A Daring Passion (2 of 5 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
A Daring Passion by Rosemary Rogers. Copyright 2007 by Rosemary Rogers.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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CHAPTER ONE (CONT'D)

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.

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