voice whispered?
She was clearly in need of a sharp lesson to keep her from endangering herself in such a reckless fashion again. A lesson he sensed would have to be severe enough to overcome that fierce, restless spirit.
And, of course, once he had her suitably settled in his town house he would be at his leisure to explore the strange heat she managed to stir in him. It was…dissatisfying to think of her disappearing before he could actually discover if she could provide the intense pleasure that she promised.
Yes, now that he truly considered the matter, it seemed the most logical of decisions.
Settling back in his seat, he offered her a taunting smile. “And how do you propose to stop me?”
Without warning she scrambled onto the opposite seat, her expressive face revealing precisely what she thought of his options.
“I do not understand why you are doing this. I have told you that I was simply attempting to help those in need. If you possessed any decency at all you would release me.”
“If you seek to touch my heart with your sad tale you are far off the mark,” he drawled.
“Because you have no heart?”
Philippe smiled coldly. Raine Wimbourne was not the first, nor was she destined to be the last, to learn the truth of him.
“No, tolo pequena, I have no heart whatsoever.”
CHAPTER FOUR
RAINE KNEW THAT SHE MUST be in shock.
What else could explain her befuddled reaction to this horrid man?
One moment she was furious enough to stick a dagger in his heart, and the next she was quivering with excitement beneath his touch.
Oh, yes. She was honest enough with herself to accept that her body had turned traitor the moment his lips had touched her.
Of course, to be fair, she had to admit that she was singularly untutored when it came to the opposite sex. The convent had been secluded enough that the students never encountered unknown gentlemen. And those who did visit were well into their dotage, and usually priest, as well.
How could she, such an innocent, possibly be expected to remain indifferent to a man who was obviously an expert in the matters of lovemaking?
It was entirely his fault.
Now, however, her temperament had turned firmly back in the direction of a dagger through his heart.
Damn his rotten soul. Was he truly evil enough to carry her off to London and hand her over to the Runners?
She would be tossed into Newgate prison. Perhaps even given to the hangman before a cheering crowd of onlookers.
One glance into the indifferent, spainfully perfect countenance assured her that he was more than capable of whatever dastardly deeds might suit his purpose.
A shudder raced through her as she once again turned her thoughts as to how to escape the damnable carriage. Her earlier efforts of distraction had been stunningly unsuccessful, but she could not entirely give up hope of escape.
It simply was not in her nature.
Adjusting the cape to wrap it about her shivering body, she sent her captor a resentful glare.
“If you are to hold me captive, may I at least know your name?”
A shaft of moonlight pooled over the man lounging in the corner of the carriage. In the silver light his dark beauty was almost ethereal. As if he was an angel that had tumbled to earth.
But it was more this man had likely been pushed up from the depths of hell.
“Philippe,” he at last retorted.
Raine frowned at the faint accent. It was odd that she could not place it.
“You are not English.”
“Actually I am part English,” he corrected her smoothly. “My father was half French 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
