A Daring Passion (2 page)

Josiah grimaced. “Fascinating, perhaps, but at the moment I prefer that you fetch a needle and thread and sew your poor father back together again.” His hands tightened on the arms of his chair as he battled a wave of pain. “Unless you intend to stand there and watch me bleed to death?”

She gazed at him for a long moment, not missing the sweat that lightly coated his strained features before she gave a slow nod of her head.

“Very well, Father.”

He breathed a sigh of relief as she readily left the room and returned a short time later with her needle and thread in hand. Unlike Foster she had never been a squeamish sort. Indeed, Raine had always possessed more pluck and backbone than any of the lads in the neighborhood. There was not a tree she wouldn't climb, a roof she wouldn't leap from, a lake she wouldn't attempt to swim across.

She also possessed the sort of sharp intelligence that was bound to lead to awkward questions.

The thought had barely passed through his mind when she poured a large shot of brandy directly into the wound and gave a small sound of shock.

“Dear Lord, this is…this is a bullet wound.”

Josiah grunted as the brandy seared his wound. “And what would you know of bullet wounds, pet?”

Moving to stand behind his shoulder, Raine carefully began her surgery.

“Father, I want to know what happened.”

“You have always been too curious for your own good. A gentleman's private doings are not always a fit tale for female ears.”

She gave a small snort. “Since when have you been so particular in regards to my female sensibilities, sir? My entire childhood was spent surrounded by drunken sailors who entertained me with stories that would make a hardened cad blush. And even you taught me more of how to ride and shoot than how to perfect my maidenly skills.”

Well, he could hardly argue that. It was true enough that his acquaintances were a rough lot and that too often they treated Raine as if she were a precocious street urchin rather than a well-bred female.

And he had been far more at ease pretending she was a son. After all, what did a sailor know of raising daughters? They were strange and mysterious creatures that no mere male could ever hope to comprehend.

“Ah, but you are no longer a child, pet,” he murmured, not without some regret. “Something that even a poor father can no longer deny. You have grown into a beautiful lady. One who should be gracing an elegant ballroom, not rubbing elbows with common seamen in a crumbling cottage.”

Her smooth stitching never faltered, but Josiah could sense his daughter's sudden stiffening, as if he had unwittingly struck a nerve.

“A lovely notion, I suppose. Unfortunately my invitations to those elegant ballrooms seem to always go astray, so until one does arrive I shall remain precisely as I am, a forgotten Cinderella.”

“Cinderella?”

“A character from a French fairy tale about a silly girl who longs for pretty gowns and a handsome prince.”

Josiah hissed a breath between his clenched teeth as the needle slid through his tender skin.

“What is so silly about wanting such things?”

There was a moment of silence before Josiah heard his daughter heave a faint sigh.

“Because they are an impossible dream, and I have enough sense not to waste my time pining for what can never be.”

This time Josiah felt as if the needle had been aimed directly at his heart. He turned his head to regard Raine with a troubled frown.

“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.”

 

T
HE 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.”