A Daring Passion. Rosemary Rogers
a rueful sigh, Josiah held out his hand.
“Well, well. I suppose it was too much to be hoped such commotion would not arouse you, pet. You might as well come in.”
Her finely arched brows drew together as she moved toward his chair.
“You have been injured.”
“That seems to be the universal agreement,” he said, turning his head to regard the silent servant. “Foster, pour me a brandy and then tend to my horse.”
“Thank the Lord,” the man muttered as he readily moved to pull a bottle of brandy and a glass from the nearby cabinet. Leaving them on the table, he turned for the door.
“Foster,” Josiah called softly.
“Aye?”
“Make sure there is no evidence from this night’s work. Our stable is bound to receive more than its share of interest over the next few days.”
Foster gave a slow nod. “The magistrate won’t find so much as a mouse dropping when I am through.”
“Magistrate?” Raine demanded as Foster slipped through the door and closed it behind him.
“It’s a long and rather tedious story, I fear.”
His daughter gave a lift of her brows. “Actually I suspect that it will be quite fascinating.”
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.”
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