Rogue's Home Read Online Free PDF

later—try to talk him out of it one last time. He told Mother if Michael would just bring that Ceciel woman back, he’d pronounce him redeemed no matterhow angry it made Lord Dorian. If you could persuade Michael…” But her voice held no conviction. I shook my head and put the handkerchiefs back on the table. Kathryn grimaced. “I’m supposed to be hemming. Mother says it’s the best way to learn smooth stitches. She’s going to check my progress when she gets back.” She prodded the bundle. “Curse the wretched stuff. Master Fisk, what are we going to do?”
    â€œHemming.” I took a needle and thread from the sewing kit and started on a near-finished handkerchief, taking care to reproduce Kathryn’s awkward stitches as best I could. “No reason for you to get in trouble too.”
    â€œI mean about Michael.”
    â€œIf neither Michael nor your father will change his mind, there’s nothing you can do. I know how much you care.” I made my voice as gentle as I could, which was hard, for my seething frustration matched hers. “But you’re only fourteen—”
    â€œFifteen.” She lifted her chin defiantly.
    â€œNo difference,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do.”
    I finished the handkerchief she’d started and picked up another. Sewing has always soothed me, probably because I learned it from my mother, who was a soothing sort of woman. Then I thought, despite myself, ofmy own father. No matter how much he had harmed his family unintentionally, he would never deliberately have hurt anyone, least of all his own children.
    You must come home at once. For the thousandth time, I wished I’d never received that letter. Or that I’d gotten it years from now, when it couldn’t possibly matter. Or two and a half months ago, before I’d met my idiot employer.
    â€œYou’re of age.” The challenge in Lady Kathryn’s voice drew me back to the present. “And you’re a crim—” She went scarlet from collar to hairline. Then she drew a deep breath and her voice firmed. “A criminal. You could get him out of jail, couldn’t you?”
    In fact, I wouldn’t turn eighteen for several weeks. But I was a criminal. I finished one side and stitched around a corner.
    â€œI might,” I said finally. “Though that’s a lot chancier than you seem to think. The problem is, even if I do break him out, there’s a better than even chance he wouldn’t go.”
    Kathryn’s mouth twisted in rueful agreement, and she sat abruptly.
    â€œI’ve spent the last three weeks trying to get him to see sense,” I went on with rising passion. “But the idiot wouldn’t listen. He believes in the law.” It still sounded insane to me. I stitched around another corner. “Andhe’s as stubborn as they come. So you see, there’s nothing either of us can do.”
    But that didn’t stop us from discussing it for almost an hour, sharing our anger and dismay. We might have talked longer if Kathryn hadn’t looked down at my work and started to giggle. Caught up in the conversation, I’d been making my usual neat, tiny stitches—we had to pick the seams out of three handkerchiefs and redo them before I left.
    Â 
    The next morning, ironically, dawned clear and calm—a beautiful day for a tattooing. There wasn’t much to pack, for we traveled light. I led Tipple and Chanticleer into a shadowy alley on the side of the market square. I didn’t think anyone was likely to recognize me, or Michael’s horses, but caution is one of my few virtues. Unlike my employer.
    Eight deputies surrounded Michael when they led him into the square. He wore only his boots, britches, and the shirt I’d mended—not enough, for it was chilly despite the bright sun. On the surface he looked as composed as he had yesterday, but his eyes