A Daring Passion. Rosemary Rogers

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 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.

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