A Daring Passion

by Rosemary Rogers

  Even the slowest wits would suspect that something nefarious was occurring.

  “Hiding?” Raine tried to choke out a small laugh as she stiffly climbed down the tree and brushed the bits of bark from her rumpled cape. “No, indeed. I was…”

  “No, no, you cannot lie to me, my dear,” the woman firmly interrupted, peering into Raine’s wary expression. “I have been waiting for you, you see.”

  “Waiting for me?” Raine frowned, her hands stilling in surprise. “I believe you must be confused.”

  The woman gave a soft laugh. “Most people certainly think so. They call me Mad Matilda.”

  Raine gave a choked noise. She had, of course, heard of Mad Matilda. Who had not? The poor woman was blamed for every drought or sudden illness or lost child in the neighborhood.

  “The witch?”

  The thin features tightened. “If I were a witch why would I be living in a cottage with a roof that leaks and chimneys that smoke? And just look at that garden wall.” She pointed a gnarled finger toward the wall that was now little more than a pile of rocks. “Why, it is a disgrace. Do you think I would allow it to fall into such disrepair if I could boil a lizard or two and have it all in perfect order? No, lass, I am not a witch.”

  Raine found herself laughing at the woman’s exasperated words. She had never really considered the matter, but it did make sense that if a woman could conjure magic, she would live in a great deal more comfort.

  “But you said you were expecting me.”

  “Aye, I will admit that I do have the Eye,” the woman said. “Those who don’t understand the power would call it magic, but it is no more than a talent. Like being able to sing or dance.”

  Raine thought she should be uneasy at being so close to the woman. Even if she was not a witch, there was still something distinctly odd about her. But she experienced no fear or apprehension. Instead, there was an unshakable curiosity growing within her.

  “I…see.”

  With a small smile the woman reached out to take her hand and tugged her toward the decrepit cottage.

  “Come, come. It is too cold to be out here in the wind.”

  Raine hesitated only a moment before she allowed herself to be urged forward. The woman might be a bit batty, but she didn’t seem to be dangerous.

  Remaining on the road, however, might prove to be very dangerous.

  Who knew where the magistrate might be lurking? Or even the treacherous Timms?

  The last thing she needed was to stumble across either one while she was wearing her father’s costume. She would be locked in chains before she could utter her first lie. And no doubt her father would soon join her.

  No, it would be far better to give them time to return to the village before she took off blindly down the road.

  Besides, a few moments out of the freezing wind sounded like heaven.

  They made their way along the broken flagstones, then entered the small cottage. Raine half expected to discover it littered with strange objects, dead animals and boiling pots. What she found instead was a small but cozy kitchen that was scrubbed clean and boasting nothing more frightening than solid oak furnishings and a china tea set.

  Oh, there were a handful of herbs and plants that were strung from the open timbered ceiling to dry, and several jars of various ointments along one cabinet. But, nothing that couldn’t be found in Raine’s own home.

  Matilda tossed aside her cloak as she bustled toward the kitchen and began to fuss with a tray that was set on a low table. Raine could not stop a small smile. The supposed witch looked like an elderly nanny in her prim gray gown with fine lace sewn into the neck and cuffs.

  “Join me by the fire,” she commanded, waiting for Raine to settle in one of the cushioned chairs before handing her a plate that was piled high with food. “Here we are, then.”

  Raine gave a startled blink. The plate was overflowing with tiny sandwiches. Some with thinly sliced ham, some with cucumber and some with smoked salmon. And then there were tiny wedges of cakes of all sorts.

  “Good heavens.”

  The woman settled in a seat opposite from Raine, a sparkle in her pale blue eyes.

  “My talent is not quite good enough to determine which sandwiches and cakes you prefer, so I thought it best to provide a variety.”

  “It is a feast.”

  “And you are starved,” she said, more as a statement of fact than question. “Eat, lass.”

  Raine did not need a second urging. Her stomach had been aching for the past two hours and the food was frankly delicious.

  She managed to consume all of the sandwiches and two of the cakes before she at last set the plate aside and heaved a deep sigh.

  This was heaven, she decided as the heat cloaked around her and her tense muscles began to relax.

  “That was delicious, thank you,” she murmured.

  “Would you like to try some of the seed cake? It is one of my better efforts, if I do say so myself.”

  “I could not possibly eat another morsel,” Raine protested.

  Matilda settled back in her seat, a smile curving her lips. “I must say it is nice to have some company.”

  “I fear I cannot remain long. My father must be very worried about me.”

  “Aye, he is, but first I must tell you what I have seen.”

  Raine was not certain what to expect. “Are you going to read my palm?”

  “No.” The woman gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I have no need for such gypsy tricks. I see what I see.”

  “And what do you see?”

  “Crossroads.”

  Well, that was nicely ambiguous. Precisely what any fortune-teller might utter.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” Matilda gave a wise nod of her head. “You stand upon them. Down one path are security and a life of comfort. Down the other are turmoil and danger and great happiness.”

  Raine gave a lift of her brows, willing to play along. “That seems rather confusing. Should the great happiness not be included with the security and comfort?”

  “No, the happiness comes from following your heart.” Without warning the woman leaned forward to touch the locket that Raine had slipped around her neck as she had raced from London.

  A sharp fear flared through Raine as she jumped to her feet. No. She had put Philippe behind her. Whatever insanity had briefly brought him into her life was over and done with.

  She would never, ever see him again.

  “I must go,” she muttered as she turned for the door.

  From behind she heard Matilda give a click of her tongue. “You may leave, lass, but you cannot hide from destiny,” she warned.

  Raine did not bother to turn around as she fled from the cottage.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JOSIAH TUGGED AT HIS freshly starched cravat as he went in search of his elusive daughter. It was amazing that in a cottage so small the stubborn chit could manage to elude him with such ease.

  She always had an ample supply of excuses, of course.

  The cottage had to be scrubbed and polished until it gleamed. She needed to visit the local dressmaker. Mrs. Stone needed help in the kitchen. Foster needed to be coached on his role during this night’s charade.

  Perhaps reasonable explanations, but Josiah was quite certain that his daughter was deliberately attempting to avoid him.

  The question was why?

  At last he discovered her in the dining room as she inspected the table that had been formally set with their best china and silver.

  “Raine?” he said softly.

  She gave a small gasp as she jerked around. Almost as if she had expected to discover a monster creeping up on her.

  It was an edgy unease that had smoldered around her since she had returned to the cottage four days ago.

  With an obvious effort Raine forced a smile to her face as she smoothed her hands over the gown she had just received from the dressmaker.

  She looked stunning. The pale gold silk was m
odestly cut, but the shimmering material brought out the faint ivory of her skin and added a luster to her golden curls, which were pulled into a complicated knot on top of her head.

  In the candlelight she appeared ethereal. Like a glimmering angel dropped to earth.

  The poor magistrate would be so befuddled he would be fortunate not to spill his soup in his lap and choke on his pheasant, Josiah thought wryly. Which, of course, was precisely the point.

  “Good Lord, you startled me, Father,” she gently chastised.

  He moved forward, his gaze carefully watching her tense expression. “That seems to happen a great deal lately.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I mean, that since you so mysteriously disappeared, you have been decidedly tense,” Josiah charged. “You jump at every shadow.”

  She turned toward the nearby mantel and adjusted the candelabra that needed no adjustment.

  “There was nothing mysterious about it, Father. I thought the magistrate was watching the road and found an abandoned cottage to hide in for the night.”

  “Yes, so you have said.” Disbelief was thick in his voice.

  He did not know what had happened during those terrible hours that Raine went missing, but he did know that it was more than simply hiding in an abandoned cottage.

  Unfortunately, he had no means to force the truth from his stubborn daughter. Whatever had put those shadows in her eyes was a secret she intended to keep well hidden.

  “Actually, I am glad you are here.” Squaring her shoulders, she briskly turned to face him. “I wish to go over our plans for tonight.”

  Josiah gave a slow shake of his head. He could not deny a measure of concern when Raine had revealed the conversation she had overheard between Harper and Timms. The damnable magistrate was determined to prove Josiah was the Knave of Knightsbridge and nothing seemed capable of distracting him.

  But while he agreed with Raine that something needed to be done, he was far from convinced that her current scheme was anything more than sheer madness.

  “I do not like this.”

  “Yes, you have made that abundantly clear, Father,” she murmured with a forced patience, “but we have no choice. We must do something to convince the magistrate once and for all that you are not the Knave of Knightsbridge.”

  “I was a fool to ever begin this folly and an even greater fool for allowing you to become a part of it.” He gave a pained shake of his head. “If anything happened to you…”

  “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

  “That is precisely the sort of arrogance that has landed me in this situation,” he said sternly. “At least one of us should have enough wits to stay away from the gallows, and since it is far too late for me, I fear it will have to be you, pet.”

  Her beautiful eyes darkened with a mutinous determination as she reached out to grasp his arm. “No one is going to the gallows. Not even if I have to tie the magistrate to a tree and leave him for the vultures.”

  Josiah hid a faint smile as he recognized that expression. He should. He saw it in the mirror often enough. Usually right before he was about to do something stupid.

  “No one admires your courage and loyalty more than I, pet, but not when it puts you in danger,” he said softly.

  “What is the danger?” She tilted her chin, clearly determined to go through with the plan regardless of his protests. “The magistrate will be here enjoying a delightful dinner and the pleasure of your very fine cigars while I quietly play the pianoforte in the drawing room. A perfectly respectable evening while the Knave is blatantly hunting carriages near the squire’s house.”

  “Raine…”

  The sound of the front door being opened interrupted his words, and Josiah was forced to swallow a curse as Raine stepped away and turned to make her way across the room.

  “Remember, Father, that Foster must be within sight the entire evening.”

  PINNING A STIFF SMILE to her lips, Raine left the room and headed toward the small foyer. Behind her she could sense her father’s frustration and a twinge of guilt tugged at her heart. She knew that he had been concerned since her abrupt return to the cottage after vanishing for more than a day. Hardly surprising. As he had so accurately accused, she was restless and on edge, and inclined to discover herself standing in the center of a room staring at nothing. Even worse, she could not banish the vague sensation that she was standing in the midst of a brewing storm, just waiting for the lightning to strike her.

  Not at all the sort of thing to reassure a concerned parent.

  But, while she hated to deceive her father, she knew that the truth was not likely to ease his concerns. Just the opposite, in fact. Josiah Wimbourne was proud enough to decide to track down Philippe and challenge him to a duel if he ever discovered what had occurred.

  It was the last thing Raine desired.

  Especially now that they had the additional burden of knowing that the magistrate was still convinced that Josiah was the Knave of Knightsbridge.

  With an effort she turned her thoughts to the evening ahead. She did not have the time or luxury of brooding about what was done and over with. Not when her daring scheme would demand every particle of her concentration.

  Standing in the shadows, Raine watched as Foster escorted the magistrate into the foyer and took his coat and hat with a crisp formality. Although it had been years since Foster had earned his living in the grand homes of London, he maintained his ability to slip into the role of the proper servant with remarkable ease.

  Thomas Harper smoothed his hands over his plain blue jacket, his eyes covertly studying Foster and then his surroundings. His expression was unreadable, but Raine sensed that his searching glance missed very little.

  No doubt he was hoping to discover a pilfered chest of coins hidden beneath the ormolu table.

  Raine deliberately tugged her bodice another half inch lower before stepping from the shadows. There had to be some means of distracting the damnable man.

  “Mr. Harper, how kind of you to join us,” she said as she performed an elegant curtsy.

  From beneath her lashes she watched as the gentleman swept his gaze over her slender form, lingering a long moment on the swell of her breasts.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he murmured, polite enough to have his attention fully on her face as she straightened.

  A part of her regretted the need to deceive Thomas Harper. He was a good and decent man who was simply doing his duty. Perhaps under different circumstances they might even have become friends.

  Unfortunately, her loyalty to her father ensured they would be enemies. At least for this night.

  Placing her hand on his extended arm, Raine led her companion toward the drawing room.

  “I hope you do not mind if we dine informally? Father and I live so quietly that we have become quite dull, some might claim dismal, in our habits.”

  “No dinner with you present, Miss Wimbourne, could ever be considered dismal,” he said smoothly.

  Raine smiled, inwardly appreciating his understated charm. He was a man who effortlessly inspired a sense of trust in others. If he had not become a magistrate he would no doubt have made a perfect criminal.

  “Such flattery will quite turn my head, sir,” she said lightly.

  “It would be nice to think so.” His lips twisted in a faint smile. “Unfortunately, I am quite certain that the only head to be turned tonight will be my own. A knowledge that should trouble me, of course, but when in the presence of such beauty I find it difficult to recall why.”

  She gave a lift of her brows. “Do you have any Irish blood in you, Mr. Harper?”

  He gave a startled laugh. “Perhaps a drop or two,” he conceded as they stepped into the small drawing room.

  “Then you will appreciate a fine whiskey.” Josiah stepped forward to press a small glass into Harper’s hand.

  Raine stepped back for a better view of the two gentlemen. She knew it would be like watching two master
fencers as they each battled to best the other.

  Harper took a sip of the whiskey. “Ah, fine, indeed.”

  Josiah leaned against the faded paneling. “And entirely legal, I assure you.”

  If the magistrate was caught off guard by the direct attack he was able to hide it behind a bland smile.

  “My interest does not lie in smugglers.”

  Josiah gave a lift of his whiskey glass. “I hope your interest lies in chess. Raine has no patience for the game and poor Foster simply cannot manage to offer any competition.”

  “I cannot claim to be a master, but I do enjoy the game,” Harper slowly confessed, no doubt searching for some hidden trap.

  “Good, then we shall match our wits after dinner,” Josiah said.

  Hearing her cue, Raine stepped forward to wrap her arm through her father’s. “Do not allow him to bully you into a match you do not wish, Mr. Harper. My father has even less compassion than the ancient gladiators when mauling his opponent.”

  Josiah gave a lift of his brows. “What is the use in playing if it is not for blood?”

  “You see?” Raine gave a mournful shake of her head. “I urge you to deny him the pleasure, sir. He possesses no shame and will boast of his conquest throughout the village.”

  Harper sipped his whiskey, his expression hardening as Raine and her father deliberately riled his pride. No matter what his duty he could not turn away from a direct challenge.

  “If it is a conquest,” he said.

  Josiah smiled. “Ah, a man of courage.”

  “Let us say a man who enjoys matching his wits against another,” Harper corrected.

  “My favorite sort,” Josiah murmured.

  Harper drained his glass before setting it aside. “Mine, as well.”

  Raine gave a slow shake of her head as the two men regarded each other in a silent battle of wills. Rather like two dogs vying for dominance.

  She rolled her eyes as she reached for the bell to indicate they were prepared for dinner.

  God save her from arrogant men.

  DINNER MANAGED TO PASS without incident.