A Daring Passion

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.