Free Rogue's Honor by Brenda Hiatt Page A

until welcome pride came to her aid. "Hettie is
not mythical," she said haughtily, raising her chin to face him
again. "She's my . . . my friend."
    The gentle question in his eyes was nearly
her undoing. Perilously close to admitting all, she had to remind
herself how foolish that would be. He could have no idea—yet—of who
she really was. Once he did, there would be no more support. And no
more heated glances.
    Somehow, in just one day, he had become a
friend—and perhaps a little bit more. But that would end the moment
he discovered she was one of the hated noble class.
    He put a hand on her arm and instead of
spurning the intimate contact, Pearl found herself leaning into it,
taking comfort from it, her quick spurt of pride forgotten. "Come,"
he said quietly. "Let's go back and sort everything out."
    "Back?" Sternly, she tried to subdue the
tremble in her voice.
    "To my lodgings. Unless there really is
somewhere else I can take you?"
    If he escorted her back to Oakshire House,
there was a chance he'd be arrested before she could explain.
Taking his proffered arm, knowing this was almost as dangerous, she
accompanied him back the way they had come.
    "I've been trying to puzzle you out," he said
conversationally as they walked. "Perhaps you can tell me how well
I've done." He shot her a grin in response to her questioning
frown—a grin that sent tendrils of warmth curling through her
body.
    "Here's my guess," he continued. "You're
actually of gentle birth, and have worked as a governess in some
exalted household. That would explain your education. You were
forced to leave when some supposed 'gentleman' of the household
tried to take liberties." His eyes darkened with anger for a
moment, then with something else. "Not that I can blame him
completely."
    Again she felt herself coloring—something
she'd done more this past day than in the whole year preceding it.
"That's . . . a surprisingly good guess," she said, trying to
ignore his effect on her. After only a slight hesitation, she
elaborated on the story he had begun. "It was the butler,
actually—which is why I was so anxious to avoid the attention of
Hodge, at the Mountheaths'."
    "And Hettie? A fellow servant?"
    "My pupil's abigail. She, er, helped me to
escape. I fear we did not think things through as thoroughly as we
should have, however." Mixing some truth into her story made her
feel better. It felt somehow wrong to lie to this man, even though
she knew he was hiding things as well. Besides, lying was beneath
her—though at the moment she had little choice.
    They were mounting the steps to his lodging
now, and Pearl felt her heartbeat quickening with every step, along
with a sense of anticipation for she knew not what.
    "Has Hettie returned to the house you left by
now?" he asked. "In Oaklea—or perhaps much closer to London?"
    Pearl watched his strong, brown hands—bare
hands—as he unlocked the door. "I don't know," she confessed
truthfully, following him into the apartment. "We were separated at
the Mountheaths' before we'd decided just what to do. She may have
gone back by now—which I cannot do." She ignored the latter part of
his question.
    A quick upturn of his lips told her he'd
noticed. "Very well, mystery lady, that will do for now, I suppose.
If you're not willing to go back, we'll have to find you other,
more permanent employment. Without references, however, another
governess position will be difficult to procure." He closed the
door, shutting out the rest of the world.
    She couldn't stay, of course. She didn't
dare, now that he knew this much about her, now that she suspected
he was as drawn to her as she was to him. No, she would have to
slip away at her first opportunity and return home—and he mustn't
be anywhere near her when she did so.
    "You've been very kind," she said, meaning
every word. "Even knowing so little about me, knowing that I was
hiding things from you. Thank you."
    His smile warmed his eyes, warmed
her—dangerously and