A Daring Passion Read Online Free PDF

with sudden inspiration.
    Of course.
    It was bold and daring and no doubt dangerous, but it might very well be precisely what was needed.
    And she was just the woman to accomplish the outlandish feat.
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    Two months later
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    T HE SMALL COACHING INN set near the crossroads was no doubt considered by the natives to be a source of pride. It did, after all, boast a fine wooden sign proclaiming it the King’s Arms, and a newly thatched roof that offered some protection from the bitter chill of the night air. It could even lay claim to a stable yard, although the snow had piled high enough to make it nearly impassable.
    Seated in the comfort of his carriage, Philippe Gautier was singularly unimpressed.
    He had traveled too widely to suppose the inn could offer more than watered ale, food boiled to tasteless mush and an infestation of vermin. No matter how cold and miserable the night, he intended to press onward. His carriage was preferable to the hospitality of the King’s Arms.
    A preference that the innkeeper clearly found galling as he waddled his way through the snow and pulled open the carriage door to offer up the steaming mug of hot cider that Philippe had ordered.
    â€œHere you are, sir.” The man shoved the mug in Philippe’s hand with a fawning smile on his round, ruddy face. “Nothing like a bit of cider on a cold night.”
    Philippe pulled back, his austere features frigid with distaste. There was an overwhelming stench of stale tobacco and onions that clung to the man.
    â€œThat will be all.”
    Impervious to Philippe’s icy dismissal, the innkeeper cleared his throat even as his gaze covertly took in Philippe’s exquisitely tailored greatcoat and Hessians that had been polished to a blinding perfection. The avaricious gaze lingered a moment on the gold signet ring that graced Philippe’s slender finger before returning to meet the narrowed green eyes.
    â€œSuch a miserable night and only to get worse, I fear.” He raised pudgy fingers to smear back his thinning patch of gray hair. “The cook swears that she smells snow in the air, which means it shall be upon us before long. She is uncanny, she is. Never wrong.”
    Philippe gave a lift of a chiseled brow that perfectly matched his raven locks. He was well aware the man was attempting to frighten him into remaining the night at the inn. The ridiculous imbecile.
    â€œDo you mean to tell me that you possess a cook who is also a witch?” he demanded in a low, silky tone that was only faintly accented.
    The innkeeper gave a choked cough. “Oh, nay, sir. Nothing of the sort. She merely has a nose for weather.”
    â€œA nose? Like a bloodhound?”
    â€œAll perfectly natural, I assure you.”
    â€œIt does not strike me as perfectly natural.” He lifted the mug to drain the cider. The dregs were bitter on his tongue, but it at least provided a warmth to his chilled body. “Indeed, I should think it most unnatural.”
    â€œAye, well.” The innkeeper awkwardly cleared his throat. “She is harmless enough, and makes a fine shepherd’s pie that will melt in your mouth. Just what is needed on this cold, miserable night.”
    â€œI abhor shepherd’s pie,” Philippe informed the man as he shoved the now-empty mug back into his hands. “And before you begin to bore me with the delights of your boiled-oxtail soup and the perfection of your ale, be assured that nothing could prevail me to remain beneath your roof.”
    The beefy face flushed with offended pride. “Sir, I must protest…”
    â€œWhat you must do is close the door before you allow any more of the night air into my carriage,” Philippe announced in a voice that brooked no argument. “I grow weary of your chatter. Be off with you.”
    â€œAs you wish.” Offering a stiff bow, the man backed away just as a large, dark form slipped past him to enter the carriage and shut