"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. SUMMARYWhen Will Jones, ex-spy, ex-Bow Street Runner, rescues a
virgin from Archibald Marchβs 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 Marchβs
brothel conceals secret documents connecting her mother to a
group of radicals plotting against the government.
In the second of the βSons of Sinβ trilogy, Will Jones forms
a most unlikely partnership with Helen as he works to
recover his missing brother from Londonβs dark underworld.
Through Helen Will uncovers a plot to assassinate the
members of the British cabinet in the aftermath of old King
Georgeβs 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; heβs a realist
who knows Londonβs darkest secrets; heβs 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
sheβs masquerading as the most famous wanton in history.
But he canβt resist Helenβs spunky wit, her courage, or her
beauty. He lets her into the secret world heβs made for
himself in Londonβs 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, youβve been headed only one
place all along--a manβs bed." His voice was grim. "Mine."
The word was an unmistakable claim. His voice had the
timbre sheβd first heard in the brothel. She turned to
judge the intent in those dark eyes. "You wonβt . . . rape
me." She made herself say the word.
"I wonβt read you Fordyceβs 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 donβt 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 didnβt 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." Sheβd lost three
days. Her mother was three days closer to disaster.
"Setbacks, sweetheart? First Leary, then Wildeβboth quite
willing to sell you, though to Learyβs credit, he had a much
higher appreciation of your value. How long did you expect
to pass as a boy in a boysβ school?"
"I was only going to stay the night." Her missteps
accumulated moment by wearying moment.
"What kept you?"
She wasnβt 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 sheβd committed. Stealing from Will Jones didnβt
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
queenβs 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, donβt trouble yourself further on my account.
Iβm 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.
"Iβll 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
sheβd slept much in three days. "You met Harding on the
ledge last night. A good man in at tight spot."
"Youβve been in tight spots with him before?"
"Dozens." The stockings sheβd 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, Iβll 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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