A Daring Passion (3 page)

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.”

“B
LOODY HELL
.” W
ITH 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?

 

T
OM
H
ARPER 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 cottage 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?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Her breathtaking smile flashed again. This time Tom suspected that it was deliberate.

“I was just indulging my vanity with the thought that you rode all the way from the village to pay me a call, and now I discover that your interest instead lies with my father. A very lowering realization, sir.”

“My dear Miss Wimbourne, I am certain you know that there is not a gentleman in the entire county who would not ride far farther than a mere five miles to be granted the privilege of your smile,” he said dryly. “Your return to Knightsbridge has created a greater stir than the rumors that the railroad might reach our tiny community.”

“Most charming.” She waved a hand toward the threadbare settee. “Are you certain you will not be seated?”

“No, thank you.” He was too shrewd to become overly comfortable in this maiden's presence. She would charm him into insensibility given half the chance.

Moving to perch on the window seat, Miss Wimbourne tilted her head to one side. “I believe that you have only recently moved to Knightsbridge?”

“Yes, I lived in London until three months ago.”

“Ah.” She wrinkled her nose. “I am sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“You must have done something quite terrible to have been sent to such a remote, tiresome place.”

He gave a low chuckle. It was an assumption shared by most of the community. “On the contrary, I requested to come to Knightsbridge.”

“Whatever for? It is home to me, but I would think it the last place anyone else would wish to be. Especially a handsome, ambitious gentleman who could be enjoying the delights of London.”

In spite of himself, Tom experienced a small heat in the pit of his stomach. The woman was a born temptress.

“Knightsbridge has one thing that London could never offer.”

“And what would that be?”

“Actually I should say two things. The first, of course, is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon.”

“And the second?”

He shrugged. “The Knave of Knightsbridge.”

She blinked, as if caught off guard by his blunt confession. “The highwayman?”

“Yes.”

“There are no criminals to be had in London?”

“An endless supply, but none with the reputation of the Knave.” He eyed her carefully. Since arriving in Knightsbridge he had nurtured a suspicion of the charming Josiah Wimbourne. Unfortunately, possessing a suspicion and possessing evidence were two entirely different matters. After last eve, however, he cherished a hope that his search might be at an end—and not even this beautiful angel was going to be allowed to stand in his way. “Surely you have heard the stories of the dashing rogue?”

“Who has not? Not that I believe a word of them.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “What man could possibly appear and disappear like smoke? Or lead entire militias into the bogs? Or so enchant the ladies that they happily hand over their jewels and flatly refuse to give the authorities a description of him? He would have to be one of the fey creatures to possess such unearthly skills.”

“No doubt the gossip has greatly exaggerated the bandit's skills, but he has proved to be a most cunning cad who has outwitted every officer who has come against him. It will take a man of considerable cleverness to capture him.”

“I believe I begin to understand.” She slowly rose to her feet. “You think to enhance your own reputation by being the one to bring the Knave to the gallows?”

He was caught off guard by her shrewd perception. By God, this was a dangerous woman. And one who was deliberately attempting to distract him.

The question was, why?

“As much as I am enjoying your companionship, Miss Wimbourne, I have many duties awaiting my attention and I must speak with your father. Would you be so kind as to request he attend me?”

“I fear I cannot, Mr. Harper,” she replied, smiling. “He is not at home.”

Tom stiffened, his instincts on full alert. “Indeed. May I inquire when you expect him to return?”

“Not for several days. He has gone to town to deal with some business interest or another.” She gave an innocent bat of her lashes. “No doubt he told me the tedious details, but I must honestly confess I paid him little heed. I have no head for investments and such.”

“He is in London?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom clenched his hands at his sides. He would bet his finest pearl stickpin the maiden was lying, but they both knew he could not openly accuse her.

Nor could he insist on searching the cottage for the treacherous bastard, damn the luck.

“For how long?”

“He promised to return within the week, but of course, he does tend to be rather impulsive and he might very well discover something that amuses his fancy and remain longer than he first intended.”

“And he left you here alone?”

Her smile never wavered. “I am hardly alone. Both Foster and Talbot are here, as well as Mrs. Stone.”

“It still seems odd he would not wish to take his daughter.” He paused, allowing his suspicion to be revealed in his expression. The fact that Miss Wimbourne was so determinedly attempting to keep him from her father only confirmed Tom's belief that Josiah was the Knave of Knightsbridge. “Or his favorite mount.”

She moved to straighten a candlestick on the mantel, her face serene, but Tom sensed a tension in her slender form. She was not quite so calm as she wanted him to believe.

“Since we have no town house I would only be forced to remain in some hotel while my father was busy with his solicitor, and as for his mount—he traveled post.” She abruptly turned back to him with a narrowed gaze. “Is there a reason for your questions, sir?”

He briefly considered confronting her directly. It was amazing how often people blurted out secrets when they were nervous.

Then he gave a small shake of his head. This chit might be young, but she possessed the polished composure of a woman twice her age. She would not be teased or bullied into betraying her father.

No. He would have to hold on to his patience a while longer. Sooner or later he would catch Josiah Wimbourne. It was as inevitable as the sun rising.

“I am by nature a curious man,” he murmured.

The dark eyes flashed. “Then you are fortunate in your choice of careers.”

“Yes.” Sensing he had accomplished all that he could on this morning, Tom offered a shallow bow. “I will keep you no longer. I pray you tell your father that I called upon him?”

“Oh, you may be assured he will be told the moment he returns.”

Their gazes locked and held, both of them knowing that the battle between them had just begun.

“Then I bid you good day.”

“Good day, sir.”

Raine sucked in a deep breath as her guest walked to the door and disappeared.

She knew beyond a doubt that her efforts had been futile. The magistrate may appear a polite, unassuming sort of man, but she hadn't missed the sharp glitter in his pale eyes. Nor the suspicion that had hardened his youthful features.

Mr. Harper was convinced that Josiah Wimbourne was the Knave of Knightsbridge, and her hasty story of Josiah's trip to London had only confirmed his belief.

How long would it be before he checked with the inn to inquire if her father had indeed traveled by post to London? Or even sent word to town to check the various hotels for his presence?

Not more than a day or two, she was certain. And then he would be back insisting on seeing her father.

Dear Lord, she had to do something to distract him.

Something that would force him to second-guess his own certainty in Josiah's guilt.

Pacing across the carpet, Raine came to a slow halt as she was struck 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.

 

Two months later

 

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.