A Daring Passion

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.”