A Daring Passion

“A tempting offer, but I am not yet ready to encourage the attentions of Mr. Harper.”

“Raine, you cannot hide yourself in this cottage forever,” her father chided.

Raine shrugged. “I have no intention of doing so.”

“Then, what are your plans?”

Raine rose to her feet as she gazed out the window, her expression pensive. “I have been thinking that I might begin classes for a few of the girls in the village. It would take some time to start a proper school, but for now I could at least make sure they learn to read and write.”

A silence filled the room, broken only by the crackle of the fire. At last she heard her father stir and rise to his feet. Stepping behind her, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Raine.”

Turning, she studied the odd expression on her father’s face. “What?”

“You are—” he hesitated and cleared his throat “—you are a remarkable young woman.”

A ridiculous blush touched her cheeks. “Hardly that.”

“Yes, you are.” Josiah’s smile held a hint of sadness. “And so much like your mother it makes my heart ache. She was always thinking of others.”

“Just as you do,” she said softly.

Josiah flinched. “No, I am not nearly so noble.”

“But you risked your life.”

He gave a firm shake of his head, his expression one of self-disgust. “There are any number of ways I could have assisted those who had need of me. Certainly, your own desire to educate the poor young girls will give them opportunities far beyond a few coins. I merely chose the one that offered the opportunity to dash about like a hero from some Gothic novel.”

Raine gave a click of her tongue. “You are far too hard on yourself, Father. You are a wonderful man who is most certainly a hero among the villagers.”

His hand gently cupped her face. “From now on, my dear, I intend to be a hero only to you. I allowed myself to be distracted, but no more. You are the most important thing in my world.”

PHILIPPE WAS CHILLED to the bone by the time he arrived at his London town house. He had never found winter in England particularly pleasant, certainly not when he could be enjoying the pleasant warmth of Madeira.

His mood, however, was startlingly light considering his voyage had been rough enough to shake the nerves of the most hardened sailor, and he had arrived to an icy drizzle that had made the trip to London a misery.

From the moment he had made his decision to return to England and fight for Raine, he had felt a peace he had never before experienced settle in his heart.

All those endless days of roaming through his empty house, unable to concentrate on work, unable to eat or sleep, unable to even find an interest in the numerous women upon the island who made it obvious they would be more than willing to offer him comfort was at an end.

It was as if he had simply been going through the motions, waiting for his mind to at last reach the conclusion his heart had made the moment he had encountered Miss Raine Wimbourne on that dark road.

The mighty had, indeed, fallen, he acknowledged as he entered the back door to the kitchen. And he did not even have the sense to care.

Leaving his heavy coat and hat beside the door, he pulled off his gloves as he moved into the kitchen and discovered his faithful groom seated at a long wooden table eating a bowl of stew.

Perhaps sensing he was no longer alone, Swann abruptly lifted his head, nearly falling backward as he leaped to his feet.

“Bloody hell, sir, you startled me.” Gaining his balance, he gave a tug on his jacket and discreetly wiped his hands on his pants. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Swann.”

“We were not expecting you.” Swann regarded him with a narrowed gaze. “Is there trouble?”

Philippe smiled wryly as he rubbed the aching muscles of his neck. Gads, it had been a long journey.

“You could certainly say that.”