If He's Tempted

by Hannah Howell

  “Do you like the gent?” asked Abel as Olympia led the boys up to the rooms they would use.

  “I do,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “He has a bad reputation, y’know. I have heard some bad things about him.”

  “Ah, yes. I fear most of those bad things are from rumors spread by his mother.”

  “His mam said such things about him? And you are certain they are not true?”

  “Very certain. The woman did what she had to to make very sure that the earl would be accepted nowhere, thus he would be hard-pressed to find the proof he needs concerning her many crimes.”

  “That is the woman who has taken the boys, aye?” asked Giles as he skipped past Olympia and entered the bedchamber he shared with David whenever the boys stayed the night at the Warren.

  “Aye, it is. I believe she has been doing such things for a long time.”

  “So why has he not stopped her?”

  “She is his mother.”

  All four boys nodded solemnly and she had to fight the urge to hug them all. They were still wary of too much affection. Olympia especially wanted to hug young Giles. She was certain he was related to her in some way. The mark of the Wherlocke clan was strong in his young face. Unfortunately, he had no idea who his parents were, having been tossed away by his mother while still a babe and raised mostly by Abel. He was also too young to reveal what gift he may have gotten from his Wherlocke blood, something that could have helped in discovering which of the many rogues in her family his father was.

  “Get some rest, lads. I feel the earl will be keeping you very busy on the morrow.”

  The three younger boys quickly ducked into the two bedchambers, set side by side and connected by a door she could hear them open the moment they got inside the room. Abel remained by her side, studying her in a way that made her uneasy. He was far older in spirit than his twelve years and she was saddened by that. He had never had a childhood.

  “Where are Artemis and Stefan?” Abel asked.

  “Out trying to find out things just as you were,” she replied and gave in to the urge to smooth down a few wayward curls in his thick, bright hair. The way he hunched his shoulders yet did not back away from the touch both amused her and made her happy. “They will return soon and will be sleeping in the room across the hall from this one.”

  “Good. I could help you if there was trouble but they are men and that would be better.”

  He left her then and softly closed the door behind him. Shaking her head, Olympia went to her own bedchamber knowing her nephews would let her know when they returned no matter how late that was. She was just slipping on her robe and thinking about reading for a while when a soft rap came at her door.

  “Ah, good, I was just starting to worry,” she said as she let her nephews into the room. “Discover anything of worth?”

  “I think young Merry’s sister may have been sent away,” said Artemis as he sprawled in a chair by her fireplace.

  “I feared that might be so,” she said and sighed as she sat down on the edge of her bed. “That means she is lost to us.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” said Stefan as he moved to sit on the arm of the chair his brother sat in. “We know the name of the ship she was probably sent out on and it was headed up the coast to Scotland first and then out to one of those plantation colonies. It might be possible to catch her in Scotland if we can get word to someone there in time.”

  “Talk to Pawl. He will know if there is anyone and if there is a chance to reach the person in time. I fear it would take me awhile to think through all of our kinsmen and where they may or may not be at this time of the year. Pawl has the sort of keen memory that keeps all that sort of information right at his fingertips.”

  “Will do.” Artemis stood up and started for the door, pausing to kiss her on the cheek, Stefan doing the same, but Artemis paused in the doorway to look back at her.

  “Something troubling you?” she asked.

  “The earl,” he replied.

  Olympia sighed. “I am a widow of six and twenty years, Artemis.”

  “I know and I was not intending to try and tell you what to do.” He abruptly grinned. “I will leave that to Uncle Argus. No, I just wanted to say that the earl is a man who needs to know that people are being completely honest with him. Right now he believes you are. So, I just thought that you might wish to tell him about Ilar.”

  She cursed as he walked out, shutting the door quietly behind him. Argus could prove to be a problem but she easily shrugged aside that part of what Artemis had said. He was right about Brant and she had seen that truth about Brant almost from the beginning. Brant had good reason to mistrust anyone who kept secrets. He even had good reason to be wary about trusting women since the most important woman in his life had betrayed his trust time and time again. That mistrust had grown in him with every new half-sibling he met. Now he had to think that most of his life had been filled with lies. She was giving him the truth but was doing so in small doses and that was wrong.

  Olympia moved to pour herself some wine. She then stood before her window and stared out at the small moonlit garden below. Her secrets had been her own, shared only with her family, for so long it was almost painful to reveal them to anyone else. The things she had told him already had been hard enough. To try and tell him her greatest secret of all could easily choke her.

  Ilar, she thought and her heart hurt. She missed him. He was her greatest treasure and her biggest secret. Even her family never mentioned Ilar, just as they rarely spoke of her marriage. Yet Ilar was listed as the Baron of Myrtledowns if anyone cared to look and they would only need a tiny more research to know that the baron listed in the records could not be her husband. In thirteen years no one had bothered to sort out the truth and she had decided to just leave the subject alone, to remain silent and even secretive by keeping Ilar in the country.

  “Where he must stay until he is older,” she said aloud as if hearing the words would help remind her of the need for that secrecy, that isolation of her own son.

  Thinking of Ilar took her mind back to that horrible night thirteen years ago, the night Ilar had been conceived, and she shuddered, quickly drinking deep of her wine to still a rising fear. Her cousin Maynard had always come round the house, been their playmate for years. Yet that night he had looked at her in a way that had chilled her to the bone. Before she could escape him, however, he had used his gift on her, a gift very similar to Argus’s. Too young to protect herself from his skill, Maynard had bent her to his will. Olympia could recall very little of what had happened next. She had woken up with her skirts around her waist and a pain between her legs. While staggering to her feet, she had placed her hands on the ground and read in the remaining emotions staining the grass just what her cousin had done to her.

  Cousin Maynard had paid dearly for his brutal act. Still in shock she had found herself married and, within a very short time, a widow. She knew her brothers had killed her cousin, had perhaps been aided by others in her far too large family, but she had never asked them for the details of it all. When she had found herself with child, she had been stunned, for she was little more than a child herself. Once or twice she had wondered if she could rid herself of the permanent memory of Maynard’s abuse, but each time her child had moved in her womb and she had been unable to even try to be rid of the baby. And thus was Ilar born, the occasional source of memories she would much prefer to forget, yet her joy as well.

  Artemis was right. Brant needed to know before he discovered it for himself. And he would. She knew she would not be able to resist the need to become his lover for much longer. The marks left from Ilar’s birth were faint and small but they were there and there was a very good chance Brant would see them. Her reticence about becoming Brant’s lover was almost gone and with it would go her ability to tell him to stop.

  Just a little longer, she thought, as she shed her robe and crawled into bed. It was nice to be desired by a man like Bra
nt and she wished to revel in the simple joy of that for a while longer. Men did not often react well to discovering the woman they desired had a child. She wanted nothing to disturb the rapidly growing passion she and Brant shared so effortlessly. It was selfish and she knew it, just as she knew she could be risking his trust, but for a while she wanted what was happening between her and Brant to be hers and hers alone.

  Chapter 8

  Brant stared up at Olympia as she climbed up the strange trellis-style ladder that ran up one side of Dobbin House. He had no doubt that it was but one of many routes of escape for the owners and patrons if there was ever a need to run. What held his complete attention, however, was the sight of Olympia’s beautifully shaped backside shown clearly in the trousers she wore. His hands actually itched to caress her there.

  When she had come down the stairs at the Warren to join him on this venture he had nearly swallowed his tongue at his first sight of her. Olympia dressed as a man was a sight to heat up any man’s blood and linger in his dreams. He had made her put on a heavy cloak but she had left it in the carriage, which waited around the corner and was guarded by Pawl. It was tempting to run back to the carriage and get it, throwing it around her to hide what he so ached to touch from his sight, and especially from the sight of anyone else.

  Olympia Wherlocke had long, beautifully shaped legs, the tight pants revealing a gap between her strong thighs that called out to a man. She also had the most temptingly shaped backside he had ever been blessed to look upon. He wanted to see it naked, wanted to caress it, kiss it. Despite the fact that they were here to save children from the hell callous adults had put them in, he was going to find it difficult to keep his attention fully on the job they had to do.

  Forcing his rising lust into submission, he began to climb up after her. Windows around the lower floors of the house had been heavily draped from the inside and even shuttered on the outside. The only windows they might be able to spy through were on the upper floors of the six-story building. It still bothered him that Olympia would be joining him in peering into the abyss that was Dobbin House.

  In all honesty, he did not want to peer into the windows of this place. He knew what was happening to all of the children that had been sentenced to this hell. If the boys he looked for were in there, they would be free, but they would be damaged in heart and soul. It would take a long time to heal those wounds and they would leave deep scars. Brant did not think there was a punishment severe enough for people who mistreated children in such a way but, saddened by the truth of it, he knew he was one of few who actually cared what happened to them. Most people barely saw all the poor children, and while some bastards of good blood were supported by their parent, most were discarded with the ease so many others discarded the children of the poor.

  A small, soft hand wrapped itself around his wrist and tugged. Brant realized they had reached a narrow landing as he stepped off the trellis. A wooden ledge wide enough to walk on encircled the house, interrupted here and there by other small landings. It looked sturdy enough to hold them. It also looked like yet another way to ensure the patrons and owners would never be caught so long as they had some warning.

  “The man who runs this place now has obviously thought of all the ways that might be needed to allow the swine within these walls to escape any attempt to bring them to justice,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It explains why there are still so many fine windows in the place when others sealed up theirs to avoid the window tax.”

  “I am surprised they do not worry about the ones they sell here escaping from them by the same routes,” Olympia said, her voice as soft as his.

  “I suspect the ones they sell are secured well.”

  “Aye, they are.”

  The tone of her voice drew his full attention and Brant realized she was peering into a window. She stood to the side of the window frame and leaned her head around it just enough to look inside. He did the same on the other side of the window. It took just one look and he was fighting the urge to drag Olympia away from there.

  A small boy was relieving himself in a battered chamber pot. He was naked and there was a shackle around his thin ankle. Brant doubted the boy could be much more than five. As he watched the child crawl up onto the bed, every move he made shouting out the despair and pain he was in, Brant swore he would get the child out of there. The boy was not one of the ones they were hunting for, but no child should be treated so.

  Before he could stop her, Olympia moved to stand before the window and the child looked up, gaping at the sight of her. Brant softly cursed and waited for the alarm to be sounded. No sound was made, however, and a moment later he heard the strange wooden screech of a window being opened.

  “Who are you?” asked Olympia, reaching out to lightly stroke the child’s cheek.

  “Henry. Are you an angel?”

  “Nay, lad. I but come here looking for some boys who were taken from us.”

  “No one came for me,” the boy whispered and his blue eyes glittered with tears.

  “I have.”

  “You will take me if you find the boys you want?”

  “I will take you from here even if I do not find them.”

  “There are a lot of others. Not all of them are children. There are a few girls here, older girls. Ones men like to grab.”

  “We will see to their freedom as well. Now, I know you have probably seen few people inside these walls . . .” Olympia began.

  “I get taken for a bath on the nights when I will have company so I have seen a lot of the other ones here. What do your boys look like?”

  Olympia carefully described Ned, Peter, and Noah, naming each boy as she did so on the chance that this child had heard a name if nothing else. She found it hard to speak. Every part of her wanted to grab the boy and run but she knew that would only condemn the boys she hunted for. It cut her heart to shreds to see this small boy chained like an animal, and to know what he meant when he spoke about having company. She prayed that when they did bring this house down, a lot of the evil men who frequented it came down with it. She would attend their hanging in her best gown.

  “I saw the woman and her man bring in the boy Noah. Some others brought in your Ned and Peter. They were yelling about that bitch when they were dragged in. I think they fought hard as they had a lot of bruises and so did the skinny man who was collecting the money from Mr. Searle.”

  “What did the skinny man look like?” asked Brant and felt stabbed to the heart when the boy looked at him with fear. “I am with this angel. Those boys are my brothers.”

  “But you have her eyes,” whispered Henry and he reached out for Olympia who quickly took his hand in hers.

  “I fear sometimes evil is born into a family. In my case, my father married it.”

  Henry nodded. “My mother was bad, too. She sold me to Mister Searle for ten quid.”

  Olympia felt bile sting the back of her throat but fought down the urge to be sick. “Tell us what the skinny man looked like, Henry.” Anger pushed aside the sickness still twisting in her stomach when Henry described the butler of Fieldgate. “It appears Wilkins has always been more than just your mother’s spy at Fieldgate, Brant.”

  “So it does. Henry, can you describe the man that was with my mother?”

  “You do not want to know how the men with the skinny one looked?” asked the boy.

  “I will find out who they were when I have a stern talk with Wilkins.”

  Henry nodded and described the man who had come with Lady Mallam and handed young Noah over for what sounded like a sizable amount of money. The look on Brant’s face told her he recognized the man but she bit back the urge to demand to know who it was right now.

  “Do you know what floor the boys are on?”

  “All the boys are on this floor or the one below. The girls are on the upper floors. That is where Mr. Searle lives, too. Are you going to help everyone?”

  “That is the plan.”

  �
��That would be nice.”

  Olympia could tell that the boy did not believe them. His brown eyes were dark with resignation and despair. She wanted to take him into her arms and hold him, but he was stretched to the very limit of his chain.

  They asked him a few more questions but then the boy tensed. Before Olympia could ask what was wrong, he shut the window, even pulled the old worn drapes over it and she was alone with Brant again. Silently they worked their way around the house. Only once did they stop so that Brant could steal a look into a window but he quickly backed away and ordered her not to look as she passed. Olympia was tempted to disobey him but decided she did not really want to see what had made Brant turn so pale with rage.

  They were soon back down on the ground and took up a place in the shadows by the corner of the house so that they could watch the door for a while. It took awhile for Olympia to be able to quell the urge to go straight to Dobson and demand he put an end to this abomination. She knew they needed as much information as possible if they were to be able to convince Dobson to bring his men here and help free the children. Dobson would probably come for no other reason than curiosity, even simply because it was the right thing to do, but he needed his men to end this place and most of them needed far more of an incentive than righteousness.

  “Brant,” she whispered and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention when she suddenly thought of something concerning Henry, “did you happen to notice the way young Henry talked?”

  He frowned at first, wondering why she was talking about such things now, and then he thought back on the boy and all he had told them. “He is no street urchin or servant’s child.”

  “No, he is not. Perhaps we should have asked exactly who he was.”

  “Do you think the boy is some stolen child, that there may be a reward for Dobson and his men?”

  “I do not think he is stolen as he said himself that his mother sold him for ten quid.”

  “We shall have to sort that out later. Look who comes to play.”