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A Daring Passion, by Rosemary Rogers
Free PDF A Daring Passion, by Rosemary Rogers
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Legacy of danger
Headstrong but sheltered, Raine Wimbourne longs for adventure--and when her ailing father reveals a closely guarded secret, she seizes her chance. Disguised as England's most notorious highwayman, Raine vows to uphold her father's legacy as champion of the poor. Then a midnight encounter with the powerful Philippe Gautier shows her the price of protecting her family's honor...
A hostage heart
Philippe Gautier has a mission of his own--and the beautiful impostor he's delivering to justice may hold the key to saving his brother's life. He will stop at nothing to keep Raine close. But as they travel from the town houses of London to the streets of France, can he convince his untamed captive to risk it all on the promise of passion?
- Sales Rank: #547145 in eBooks
- Published on: 2012-11-15
- Released on: 2012-11-15
- Format: Kindle eBook
Review
"Roger's legion of readers will be delighted to find that her latest historical romance features some brand of arrogant, bold, and sexy hero; stubborn, beautiful, and unconventional heroine; and passionate plot that first made this genre wildly popular." -- Booklist of Sapphire
"The queen of historical romance." -- New York Times Book Review
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The night was frankly miserable. Although the rain that had drenched the Kent countryside over the past two days had at last drizzled to a halt, the air was still thick with moisture and a blanket of fog lay over the slumbering villages and estates.
A miserable night to be certain. At least for decent folk. It was a perfect night for thieves, scoundrels and dastards. Too perfect, Josiah Wimbourne was forced to concede as he entered his small cottage and painfully tossed aside his brilliant crimson cape and hat. He should have known the magistrate would be on the alert. The muddy roads and heavy fog would slow even the finest carriage. Such easy pickings were far too great a temptation for any highwayman.
Especially for the notorious Knave of Knightsbridge. With a grimace Josiah crossed the small kitchen to settle in a chair near the smoldering fire. Only then did he glance toward his shoulder, which was still seeping blood. Damn his stupidity. He was nearing forty years of age. Old enough to know that it was a dead man who underestimated his enemy.
The previous magistrate might have been a blundering fool who was quite willing to turn a blind eye if the price was right, but this new man, Tom Harper, was cut from an entirely different cloth.
In less than a month he had proved to be impervious to bribes, intimidation and even outright threats. Nothing could sway his sense of duty or determination to uphold the king's law.
Even worse, the blighter possessed an uncanny knack for thinking precisely like a criminal.
Any other magistrate would look at the dismal weather and presume that any brigands would be cozily drinking ale at the local inn, or warming themselves in the arms of a willing whore. But not Harper. He had taken stock of the rutted roads and thick fog and known instinctively that the Knave would be out hunting.
Blast his interfering soul.
Unwittingly a small smile flickered over Josiah's weathered features. Despite the burning pain in his shoulder, and the undeniable realization he was in a precarious position, he could not deny a measure of admiration for the tenacious magistrate.
Since leaving his life in the navy, it was rare to discover an opponent worthy of his skills. Certainly not the Runners, whom his victims occasionally hired to track him down. Or even the militia, which had been called in by the local aristocrats who had wearied of having their elegant guests robbed traveling through Knightsbridge. How could he not respect the damnable cur?
His ridiculous thoughts were cut short as a slight, dour-faced servant entered the kitchen to regard him with a startled frown.
Foster had once been a trained manservant who had worked at some of the finest homes in London. A position he might still be holding today if he had not been caught forging his employer's signature to obtain a number of bank drafts. It didn't matter that he had used the money to assist a floundering orphanage rather than lining his own pocket. He had been found guilty and ordered to the penal colonies.
He had tossed himself from the convict ship and was near death when Josiah had fished him from the waters.
That had been nearly twenty years ago and Josiah had never had cause to regret his impulsive gesture. Foster had proved to possess unwavering loyalty and the skill to teach Josiah the proper manners necessary to pass for a true gentleman.
The fact that Josiah remained a scoundrel beneath his elegant image was entirely his own fault.
Noticing the blood staining his master's shirt, Foster hurried forward. "Good Lord, sir, you've been injured."
"So it would seem, Foster."
"Well, I've given you warning enough, the Lord knows." The servant gave a click of his tongue. "A man of your age should be seated by the fire, not tearing across the countryside as if you were still a strapping lad. Bound to come a cropper in the end. I suppose that demon-spawn beast you claim as a horse gave you a tumble?"
"No, I did not take a tumble, damn your impudence. I am neither a man in his dotage nor a greenhorn unable to control his mount, demon-spawn or not."
"Then what…?" Bending forward to have a closer look at the injury, Foster abruptly caught his breath. "Bloody hell. You've been shot."
"Yes, I did suspect as much." Josiah gave a muttered curse as he pulled his ruined shirt over his head and tossed it to the nearby fire. "Damn Liverpool and his wretched Tories. They take delight in taxing their citizens into abject poverty and then pretend horror when those citizens are forced to live a life of crime to survive."
"Liverpool shot you?"
Josiah gave a short, humorless laugh. "No, you muck-worm. It was the magistrate."
"Oh…aye." Moving to the cabinet, Foster wet a cloth and returned to Josiah's side. "Well, let us have a look."
Josiah sucked in a sharp breath as the servant pressed the cloth to his wound. "Have a care, Foster. It hurts like the very devil."
Foster continued rubbing at his shoulder, indifferent to Josiah's muttered oaths.
"Only a crease, thank the good Lord, but a deep one." He stepped back to regard Josiah with an expression that managed to be even more dour than usual. "You'll be needing stitches."
"I feared as much." Josiah gave a shake of his head. It wasn't his first wound and doubtless wouldn't be his last, but it was damn well inconvenient. "Don't stand there gawking, Foster. Fetch the needle and thread. Oh, and the brandy. If I'm to endure your ham-fisted surgery then I have a feeling I shall want my wits dulled to the point of insensibility."
Without warning Foster was backing away, his hands lifting in dismay. "Fiend seize it. I'm a manservant, not a damnable sawbones. If you need stitching then call for old man Durbin."
"And have him spread the tale of my injury to the entire neighborhood on the first occasion he is in his cups?" Josiah growled. "Don't be more a fool than you have to be."
"What does it matter?" Foster shrugged. "No one takes notice of his drunken babblings."
"I assure you the magistrate will take great interest in any babbling that concerns a wounded gentleman," Josiah confessed, grimacing at his stupidity. "He knows he managed to shoot the Knave of Knightsbridge this eve. You might as well put the noose around my neck and be done with it."
There was a pregnant pause as the servant sorted through the words and at last comprehended the danger of their situation.
"Bloody hell," he breathed, a frown tugging his shaggy gray brows together. "I suspected that the man would prove to be a pain in the arse. Can't abide a gentleman who is forever sticking his nose into the business of others."
Despite his pain, Josiah's lips twitched at his servant's indignant tone. "I believe, my dear Foster, that he perceives it his duty to stick his nose into whatever business happens to be conducted in his district."
"Oh, aye, determined to make a name for himself in London, no doubt. Don't matter how many decent folk he has to hang."
"Or indecent folk, as the case may be."
Foster gave a snort as he tossed the bloody cloth into the sink. He was a simple man. A man who possessed his own unique sense of right and wrong. And nothing could convince him to consider his master a dastardly criminal.
A pity not everyone was so sublimely indifferent to his wicked habits, Josiah acknowledged wryly.
"He ain't nothing to old Royce," Foster groused. "Now, there was a magistrate who knew how to do his duties."
"He also had the decency to accept a friendly bribe when offered," Josiah lightly teased.
"Aye, a man of sense."
"And an unfortunate appetite for cheap gin and cheaper whores that managed to land him in an early grave." Josiah gave a shake of his head, wincing as a pain shot through his shoulder.
"We may rue his loss, but it will not alter the fact that our mission has become considerably more dangerous, old friend."
"Mayhap you should lay low for a while." Josiah attempted to get comfortable on the wooden chair. He wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a soft bed, but he knew that he had to tend to his wound before either was possible.
Which meant convincing his stubborn companion to get on with the bloody business.
"Never fear, Foster, this damnable wound has seen that I will be laying low for several days, if not weeks. And speaking of wounds, you're stalling. I have no intention of bleeding to death because you are too squeamish to stick me with a needle."
Foster gave a shake of his head. "Nay, sir."
"Fine, then fetch the blasted needle and I'll do it myself," Josiah commanded, his patience at a limit.
"Perhaps I may be of assistance?"
Both men stiffened at the sound of the soft, decidedly female voice. Briefly closing his eyes, Josiah wondered why he had ever left his bed that morning. Surely the gray weather and chilled breeze should have warned him to pull the covers over his head and give it up as a loss?
Unable to avoid the inevitable, Josiah slowly turned his head to discover his only child standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
No, not child, he corrected himself. Somehow his Raine had managed to transform herself into a woman while she was being schooled in that damnable French convent.
A remarkably beautiful woman.
As always he was forced to battle a small measure of astonishment.
Although he had been considered a handsome enough fellow in his day, and his long-departed wife had been a pretty maiden, there had been no warning that together they would create a…masterpiece.
There was no other word to describe the young woman standing before him.
Wreathed in the light of the flickering candles, her beauty was luminous, her ivory skin glowing with the perfect sheen of a rare pearl and her dark eyes faintly slanted and surrounded by a lush thicket of lashes that lent an air of smoldering mystery. Her nose was a tiny, straight line that contrasted with the full bow of her mouth. And just beside that lovely mouth was a tiny black mole that seemed deliberately placed to provoke a man's attention.
At the moment her sweet face was still flushed from sleep and her heavy amber curls were pulled into a simple braid that hung nearly to ...
Most helpful customer reviews
8 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
strong historical romance
By A Customer
Until he became ill from the bullet wound inflicted by the new competent magistrate Tom Harper, Lord Josiah Wimborne hid his secret identity and mission from his beloved daughter Raine who he protected at all cost. However, when the sheltered Raine learns she is the offspring of the notorious Robin Hood like Knave of Knightsbridge, she decides to prove she is a chip off the old block and take up the mantle of robbing from the rich to give to the poor.
She is very successful as a highwaywoman until she assaults Philippe Gautier. He turns the tables on Raine and makes her his prisoner threatening to expose her father as the Knave of Knightsbridge if she fails to cooperate. Phillip believes Raine is the key to saving his brother incarcerated in France. As they fall in love, the danger mounts from a treacherous foe, who will have no compunction killing Raine; Philippe's death is foregone conclusion.
Although a female smoothly taking over as a legendary highwayman is not new and in this case questionable due to Raine's background, A DARING PASSION is a strong historical romance. Philippe finds himself trapped in a quandary of his own making when his plans to use Raine as a pawn to free his brother becomes difficult to do; not just because he loves her, but also he admires her spunk and courage while questioning if he is doing the honorable thing. Fans will appreciate this fine tale of love that grips the audience who will wonder will he choose his brother or his beloved.
Harriet Klausner
4 of 5 people found the following review helpful.
A little too much!
By Stephanie P. Payne
I love historical romances, but this one was too creepy for me. Phillipe's obsession with Raine wasn't romantic at all; he kidnapped her,took her away from her family, locked her up, and basically told her over and over that she was his. I did not find it romantic whatsoever.
I was also bored. I like a little more adventure and mystery of whether she will or won't give in (we know she will, but still!), and this offered none of that.
3 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
Hero is too arrogant
By Melissa
Newly from a convent, Raine takes her father's place robbing coaches to feed the poor as the Knave of Knightsbridge while he recuperates from a gun shot wound. She attempts to rob the coach of Philippe Gautier who is in England to rescue his brother accused of treason.
He turns the tables on Raine and captures her. When he discovers she is a woman he takes her back to his town house and in one short night seduces her. She manages to escape that night but soon Philippe finds her and threatens to inform the authorities that her father is the man playing Robin Hood unless she agrees to travel with him to France and be his mistress.
This blackmail made Philippe detestable. He was so arrogant and never listened at all to Raine. In France, he is searching for the man who set up his brother and about half the novel devotes itself to his mission. When he is with Raine in France he is condescending and dismissive. He constantly tells her that he practically owns her and wonders why she fights him on so many issues. Even Raine recognizes his supreme arrogance and tells him so several times.
Now Raine is sympathetic and likeable except for the fact that she has absolutely no will power to resist Philippe when he touches her. It was hard to imagine this brave, kind girl to be so susceptible.
Philippe's quarry, Mr. Saurat, is actually a rather sympathetic fellow and Raine was quick to recognize this. Philippe never saw this man's anger and hurt and furthermore never listened to Raine's assessment of how the situation could be solved without violence.
This gets just a one star from me due to the imperious hero and the revenge plot which never really captured me.
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