"Who can be trusted when intrigue and betrayal abound?"
Reviewed by Audrey Lawrence
Posted December 29, 2010
Romance Historical
Will Jones, a former Bow Street runner, is on a quest that
is critical to him and of utmost importance to his family.
In the guise of being le Vicomte de Villard, he entered the
notorious upper class brothel so he could get the
information he needs to bring to justice its owner and his
nemesis, Archibald March, and hopefully find out what
happen to his younger brother, Kit.
Hoping to use the distraction of the auction of a virgin as
an opportunity to search for important papers, Will soon
found himself distracted by the drugged and
beautiful "Helen of Troy" and opted to rescue her instead.
Then, instead of her being happy at being rescued, Helen
was bound and determined to go back there again. What
could be so important that Helen would dare try to regain
entry at her own peril?
Intrigued by Helen's gusty style and her determination,
Will knows his growing love for her will never be fulfilled
as he picks up small clues of who she really is.
Meanwhile, despite her quest to keep her mother's secret
from coming out, Helen realizes that she holds a clue to
where Kit might be, but can they trust each other with
their secrets?
In this second book of the Sons of Sin trilogy, Kate
Moore brings us right into the backstreets of London's
underworld where in truth and brutality abound. Think of
Fagin and Oliver Twist and one can see why Helen would want
to help wee Robin as we can just imagine his fate. I loved
how Moore was able to bring in some interesting research
about the introduction of street lights into London circa
1820 as part of furthering the story of Xander and his
wife, Cleo (from the first book, To Tempt a Saint).
While there seem to be some character inconsistencies with
Helen, especially over who she trusts and doesn't, she is
an interesting and spirited heroine. I also wondered if it
was coincidence or by design that Will's mother, a former
courtesan, has the same name as the current Prince Edward's
wife, Sophie Rhys-Jones. Regardless, there is lots of
humor and page turning action for existing and news fans
of Kate Moore.
SUMMARY
When Will Jones, ex-spy, ex-Bow Street Runner, rescues a
virgin from Archibald March’s notorious London brothel, he
does not expect her to resist his gallantry or escape his
protection, but the tall beauty he knows only as Helen of
Troy has a desperate plan of her own. She believes March’s
brothel conceals secret documents connecting her mother to a
group of radicals plotting against the government.
In the second of the “Sons of Sin” trilogy, Will Jones forms
a most unlikely partnership with Helen as he works to
recover his missing brother from London’s dark underworld.
Through Helen Will uncovers a plot to assassinate the
members of the British cabinet in the aftermath of old King
George’s death while the former Prince Regent lies ill and
unready to lead his country. In this dark time Will and
Helen discover the secrets of a well-guarded brothel and a
slum school that trains boys to be criminals.
Will puts up barriers to all who know him; he’s a realist
who knows London’s darkest secrets; he’s a man with a past,
conscious of his sins and failings. He has no business with
a proper beauty from the highest rung of society, even if
she’s masquerading as the most famous wanton in history.
But he can’t resist Helen’s spunky wit, her courage, or her
beauty. He lets her into the secret world he’s made for
himself in London’s darkest corner, a fantastic apartment in
the old style of Tudor London, hidden in a disreputable
district of brothels and pawn shops.
Will and Helen's story is a classic match up of "bad boy"
hero and "good girl" heroine. He teaches her all the best
ways to be wicked, and she reminds him that goodness and
love are within his grasp after all.
Excerpt"Where are you taking me this time?" She twisted her
face away from his hand. She had no clear sense of where
she was, and she probably had less than a quarter of an hour
to convince him to let her go.
"Going about London alone, you’ve been headed only one
place all along--a man’s bed." His voice was grim. "Mine."
The word was an unmistakable claim. His voice had the
timbre she’d first heard in the brothel. She turned to
judge the intent in those dark eyes. "You won’t . . . rape
me." She made herself say the word.
"I won’t read you Fordyce’s sermons on The Character and
Conduct of the Female Sex."
Flickering shadows in the interior of the hack revealed
only fragments of his appearance, the hard-edged profile,
the gleam in his dark eyes. She had not properly understood
him in the brothel. She had believed him preparing to bed
her, and his languid air as a Frenchman had made her think
she could overpower him and escape. But outside the brothel,
the fastidious vicomte did not exist.
"I don’t know who you are. Yesterday you wore a cravat
and silks, today a Belcher neckerchief and corduroy."
"Neighborhoods change. Depravity . . . remains the same."
"Do you have a name?"
His grin flashed briefly in the dark. "Will Jones.
Descended on both sides from a distinguished line of
fornicators back to the Conqueror himself."
"You didn’t have to hunt me down. I told you I would
repay you."
"Was that going to be before, or after your arrest for
stealing and fencing the goods?"
"I know exactly where those candlesticks are."
"I doubt it."
She took a calming breath. "You are interfering with my
plan."
"Which was going so well."
"There were setbacks, I grant you." She’d lost three
days. Her mother was three days closer to disaster.
"Setbacks, sweetheart? First Leary, then Wilde—both quite
willing to sell you, though to Leary’s credit, he had a much
higher appreciation of your value. How long did you expect
to pass as a boy in a boys’ school?"
"I was only going to stay the night." Her missteps
accumulated moment by wearying moment.
"What kept you?"
She wasn’t going to tell him about Robin. The little boy
had followed her about the school all day, and leaving him
behind with his vain hope that a phantom hero would come
over the rooftops to save him struck her as the one true
crime she’d committed. Stealing from Will Jones didn’t
count. "Did you come after me for the candlesticks or the
clothes?"
"Ah, Helen, for all your experience in Troy, how little
you know of men."
There was a teasing note in his voice. "It was only one
man, you know, Paris, endlessly Paris, and a woman can
hardly judge others by such a man. Really the rest of the
time, I was among the Trojan women. Imagine a room full of
women, fifty looms and tongues going at once, and old
queen’s stern eye on us every minute."
"Good at weaving, were you?" He laughed. The hack came
to a halt. Leaning close he told her, "You undid my first
efforts on your behalf, and when I do a thing, I like it to
stay done."
"Please, don’t trouble yourself further on my account.
I’m sure you have other business to attend to."
"I do, Helen, but you see, as I go about my business, you
keep turning up in suspicious places." Will extracted his
prisoner, unwound her from the fragrant blanket, paid the
hack driver, and led her through the usual passageways to
his door. "Home," he announced.
"I’ll be leaving in the morning."
"You are an ungrateful baggage, you know. You were
unable to get yourself out of either the brothel or the boys
school without my aid and my money."
"With which you are quite free for a man from your
neighborhood."
Argos in the shadows thumped his tale in welcome. "Argos
knows you already." Will made her sit two stairs above him
on the long staircase.
"What are you doing?"
"Removing my ruined boots from your feet. Harding will
take it ill if you track mud on the rugs."
"Harding?"
He could hear the weariness in her voice. He doubted
she’d slept much in three days. "You met Harding on the
ledge last night. A good man in at tight spot."
"You’ve been in tight spots with him before?"
"Dozens." The stockings she’d stolen from him stuck to
her feet in dark coins of dried blood. Bleeding determined
chit. He swung her over his shoulder and carried her
through the door.
She lay where he put her on the bed and her eyes fell
closed. "I warn you, whatever you mean to do to me, I’ll be
asleep."
"Oh I doubt that."
Her eyes opened at once as he secured her left arm to a
bedpost with a silken scarf. A red streak marked her wrist
where he had dangled her from the brothel window two nights
before.
"Do you mean to torture me?"
"Definitely."
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