“Raine…”
“No, Father, it does not matter. Truly, it does not.” She managed a smile, but it stopped short of the dark beauty of her eyes. “Now, stop attempting to distract me and tell me what has occurred.”
Josiah returned his attention to the fire. Damn and blast. He had been a fool to believe for a moment he could hide his secret career beneath his daughter’s nose. She was no longer a tiny tot to be easily distracted. Oh, no, she was a woman who was quite ready to use whatever means necessary to get what she wanted.
A woman just like her mother, he thought with a fond sigh.
“I suppose you intend to nag me until you have the whole sordid truth?” he said darkly.
“Would I ever lower myself to nag? Certainly not. I will, however, point out that I am currently in the process of a delicate surgery. I should hate for any mistakes to occur.”
Josiah offered her a narrowed glance. “Good God, pet, you can’t threaten your own father. It is indecent.” He winced as she gave a tug on the thread. “Bloody hell.”
“Will you tell me?”
He watched as she tied off the knot and cut the thread, and then with efficient ease wrapped his wound in fresh linen.
“Yes, pet, I will tell you,” he reluctantly conceded. What else could he do? The chit wouldn’t be satisfied until she had wrung every sordid detail from him. “But not tonight. I am weary and in need of a hot bath and a soft bed. We will speak in the morning.”
She moved to stand directly before him, her expression somber. “I have your word? You will give me the truth?”
He gave a slow nod. “Aye, my word.”
THE SUN HAD BARELY crested when Raine was out of bed and dressed in a simple blue gown. It wasn’t unusual. For the past seven years she had lived in a convent that had taken a dim view of any hint of laziness or self-indulgence, and most mornings she had been awake before the dawn to begin her morning prayers.
Even though she no longer had a strict schedule to guide her days, she found it impossible to acquire the habit of lying in bed for half the day. It might be all that was fashionable to sprawl upon a dozen pillows and sip at chocolate, but she possessed a nature that was far too restless for such a tedious waste of time.
Besides, chocolate always made her break out in a rash.
A faint smile touched her lips as she left her chambers and headed down the hall. Oh yes, she was quite the early riser. Unfortunately, once she had risen she had very little to occupy her time.
Her father might not possess a fortune, but he did keep enough servants to ensure that she had no need to do chores about the cottage. And since she had few acquaintances and fewer friends, she was never overwhelmed with pressing engagements.
Far too often she found herself walking through the countryside, wondering if she would ever feel at home again.
Giving a shake of her head, Raine thrust aside the vague frustration that had plagued her since returning to England. On this morning she had more important matters to occupy her mind.
Halting before her father’s door, she quietly pushed it open and stepped inside. As she had expected he was still in his bed, although he was not alone.
Standing beside the bed was a tall, sparse woman with brown hair pulled into a tight knot, and features more handsome than pretty.
Mrs. Stone had come to keep house for Josiah and Raine after her mother’s death nearly sixteen years earlier. The housekeeper had herself been widowed and seemed to know precisely how to provide a steadfast support and sense of comfort to the grieving father and daughter.
Over the years she had become as much a part of the family as Foster and their groom, Talbot. Indeed, Raine was certain the cottage would be an unruly muddle without her commanding presence.
Crossing the carpet, Raine halted beside the four-posted bed that commanded most of the narrow chamber. A matching armoire and washstand were the only other pieces of furniture. The walls were plain and the burgundy curtains faded.
The room was not precisely shabby, but there was no mistaking that it had not benefited from the more delicate touches of a woman’s hand in many years.
“How is he?” she asked of the housekeeper in soft tones.
Mrs. Stone gave a click of her tongue, a faint frown marring her brow.
“A bit feverish, but he refuses to call for the surgeon. Stubborn fool.” Her tart words did not quite cover the concern etched upon her features. “For now all we can do is keep the wound clean and pray.”
Raine smiled wryly as she glanced down at her father. He was stubborn, and at times a fool. But she loved him more than anyone else in the world.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stone.”
There was a sound from the bed as Josiah opened his eyes to glare at the two women hovering over his bed.
“Do not be whispering over me as if I am already a corpse. I’ve no intention of cocking my toes up just yet.” He gave Mrs. Stone a bleary glare. “And you can keep your prayers to yourself, you old fusspot. God and I have an understanding that needs none of your interference.”
Far from offended by her employer’s reprimand, Mrs. Stone gave a snort and planted her fists on her hips. The two badgered and teased each other like an old married couple, a fact that did not escape Raine’s notice now that she was mature enough to sense the intimate ease between the two.
It did not trouble her. She was pleased to know that her father was not entirely alone.
Indeed, if she were to look deep in her heart she would have to admit that she envied him.
“Oh, aye, an understanding,” the housekeeper said darkly. “You dance with the devil and never consider the cost. One day…”
“Enough, woman,” Josiah interrupted with a grimace. “Your pious lectures are tedious enough when I am cast to the wind, but they are nigh unbearable when I am stone-cold sober. Be off with you.”
With a sniff Mrs. Stone turned and marched from the room, closing the door with enough force to bring a smile to Raine’s lips.
“You do know that she is utterly devoted to you?” she scolded her parent gently.
He grunted as he pressed himself higher on the pillows and settled more comfortably on the mattress.
“Of course I know she is devoted. Why else would I keep such an old shrew around?”
Raine rolled her eyes. “You are a shameless scoundrel. How are you feeling?”
He gave a shake of his head, his dark hair, now liberally streaked with silver, falling nearly to his shoulders.
“Weaker than I would like to admit.”
Leaning forward, Raine gently pulled aside the binding to study the wound. There was an angry redness around the stitches but no visible sign of infection.
Still, it was no mere scratch to be ignored.
Tragedy could strike all too swiftly when injuries were not properly treated.
“I fear that you may have some fever to the wound. We must call for the surgeon.”
There was a short pause before her father heaved a sigh. “No, pet, that we most certainly cannot do.”
“Why not?”
“Because the local magistrate is currently searching for a bandit he managed to wound last eve. If he should discover the location of that bandit, he intends to hang him from the nearest gallows.”
Raine frowned in confusion. “Why would the magistrate mistake you for a bandit?”
“No doubt because I am one.”
The words were said simply, without apology, and with a carelessness that made Raine gape in confusion.
“Are you jesting?”
“No, Raine, this is no jest.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I am the Knave of Knightsbridge.”
“The Knave of Knightsbridge?”
“Aye. Highwayman extraordinaire.”
With a sharp movement Raine turned from the bed to pace toward the window. There was a fine view of the Kent countryside with its wide pastures and a charming lake surrounded by a copse of trees. Raine, however, did not take her usual
pleasure in the peaceful setting, or even in the pale autumn sunlight that dabbled across the stables and cramped outhouses.
Forgivable, of course. She had just been told that her own father was the notorious brigand whose name was on the lips of every citizen of Knightsbridge.
“I do not understand,” she at last said as she paced toward the armoire and then back to the window.
“No, I do not expect that you do.”
“Why would you do such a thing? Are we in such desperate straits?”
“Sit down, pet, you are making my head spin with your pacing.”
“I cannot think when I am sitting.” Her brow creased as she struggled to consider how best to rescue them from such a dreadful situation. “We must sell mother’s jewels of course, they should fetch a goodly sum if we were to take them to London. And perhaps we could see about a lodger. We have room in the attic to take in at least two….”
“Raine, there is no need for such sacrifices, I assure you,” her father broke in with a firm voice.
“There is every need.” Returning to the bed, she glared down at the lean face that was so very dear to her. “I will not have you risking your life. We will find other means to get by.”
A fond smile touched his lips. “Raine, please listen to me.”
“What?”
“My pockets are not to let. Although I will never claim the wealth of some, we are quite comfortably fixed.”
She clenched her hands at her sides, not at all comforted by the knowledge they were so well situated.
Not when her father was dashing about the countryside, risking his reputation and very life, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Then…why?”
His expression was uncommonly somber as he reached up to take her hand in his own.
“Because our neighbors are not nearly so fortunate as we are, pet. The king and his cronies have happily emptied the treasury while refusing to honor their debts to the soldiers and widows that depend upon their promised annuities.” His grip tightened on her fingers, revealing a smoldering anger that burned in his heart. “Proud men have been forced to become no more than mere beggars in the street, and women sometimes worse, just to keep a roof over their heads. And as for the local orphanage…it has fallen into such disrepair that it will soon be no more than a pile of rubble if something is not done.”
The flutters of panic began to ease from her stomach. Not that she was any less worried. It was just that she began to understand what was prompting her father’s foolhardy behavior.
Beneath his hardened exterior was a tender heart and fierce need to protect those weaker than himself. It was a gallantry that marked him as a gentleman far more than any empty title or grand estate.
“And so you have taken upon yourself to play the role of Robin Hood?”
He tried to shrug only to wince in pain. “In a manner of speaking.”
“And I suppose that Foster is your Friar John, and Mrs. Stone and Talbot your Band of Merry Men?”
A grudging smile touched his lips. “They are aware of my secret identity, but I do not ask that they take a hand in any of my nefarious business. I would never allow them to risk themselves in such a fashion.”
“But you are quite willing to risk yourself?” she demanded in fond exasperation.
“There is no risk, I assure you, pet.”
She deliberately turned her attention to his wounded shoulder, her brows lifting.
“Oh, no. No risk at all.”
He at least possessed the grace to redden at his ridiculous claim. “Well, there is usually no great risk. Last night was a clumsy mishap. One that I have no intention of repeating.”
“On that we agree.” She lifted his hand to press his fingers to her cheeks. “I admire what you are attempting to do, Father, I truly do, but it is far too dangerous. You could have been captured, or even killed, last eve.”
“Nonsense,” he said gruffly. “It is a scratch, nothing more. And I can promise I will never again underestimate our new magistrate. He is a clever blighter who seems to possess an uncanny ability to be where he is least wanted. He will not sneak up on me again. From now on I intend to be the predator, not the prey in our little game.”
Raine dropped her father’s hand as she took a step backward. “Good God, this is not a game, Father.”
“Of course it is.” His eyes glittered with what might have been…pleasure. As if he actually enjoyed his nefarious role as the Knave of Knightsbridge. “A game of wits that has kept me well occupied and, more important, has provided our neighbors with food and a roof over their heads. They have no one else to depend upon, Raine. Would you have me abandon them, as well?”
“Of course not,” she denied.
Although she had lived in France for the past seven years, this tiny community would always be her home. How could she ever stand aside and see them suffering without doing whatever possible to assist? And in truth, she could not deny a fierce pride in her father’s brave quest to save them from ruin.
Still, she also could not deny a lingering fear for her father. She had already lost her mother. She could not bear to lose him, as well. He would have to take far greater care if he were to continue his dangerous charade.
Parting her lips to demand his promise that he would not take foolish risks, Raine was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats. She hurried to the window and watched the rider approaching, her heart lodged in her throat.
“Dear heavens.”
Her father struggled to sit forward. “Who is it?”
She slowly turned, her eyes wide. “It is the magistrate.”
CHAPTER TWO
“BLOODY HELL.” WITH A PAINFUL effort Josiah struggled with the heavy covers that were wrapped about him. “Call for Foster and tell him to put the man off until I can get dressed.”
“Dressed?” Raine crossed to the bed and firmly pushed her father back into the pillows. It was a testament of his weakened state that he gave up the fight with no more than a low groan. “Have you taken leave of your senses? You are not leaving this bed.”
Her father’s lean features hardened with frustration. “I must. The magistrate is already suspicious.”
“So, let him be suspicious.”
“Raine, if he discovers that I am injured he will have me hauled off in chains.”
Raine pressed her hands to her knotted stomach. No. Now was not the moment to panic. Not when her father’s life hung in the balance.
“Do not fear, Father.” She squared her shoulders. “I will deal with the magistrate.”
“Raine, no. I do not want you involved in this.”
She smiled wryly. “I am already involved, Father. Besides, you are in no condition to stop me. Remain quiet and I will return as soon as I can.”
“Raine, I beg of you, do not do this.”
Ignoring Josiah’s agonized plea, Raine headed firmly toward the door. Her father was willing to risk everything to do what he thought was right.
How could she possibly do any less?
TOM HARPER WAS NOT a modest man.
Although he had been born the son of a vicar who had little to offer his ambitious child, Tom had benefited from a formal education and introduction to gentlemanly manners. When combined with his own natural intelligence and an unwavering drive to succeed, he was assured a comfortable existence.
Comfortable, however, was not enough to satisfy his restless heart. He had traveled to London with every expectation of making a name for himself in the Home Office, and eventually earning himself a seat in the House of Commons.
The fact that it had proved much more difficult than he had anticipated had not dampened his determination. It had, however, made him realize he would have to do something to capture the attention of his superiors.
Which was, of course, the reason he had leapt at the opportunity to become a magistrate in this secluded village.
And why he was standing in the drawing room of the comfortable c
ottage awaiting the arrival of Josiah Wimbourne.
Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, he politely turned and smoothed his hands over the material of his plain blue coat. He was careful to dress with a somber simplicity that suited his lean body and pleasant features. It revealed he was a man of means without presuming to rise above his station.
The door opened and Tom battled a flare of surprise as a small blond-haired angel slipped into the room.
He had seen Miss Wimbourne in the village, of course. She could not step foot on High Street without every male in the vicinity dropping whatever he was doing and rushing to catch a glimpse of her.
Even himself.
Not that he would ever expect to capture such an exquisite morsel, he thought ruefully. But he was man enough to enjoy the fantasy.
Moving forward with an innate grace, Miss Wimbourne offered a warm smile that seemed to add a glow to the shabby room. It was odd that the powerful and rich so often tended to have children that were pale and unremarkable, while the rogues of the world could father offspring that possessed such vibrant beauty.
No doubt that was the reason the ton was so careful to exclude the riffraff from their society. What insipid debutante could possibly hope to compare with this woman?
Halting directly before him, Miss Wimbourne performed a small curtsy.
“Mr. Harper, what a pleasant surprise.”
Tom bowed, his mind rapidly adjusting to this unexpected encounter.
He didn’t believe for a moment it was mere happenstance that brought this young maiden to the drawing room.
“Miss Wimbourne, I hope I do not disturb you?” he murmured.
“Not at all. Indeed, I have had a very dull morning and have been wishing for a visitor to distract me.” Her dark eyes were wide and guileless, but Tom was not easily fooled. This woman could have every gentleman in the county lined up at her door if she but offered the least encouragement. “I have requested that Mrs. Stone bring tea. Will you have a seat?”
“You are very gracious, but I have actually come to have a word with your father.”
“Why, Mr. Harper, how can you be so cruel?”
A Daring Passion Page 2
