A Daring Passion by Rosemary Rogers Page A

erection against her hip. He wanted to spread her legs and take her with a fierce, pounding passion. He wanted to be so deep inside her that her moist heat surrounded him completely.
    Using his teeth and tongue, he mercilessly teased her sensitive flesh. Her soft moans filled the carriage, her head twisting from side to side as if she were battling her rising tide of desire.
    â€œNo, I—” she gave a small gasp “—I will confess all.”
    Her husky voice was an unwelcome intrusion as Philippe was busily learning the sweet hollow between her breasts.
    â€œMmm?”
    â€œStop this and I will tell you the truth.”
    Philippe muttered a savage curse as he was forced to pull back and study her flushed face. A portion of his mind might remind him that a confession was precisely what he had desired when he had started this business, but the larger part of him wished she had kept her lips closed. Damn, he had never endured such a brutal need for release.
    â€œExplain,” he at last managed to mutter.
    Her dark eyes were stormy. “I am here because of my father.”
    Philippe frowned in disbelief. “Your father has forced you to become a highwayman?”
    â€œNo, of course not,” she denied. “My father is the Knave of Knightsbridge.”
    His gaze flicked over her deliciously rumpled form. “So, you are the daughter of a common criminal,” he said, not without some satisfaction.
    He would not hesitate to seduce a noblewoman, of course, but her disreputable position did make sure that there would be no complications.
    Raine gave a low hiss of fury. “Josiah Wimbourne is no common criminal. He was a hero in the Royal Navy and decorated by the king.” Her tiny chin tilted. “More than that he is a wonderful person who has devoted his life to caring for me and for his neighbors.”
    â€œYou have admitted that he is a highwayman.”
    â€œOnly because he was desperate to help the poor and the helpless in our village. The people who are forgotten and neglected by everyone but him.”
    Philippe was unmoved. He would wager his finest vineyards that the heroic Josiah Wimbourne kept the lion’s share of his bounty for his own pleasure.
    After all, it was obvious the man had no conscience whatsoever.
    â€œI should think more of his efforts if he didn’t willingly risk his own daughter’s life for his noble deeds,” he said coldly.
    â€œI assure you that my father argued fiercely against my taking on his role, but we had no choice.” She paused before she grudgingly continued her explanation. “The magistrate was becoming far too suspicious. It was necessary to divert him before he had my father arrested.”
    â€œAnd so you took on the role?”
    â€œJust until my father could return.”
    He gave a slow shake of his head. Meu Deus, what other woman would have endangered herself in such a manner?
    This Raine Wimbourne was either incredibly loyal or touched in the head.
    â€œHow long have you been doing this?”
    â€œAlmost two months.”
    â€œAnd you have yet to be caught?” He gave a lift of his brows. “Your magistrate must be a simpleton. Unless, of course, you have bartered those considerable charms to encourage him to overlook your criminal activities? They are certainly tempting enough to make even the most intelligent man toss aside his morals.”
    Something very close to hatred smoldered in her dark eyes. “You are repulsive.”
    â€œYou did not find me so repulsive a few moments ago,” he was swift to remind her. “Indeed, I have never heard sweeter cries of pleasure.”
    â€œThey were cries of disgust, but then I suppose a man who regularly forces himself on unwilling women finds it difficult to distinguish between the two.”
    Philippe froze at the deliberate insult. By God, she was a damnable wench. Not a soul would blame him if he had forced himself upon her.