Rogue's Honor Read Online Free

assistance
again, miss."
    Whirling, she saw the same serving man who
had bound up her burnt fingers earlier.
    "As I'm leaving myself just now, I'd be
pleased to offer you my escort," he said, extending his arm. "Shall
we go?"
    Pearl placed her hand on his arm, then
snatched it back, alarmed at the jolt that went through her bare
fingers on contact with his rough sleeve—and the very solid arm
beneath. Whoever this man was, whatever her involuntary response to
him, she didn't dare trust him far enough to go off alone with him
into the night!
    The commotion in the kitchens rose to a
clamor. "Where is she?" came Fanny Mountheath's plaintive wail.
    Abruptly, Pearl changed her mind, though she
didn't touch him again. "I'd be delighted to accept your escort,"
she said hastily. "Let's go—quickly."
    With a grin that was perhaps a shade too
understanding, he led her through the gate and into the alleyway at
a brisk walk. As they turned the corner, shouts erupted from the
house behind them.
    "Time to run," the man suggested.
    Pearl nodded and hiked up her
skirts—slightly—to keep pace with him. The country lass she was
pretending to be would be used to plenty of walking, of course.
Unfortunately, she was not, constrained as she'd always been by the
dignity of her station. Still, she trotted along gamely enough.
    Her rescuer sent her one approving glance,
then turned his attention to their course, leading her around one
corner and then another. "Quick! In here," he said, as heavy
footsteps approached from behind.
    Before she could protest, he seized her by
the arm and pulled her after him into an empty stall in some
nobleman's stables. He touched a finger to her lips to check her
indignant exclamation, and the shock of the sensation startled her
speechless. Though he withdrew the finger at once, her lips
continued to tingle. She had to fight the urge to lick them.
    Footsteps—several sets, by the sound of
them—passed by outside. Her companion waited a minute, though it
seemed far longer in the warm, intimate darkness, then slipped back
out of the stall, motioning for her to follow him.
    Though he was only an inch or two above
average height, the man was powerfully built, Pearl noticed. That
made her feel somehow vulnerable—an unfamiliar sensation, and one
she didn't particularly care for. For a second or two she held a
fierce debate with herself, but then hurried after him. What else
could she do, under the circumstances?
    Leading her back the way they had come for
the length of two houses, he turned up another alleyway, then
another. By a circuitous route, he led her farther and farther from
the Mountheath's house and then from Mayfair itself, until they
were in a part of London totally unfamiliar to her.
    As they progressed, the streets became
narrower, darker, and dirtier, and Pearl's misgivings mounted.
Smells she had never experienced before assaulted her nostrils
unpleasantly. Mounds of garbage and other, nastier refuse lay
uncollected in stinking corners, while rats skittered out of the
way at their approach.
    When it was clear there was no longer any
danger of pusuit, they stopped in a squalid alley no more than four
feet wide. Her companion did not appear to be out of breath, but
Pearl gulped in lungfuls of the fetid air after such unaccustomed
exercise. When her mind finally began working again, she turned
curiously— and cautiously—to her savior.
    "Thank you," she panted. "But . . . why did
you help me?"
    He grinned across the meager width of the dim
alleyway and her breathing accelerated again, though not from
exertion.
    "I was leaving anyway, and you appeared in
rather urgent need of help. Never let it be said that Luke St.
Clair would turn his back on a damsel in distress." He regarded her
for a long moment then, in a deeper voice, asked, "Might I have the
honor of knowing whom I have rescued?"
    Pearl hesitated, wondering whether she'd
betrayed herself already. "My name is Purdy," she said at last,
making an