A Rogue of My Own

by Johanna Lindsey

  Chapter Thirty

  SAMUEL PEARSON DEFINITELY WASN’T what Rebecca had been expecting. He was in his late thirties, tall, with a military bearing, but he was also so gregarious that she immediately began to suspect that Rupert had lied about the man and hadn’t revealed the real reason why they were there.

  They had arrived in Le Mans early enough to have a leisurely breakfast before going to the Pearsons’ house at a decent midmorning hour. Rebecca even managed to keep her meal down, though for once she wished it were otherwise, since worrying about when her malady would act up just added to her nervousness about her part in the plan. But as soon as Rupert had introduced them as John and Gertrude Hastings—she was sure he’d picked that name for her because he thought she wouldn’t like it—and related their “wedding trip” tale to Pearson, the man had beamed in genuine welcome, invited them into his parlor, and sent for the rest of his family to make their acquaintance.

  Pearson’s nine children ranged in age from one to fourteen years, and apparently Mary Pearson wasn’t done adding to that count, since she was in her sixth month of yet another pregnancy. The couple were so obviously devoted to each other and their children. They were such amiable people, treating Rebecca and Rupert like old friends. Rebecca could see nothing even remotely nefarious about Pearson to support Rupert’s contention that the man was killing his former comrades in India for revenge.

  “How do you like living in France?” Rebecca asked during a brief lull in the conversation.

  “The climate is warmer,” Samuel answered.

  “And not so much rain,” Mary added with a grin. “I’ve actually come to love this city.”

  “And some of the people are even friendly,” Samuel continued with a chuckle. “Though as in any town in any country, there will always be those who prefer to keep to themselves. But we expected more hostilities carried over from our last war with Napoléon and were quite surprised not to encounter much in that regard.”

  “I tried to tell him enough time had passed for that not to matter,” Mary said. “It’s not as if that was the first war our country has fought with France. Goodness, can we even count the number of conflicts there have been over the centuries between the two?”

  “True,” Rupert agreed. “If we’re not fighting on the home front, then it’s over new territories both countries covet. But trade is flourishing again between us. Money tends to bridge the gap, eh?”

  “Quite right,” Samuel said, then asked curiously, “Do you dabble in trade yourself?”

  It was a most impertinent question for one aristocrat to ask another, even if they had just been talking about trade, yet Rebecca was surprised to hear Rupert reply, “I don’t, but my grandfather did extensively. It was either that or let the family go on being paupers after his father had squandered their entire fortune at the game tables.”

  “Not an unknown occurrence,” Samuel replied, sounding sympathetic.

  Rebecca didn’t doubt that tale was just another of Rupert’s lies, but the lie was meant to put him and Pearson on a more equal footing, she realized. Had he said that in case he couldn’t find any written evidence of Pearson’s crimes and needed to find some other means of proof such as going into business with Pearson? After he took her back to England, of course.

  Rebecca just wanted to get this over with so they could be on their way. With that in mind, she asked if a room was nearby where she could freshen up, Three of the children quickly volunteered to show her where to go.

  No flower vases were displayed throughout the house, of course, at that time of the year. Silly of her for thinking there would be. But having noted the pretty, delicate-looking glass figurine that was nearly a foot tall on a table she would be passing, Rebecca was determined to knock it over on her way out the door.

  She easily accomplished the maneuver, but she didn’t count on one of the children so close to her skirts catching the figurine before it hit the floor. She was still able to turn and apologize to her host with the explanation “I’m sorry, but I seem to be plagued with this unusual clumsiness ever since I realized I was enceinte. I am so hoping this will quickly pass.”

  The man actually laughed. “No need to explain. Mary can tell you many such stories when you return. With her it was cravings, and while I tried to prepare ahead each time to have plenty of what she wanted on hand, it was pointless. With each pregnancy she had a different craving!”

  Rebecca smiled to acknowledge the humor, though she didn’t find it the least bit amusing. Easy for a man to laugh when he wasn’t the one experiencing the odd sensations. She also bent down to thank the little girl who had rescued the figurine. And got a strong whiff of an unpleasant odor in doing so. The child was young enough to have had an accident, but Rebecca’s constitution wasn’t strong enough just then to stomach the smell of it.

  She gagged, her hand going immediately to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror that she was going to vomit right there on the parlor floor. Her first thought was to run outside, but Mary Pearson was already rushing toward her.

  “Come, let me take you upstairs where you can be made comfortable.”

  Rebecca didn’t really think she would make it that far, but that wasn’t going to be a problem. One of the children actually shoved an old chamber pot in her hands. Earlier she’d thought it was a flowerpot filled with big, colorful flowers made of embroidered cloth.

  As they rushed up the stairs, Mary was explaining, “Since my first pregnancy, I made sure there would be a container available in every room for the early months. You will likely wish to do the same when you return home. The sickness may only last a few weeks or a few months, but still, you should not have to worry about something so natural.”

  What a perfect idea! Of course, she would only be returning to the palace to pack so she could go home. But in Norford, an empty container in every room could easily be arranged.

  Upstairs, Mary opened a few doors before she found a room that wasn’t overly cluttered with her children’s messes and ushered Rebecca inside. “You may have some privacy here,” the lady said. “And please use the bed if you will feel better lying down.”

  Rebecca knew the only way she’d feel better was to try emptying her stomach, and having made it that far, she didn’t try to hold it back any longer. She only vaguely heard the door close behind her and Mary’s voice in the corridor telling her children, most of whom had followed them upstairs, to be quiet and go clean their rooms!

  Chapter Thirty-one

  RUPERT COULDN’T HAVE ASKED for a better distraction than the one Rebecca had set in motion, particularly since all of the Pearson children had followed the ladies upstairs. Left alone in the parlor with Samuel and his wife’s grandfather and two of her older male cousins, Rupert waited a few moments for the conversation to perk up again.

  Then looking toward the empty doorway with a worried frown that he made sure Pearson noticed, he said, “This difficulty with the baby is all new to me. I feel it is all my fault, but I simply must help her through it. I will be back in a moment.”

  He didn’t give his host a chance to assure him that Rebecca was already in good hands. He rushed out of the parlor. Playing the inexperienced husband and father-to-be wasn’t something he was exactly familiar with, but it must have been an acceptable performance since he only heard a few understanding chuckles behind him.

  He had no time to spare since the children could all come marching back downstairs at any moment. But the staircase began farther back in the hall and he had to pass two other rooms before he reached it. With all the doors in the hallway open, he saw that one of the rooms was a study and he quickly slipped inside it.

  He went directly to the desk. He knew very well a systematic search would be impossible. He hated being rushed. He actually preferred to work in the dead of night with no light, but with time to spare. He didn’t dare close the door, either, since that would be a visual giveaway. So all he could do was quickly stuff his pockets with every scrap of p
aper he could find and simply hope one of them turned out to be what he was looking for. Pearson would notice the papers were missing and Rupert would be suspected of stealing them, of course, but hopefully he’d be halfway to the coast by then. Just in case his plan didn’t go well, he’d had Matthew park the coach in the road in front of Pearson’s house with the family crest facing the street instead of the house.

  It was Rebecca’s fault he was being rushed. This task should have taken a couple weeks at least, allowing him to become a friend of the family’s, get invited into rooms he wouldn’t have access to otherwise, gain the man’s trust. But, no, Rebecca had to be back in London in three damn days. What had possessed him to agree to her terms when he knew it would limit him to this single chance to get what he needed? Because he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone in a foreign country?

  He knew from experience what a superb actress she was, and though he’d been right there, he’d love to find out how she’d faked vomiting. One finger down her throat when she covered her mouth with both hands?

  “You shouldn’t be in here.” A male servant was standing in the doorway frowning at him.

  “I just needed a moment to cool off since I sweat when my wife embarrasses me with her morning sickness,” Rupert told the man.

  The servant wasn’t amused. He still looked stern and suspicious, but Rupert had given his improvised explanation while walking toward the man and was within reach by the last word. He tried a punch first, grabbing the servant’s shirtfront as he did so the man wouldn’t land out in the hall. If that didn’t work, he wasn’t sure what would. He certainly didn’t want to seriously harm the fellow, just knock him out and dump him out the window for the time being.

  Half of that plan worked. The man did drop immediately and Rupert’s hold on him kept him from falling loudly to the floor. He even got him to the window with ease, but the plan ended there. Priceless. The window frame was nailed shut for the cold months to minimize drafts. Bloody hell, it wasn’t that cold yet. There were no large pieces of furniture to stick the man behind either. As a last resort, he dragged him back to the hall wall and just laid him down alongside it, so he’d be less noticeable to anyone passing by the room.

  Rupert dashed up the stairs finally and ran into Mary Pearson backing out of one of her children’s rooms. Seeing him, she smiled in understanding and nodded toward the next door beyond her. It was closed, and he closed it again after he entered the room.

  Rebecca was on her knees in the corner, groaning over a chamber pot again. He was finding her in that position all too often, and while it usually aroused him to see a woman positioned that way, the gag she added for effect quite ruined it.

  “Nicely done, Becca. But we have to leave now.”

  She glanced back at him, but only long enough to give him a fulminating glare before she faced the chamber pot and groaned again.

  He sighed. “I wasn’t joking. I will use the excuse that you have discovered that fresh air helps you to get past this, and that we should have left immediately to find some.” When she still didn’t get up, he added testily, “No one is walking in behind me to witness this performance, and we have to—”

  He paused as he realized that the large size of this room in such a small house indicated it was the master bedroom. And there was a desk. He marched over to it and saw what looked like a leatherbound diary or ledger. As he flipped it open, he found it was definitely a record of transactions, with dates, volumes for goods bought and sold, a running tally of costs, and even the names of Pearson’s employees and how much he was paying them and for what service.

  He almost laughed when he saw the name of the thief who had volunteered Pearson as his employer. He preferred to keep the book intact for evidence, rather than rip out the needed pages.

  “Think you can hide this under your skirt long enough to get out of the house?” It was a little too wide for one of his pockets.

  She glanced at the book in his hand and said, “Certainly, but I’m not going any—”

  “I had to disable a servant downstairs,” he said sharply. “The man could wake up at any moment to raise the alarm. There is no time to discuss this, we leave now.”

  While he usually enjoyed this type of challenge and risk, it was a whole different game with Rebecca along. He was even starting to feel an odd sort of panic—because of her presence. While he found her to be annoying in the extreme, confusing, frustrating, the thought of her being hurt started a cold sweat he wasn’t used to at all.

  He didn’t hand her the ledger after all, just grabbed her arm and headed for the door, slipping the book in the back of his pants under his coat. “You don’t stop for anything, just go straight out the front door and into the coach. I’ll make the excuse for our host if there’s still time, or fight my way out…. That’s good, that pale look is perfect, keep it up.”

  Rupert was reasonably sure that Rebecca wasn’t pretending any longer and realized now that the situation was perilous. But there really was no more time for discussion or assurances. At least Mary Pearson was no longer in the upper corridor, so he quickly got Rebecca downstairs and pushed her toward the front door before he stopped at the parlor again.

  He almost expected to be facing a room full of pistols, but apparently he’d hit the servant harder than he’d figured. The men were still conversing, Mary was back on a sofa with four of her youngest children, and he made quick work of his excuse to leave so abruptly, suggesting they might return for another visit tomorrow afternoon prior to resuming their trip.

  Rebecca was still quite pallid when he joined her in the coach, but he was able to assure her, “Unless Pearson goes immediately to his study, it could be an hour or more before he discovers the servant I knocked out. We should be fine now. But we will still make haste to the coast.”

  Rebecca said nothing, but her expression said a lot. She was still angry about something, probably that he’d put her at risk like that, and he certainly couldn’t blame her. But the danger was over, and the last buildings of Le Mans were behind them. He’d no sooner had that thought when the first shot was fired.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  RUPERT YANKED REBECCA OFF her seat to the floor! If that weren’t bad enough, he dropped down on top of her, not with his full weight, but enough to make it uncomfortable.

  Rebecca had, of course, heard the gunfire that had prompted Rupert’s actions. She wasn’t deaf. Still, annoyed, she asked, “Do you really think a shot is going to get through the back panel of a coach this sturdily built? And fired from a moving vehicle? Anyone aiming isn’t likely to hit us a’tall.”

  “They’re on horseback” was all he said.

  “Even worse. Have you ever hit what you aimed at while racing along on a horse?”

  “Yes.”

  She snorted, not believing him at all. But she did grasp the implication of the pursuers being on horseback. Even though Matthew had immediately picked up their pace to a reckless degree, it still wouldn’t take all that long for horses to catch up to a coach.

  “Highwaymen?” she asked, and couldn’t hide the hopeful note from her tone.

  “In the middle of the day?”

  “So they’re desperate.”

  Being robbed wouldn’t be pleasant, but it would actually be preferable compared to an angry criminal running them down for his stolen property.

  “That would be the logical assumption, Becca, if we didn’t just leave the house of a confirmed mass murderer.”

  “So you did find the evidence you were after?”

  “It’s in the book I asked you to smuggle out. Considering how quickly we left, my guess would be that Mary Pearson immediately mentioned to her husband that she’d put you in their bedroom, and that I entered it as well. Samuel would have gone straight upstairs in that case to check on the incriminating ledger he’d carelessly left lying on the desk.”

  “And found it gone,” she said with a resigned sigh.

  “Don’t sound so aggrieved
. We’ll be fine.”

  She could have screamed at him like a harpy for that ridiculous assessment. With two more shots fired at them, her fear was rising fast. It had been the same back at the Pearson house. The moment Rupert had warned that he’d disabled one of the servants, meaning they could be found out at any moment, her nausea had abruptly ended. Incredible. Did the sudden rush of fear do that? Not that she was going to seek out things to frighten her just to get through this pregnancy a little easier, but it was an interesting side effect. She could at least test the theory at home by having Flora try to startle her or…what the deuce was she doing thinking about things that might never happen when she could end up dead in minutes?

  “Aren’t you alarmed at all?” she demanded of Rupert.

  He had the audacity to say, “Not really, at least not as long as you stay down flat on that floor. They were probably on our tail before we even left the city.”

  “Then why didn’t they fire at us sooner?”

  “Because of the evidence. Shots fired with witnesses lining the streets will have to be explained, and they can’t very well commit murder with citizens watching them. Well, they can, but since Pearson lives in that city, he wouldn’t want to expose himself in that way. So they waited until we were beyond the city. Out here on the empty road, we’re fair game.”

  She did screech at him this time. “I don’t see how you can not find that alarming!”

  He leaned down and said by her ear, “I’m not going to let you get hurt, I promise you I’m not.”

  His tone was so soothing she could almost believe him. Almost.

  “I have one of the fastest teams of horses around,” he continued. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we reach the next town before they get close enough to try to board us.”

  She wished he hadn’t added that. It pointed out clearly that the pursuers would be trying to disable poor Matthew first, which would immediately slow the coach down if not halt it completely—or wreck it.