
“I suppose your friend has no compunction about kidnapping a young, defenseless woman, either?” she said bitterly.
He tugged a curtain over the window. “At the moment he still believes you to be a young, defenseless lad. I think it best we keep it that way.”
“Why? Does he possess the morals you lack?”
The green eyes narrowed. “Very few, and none when it comes to a beautiful woman who is without the protection of her family. Do I make my meaning clear?”
She swallowed heavily, wishing to heaven this was all just a terrible nightmare that she would wake from.
Unfortunately the large male form consuming far more than his fair share of the carriage was all too real. As was the manner his gaze was straying over her body with increasing frequency.
The fact that his glances were causing the strangest tingles in the pit of her stomach only deepened her anger.
“You call my father a common criminal, but it is you and men like you that are truly evil. I hope someday you get your just rewards.”
His lips twisted, as if he were not entirely pleased with his inner thoughts.
“No doubt I shall, but until my villainous end arrives I intend to enjoy myself thoroughly.” He stretched out his legs and folded his arms over his chest. “Now, I suggest you attempt to get some rest before we reach town. I doubt you will sleep easily once you are tossed into a damp cell.”
With