Rogue's Honor Read Online Free Page A

effort to speak in a less cultured accent. "I'm . . . no
one special. I only wished to make some extra money on my night
off." She realized as she spoke that the words sounded
rehearsed.
    He placed a hand on her arm, its warmth
comforting even as it flustered her. "Don't discount yourself so
easily," he said, with gallant sincerity. "You're far more special
than you believe." His low, melodious voice was as warm as his
touch, his eyes alight with interest, if not suspicion. "What were
you taking a night off from? What do you normally do?"
    Oops. She and Hettie hadn't worked out that
detail of her story yet. "Er, actually, I've just come to London
from the country. I—I have no regular position as yet. My friend,
Hettie, was going to help me find one."
    His raised eyebrow told her he was well aware
that she was hiding something, but he merely said, "I see. Then
pray allow me to escort you back to wherever you are staying,
before Hettie becomes concerned about you. Was she also at the
Mountheath's house tonight?"
    Something in the timbre of his voice set up
an answering vibration within her, a response she could no more
define than control. Between that and her acute awareness of his
touch, she had to force herself to focus on the sense of his
question.
    "Yes. Yes, she was," she finally responded.
"But . . ." She paused to choose her words carefully. "But I was
not actually staying with her, yet. I—I fear I do not know where
she lives, exactly."
    An almost imperceptible change came over his
manner, and he dropped his hand from her arm, leaving Pearl feeling
oddly bereft. "Then to wherever you wish to go. You must be staying
somewhere." He spoke slowly now, as if to a child.
    Obviously, he had concluded that she was
simple, as the Mountheath's butler had. Not that she could blame
either of them. She suppressed the urge to correct his assumption,
realizing that it might afford her a modicum of protection.
    "No, I'm . . . I'm not staying anywhere,
really. That is . . ." Pearl twisted her apron between her hands,
trying without success to recall whether Hettie had ever mentioned
any relatives in London. Her mother, Pearl's old nurse, still lived
in Oakshire. They hadn't discussed where they would stay after
their stint at the Mountheath's. No doubt Hettie had believed Pearl
would be ready to return home after a few hours of honest work.
    "Hettie and I were on our way to her . . .
her cousin's home when we accepted tonight's employment," she
improvised haltingly, feeling like the fool he now took her for.
"Until I find Hettie, I have nowhere to go."
    Mr. St. Clair regarded her with thoughtful
concern. "I cannot leave you here in this alley. I'd offer to take
you back to the Mountheath's, but I assume you had good reason for
wishing to leave?"
    "No! I can't go back there, not just now. But
. . . I suppose I must, later. After the ridotto is over. To find
Hettie."
    "Later, then." Still enunciating his words
carefully, he continued, "In the meanwhile, we should get off the
streets. This is not one of the safer parts of London."
    Pearl blinked. "Oh. Oh, I see. I hadn't
thought—" She realized belatedly that it should have been obvious.
Certainly, they were well outside her accustomed environs. "Where
do you suggest we go?"
    "My lodgings are just a short walk from here.
You are welcome to stay there until I can find your friend for
you."
    She stared, momentarily aghast. Go with this
man, this servant, to his lodgings? How dared he insult her
so? She opened her mouth to give him a blistering set-down before
the reality of her situation intruded. He was attempting to help
her, after all, and had no idea who she really was.
    Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded. Careful to
use short, uncomplicated sentences, she said, "Thank you, Mr. St.
Clair. I must accept your kind offer. But only until we can find
Hettie."
    He offered her his arm with a gallantry that
would have done credit to a titled gentleman and she gingerly took
it, trying to appear