A Daring Passion. Rosemary Rogers

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