The Reckless One Read Online Free PDF Page A

catholic willingness to accept blame speaks volumes about the Sisters who had you in their care,”—this won a startled glance from the wench. He’d been right; she
was
convent-raised—“but even nuns might balk at blaming a war on a minor diplomat’s amorous daydreams.”
    The scowl became pronounced and Raine quelled an inappropriate desire to laugh. Regardless of the diversion this wordplay afforded, his life was still held in the balance. And unless Raine’s eyesight had suffered during his incarceration, big silent Jacques had edged closer while she’d distracted him. Raine swung the gun toward the giant.
    “Come,
mon homme.
Practice the patience your lady upbraids me for lacking. Be still, Jacques, or be dead.”
    Her lush mouth pursed. Yes, she was definitely piqued.
    “Enough background. What do you want of me?”
    Jacques nodded unhappily. She took a deep breath.
    “A half year ago my husband received word that his uncle in Scotland had died leaving him heir to a great estate. He set about trying to make arrangements for me and little Angus to travel to Scotland.”
    “Little Angus?”
    Her gaze dropped demurely. “Our son.”
    Son.
Raine’s gaze traveled down her slender figure to her waist. The necklace she wore could encompass it. Still, a corset could account for its narrow span.
    “As you might well imagine, securing passage to Scotland for a French lady and her son is a difficult matter. Particularly for a French lady of some preeminence—albeit diminished. I am an orphan, Monsieur, fostered in my aunt’s household, the same household where I have been living since my husband’s death.
    “Happily, after much searching my husband was able to contact a privateer and make arrangements for our travel. We were—we are—to follow the tide out tonight.”
    “So why,” Raine asked, “are you instead here with me, masquerading as a notorious jade, rather than bustling little Angus through Dieppe’s shipyard? Not a word, Jacques,” he cautioned the other man.
    “Because,” the girl said with a sudden flash of ire, “my husband died a few months ago and the man we were to meet on the docks expects to deal with a man, an Englishman. He wrote yesterday. In his note he ranted against having agreed to take a woman onto his ship. He says it is bad luck. That his men will rebel. He even goes so far as to suggest that we find other passage but ends his letter by saying he will grudgingly honor his agreement.”
    Raine waited. She held out her hand, palm open in a gesture of impatience. “Do you not comprehend? I am alone. The passage has already been paid and I have no more money. There is no reason this smuggler, this …
pirate
should honor his obligation. I needed an Englishman and Jacques knew where to find one.”
    “And how is Jacques so savvy?”
    “My aunt …
she
is Madame Noir. Jacques is her steward. He always had an affection for me, even as a child and when he discovered my difficulty he … he presented a solution.” For the first time since he’d dragged the veil from her golden head, she looked self-conscious and abashed.
    Raine’s gaze swung toward Jacques. He didn’t look much like an aristocrat’s steward, but admittedly Raine had had little experience with that breed and so withheld judgment. “So ’twas your idea to pluck an Englishman from prison to masquerade as Monsieur Lambett.”
    “Oui,”
Jacques agreed. “I knew the arrangements Madame Noir made, the pattern, the names of those with whom she dealt. I knew that at so short a notice, the prison was Mademoiselle’s only hope of finding an Englishman willing to act as her husband.”
    Every bit of Raine’s instincts for survival urged caution. He didn’t like this story. He mistrusted it.
    “But”—Raine backed up a few feet, angling toward the door, his pistol still aimed in Jacques’s direction—“your plan hinges on finding a
willing
Englishman.”
    “Monsieur,” the girl said, her brows dipping into