Rogue's Honor Read Online Free Page B

unaccustomed to such courtesy. Leading her out
of the alleyway, he turned to the left. Though this street was
wider, it was no less squalid. From somewhere in the fog above them
came the sound of a man and woman arguing, then a splintering
crash. Pearl winced.
    "Where are we, exactly?" she asked her
escort.
    She thought he hesitated for a moment before
answering, "This part of London is known as Seven Dials."
    Pearl started. "Seven Dials! What . . . what
a curious name," she concluded lamely, remembering in time that she
had just claimed to be unfamiliar with London. "Why is it called
that?"
    "Because of the way seven streets converge,
like the spokes of a wheel," he explained, but Pearl was not
listening.
    Seven Dials! This was one of the most
notorious rookeries of London, home to thieves, prostitutes,
murderers, and other sorts that she was not even supposed to know
existed. But though her physical existence had been sheltered,
Pearl had read widely enough that little about London—or the rest
of the world—was truly unknown to her. Intellectually, at
least.
    Though initially horrified to discover where
she was, now her natural curiosity reasserted itself. Had she not
begged her father to allow her to witness such places, when first
she had learned of them? The nobility owed it to themselves and to
England to learn all they could about the condition of the common
man, she had insisted. How else could they hope to alleviate the
sufferings of those hit hardest by the economic downturn caused by
the end of the wars with France and America?
    Her musings were interrupted by Mr. St.
Clair's announcement that they had reached his building. "It's
three flights up, I'm afraid, but not quite so sordid as its
surroundings might suggest."
    She regarded the steep, narrow stairs
dubiously, her earlier doubts resurfacing. But really, what choice
did she have? Trying to regard her predicament in the light of an
adventure rather than a disaster, she followed him up the rickety
stairway.
    When they reached the third story, a small
brown and white terrier scurried forward to greet Mr. St. Clair,
its tail wagging with delight. Then it turned to sniff at Pearl
suspiciously.
    "This is Argos," he said, scratching the dog
between the ears. "A plausible scoundrel, but my closest friend.
Argos, this is Purdy. Make her feel welcome."
    At his words, the dog's attitude instantly
transformed, and he greeted Pearl almost as enthusiastically as he
had his master.
    "What a sweet little dog!" she exclaimed,
kneeling to fondle him. "Hello, Argos. I hope we will be friends,
as well." As a child she had been allowed dogs as pets, but since
her father's remarriage, animals had been forbidden from every
house. She'd missed them.
    She glanced up at Mr. St. Clair, to find him
regarding her with an odd half-smile that made her feel she'd just
climbed far more than three flights of steps. Catching her eye, he
quickly turned away and cleared his throat. "It's getting chilly.
We'd best get inside," he said gruffly.
    Fitting a key into the door, he entered
quickly to light a few candles, then reemerged to invite her in.
"It's not much," he said apologetically, "but I call it home."
    Swallowing hard and bracing herself for she
knew not what, Pearl followed him into the apartment—then halted,
amazed. Elegance, even luxury, surrounded her. On the floor, a
thick carpet that could only be Aubusson covered most of the bare,
splintered boards. The peeling plaster of the walls was
substantially concealed by rich tapestries and paintings by masters
she recognized. The furnishings—sofa, chairs, tables,
ornaments—were both tasteful and sumptuous.
    "My goodness!" If she didn't look too closely
at what lay behind the trappings, she could easily imagine herself
in a wealthy gentleman's sitting room.
    He smiled at her surprise. "I've done my best
to counteract my surroundings. My last employer was exceedingly
generous in his will, which made it easier for me to do so."
    She