"A exciting and riveting tale of a man and woman finding their true selves."
Reviewed by Kay Quintin
Posted October 6, 2011
Romance Historical
Emma Portland's only wish is to allow her cousin Tatty
and her baby to escape to America. Her brother Leo,
husband to Tatty and father to the babe, has been
executed. For 7 years they have been trying to escape
being held prisoners by the Duke of Wenlocke and his
nephew, Earl of Aubrey. His only goal is to take back
Daventry Hall from the his estranged grandson, Marquess of
Daventry, also called the warrior angel.
The web weaves tightly around Emma, blackmailed by the
Duke to pose as a schoolmaster at Daventry Hall. She must
either concur or hang for a murder she did not commit.
Dav, kidnapped at his grandfather's request at 4 years of
age, is declared unfit for his heritage by the Duke because
his mother was a notorious courtesan and his father now
dead. Years later Dav takes back his heritage and unites
with his mother and brothers. Loyalty and her conscience
interferes with what is required of her when she
unexpectedly falls in love with Dav. All rules are broken
when Emma is revealed and Wenlocke again has her at his
mercy with hanging imminent.
This is book 3 of the Sons of Sin Trilogy, spotlighting
Dav, a beautiful warrior angel. Emma's true self will be a
surprise for the readers. Set in 1824 England, the story
is comprised of open ring fights and countryside castles.
Brace yourself for a fast and exciting tale filled with
explicit sex and treachery. I did not have the opportunity
to read the first two books in the trilogy but will
definitely do so now.
SUMMARY
As
a boy Kit Jones thought himself a bastard, not knowing his
parents were secretly married. When his powerful
grandfather, the Duke of Wenlocke, discovered Kit’s claim on
his title, he had the boy kidnapped. After two years in
captivity in London’s darkest rookery, Kit escaped. Fearing
for the safety of his family, he did not return home. Only
when his brothers proved their extraordinary love for him,
did he return to discover the truth of his birth. Three
years later the courts have recognized his claim to be his
father’s son, Daventry. Now Kit wants to free his family
forever with a decisive defeat of the old duke. In a daring
move that breaks all the rules of his safe life, he hires
tutor Emma Portland.
Alone, pursued by spies, falsely accused of a murder she
didn’t commit, Emma is the Duke of Wenlocke’s spy. If she
doesn’t play by Wenlocke’s rules, she dies. As a tutor to
Daventry’s lost boys she carefully plans her next escape.
What she doesn’t plan on is loving Daventry.
ExcerptChapter One
Emma faced two gentlemen in front of the massive stone
fireplace. A painting on the wall above the gray stones
depicted a hunting dog pinning a spotted fawn in agony
between his forepaws. Emma knew just how that spotted fawn
felt.
They had her pinned, the duke and his nephew. The Duke
of Wenlocke, tall, gaunt, and imperious, his face as
unyielding as granite, leaned heavily on a black cane. His
gnarled hand curved over its golden head like an eagle's
talon. His other hand clutched a document.
"This is the girl?" His haughty gaze sent an icy wave
of alarm over her. "She doesn't look like a murderess to
me."
Emma willed her knees to remain steady. It took steady
knees to run.
"Oh she's the one, uncle. Emma Portland." The other
man, the duke's nephew the Earl of Aubrey, turned from
prodding a great log with an iron poker. A shower of
sparks vanished up the flue. If only escape were that easy.
"What's your age, girl?" the duke demanded.
"Twenty, your grace." Her voice came out thin and
reedy, unrecognizable to her own ears over the pounding of
her heart.
The duke's gaze fixed her to the spot. "Stuck a knife
in some fellow's ribs, did you?"
Don't deny it, Emma. She clenched her fists in the
folds of her shawl. Let them think her a murderess. Let
them stare as if she were a beast in a menagerie to be
baited.
"She's accused of the deed, uncle, not convicted. I'm
sure she'd rather do a favor for a pair of gentlemen than
face the law." Aubrey had a smooth voice and a powerful
body, his muscled thighs bulging in skintight riding
breeches, his calves sheathed in gleaming black leather.
Emma had seen him return his pretty mare to the stables
with bloodied sides. She had not imagined that he noticed
her.
The duke's stare pierced her. "She'd better. I'm done
with the law and courts. Hang all lawyers. I want that
whore's get out of Daventry Hall and back in the gutter
where he belongs."
He shook the paper in his fist at Emma. "You know what
this is, girl? A request for the king's pardon. The
duchess wants me to sign it. If I don't, you'll be had up
before the justices at the next assizes in Taunton."
Emma drew a sharp breath and blinked hard against a
sudden sting in her eyes. Somehow in spite of all their
care, the law had connected her with the spy's death. She
knew what that meant. Once more she and Tatty had been
betrayed. Her thoughts raced back through the long chain
of coins pressed into willing palms and hasty bargains made
with low characters. Their enemies might have bought off
anyone on sea or land in the thousand miles between home
and England.
"You'll hang, you know." The duke handed the paper to
Aubrey. "Read it to her."
Aubrey circled her, making a slow deliberate perusal of
her person, the privilege of a man with power. A mad
desire to pick up her skirts and run passed in an instant.
She would not make half the distance to the library door.
She would never make the first set of stairs or the grand
entrance or the drive, let alone the woods below Wenlocke
Castle. Escape took care and planning and above all luck.
No one knew that better than Emma. How many times had she
and Tatty and Leo tried and failed in seven years until
their jailers had hanged Leo.
Aubrey stopped so close to her she had to breathe his
scent, a heavy male mix of musk and leather with a tang of
sweat. "Not pleasant to contemplate, is it? Much better
to hide here at Wenlocke, teaching servants' brats. That's
what you do, isn't it, Miss Portland?"
She glanced at the flimsy paper in Aubrey's hand. A
pardon meant the duchess, their mother's friend, still
believed in her. When they had reached her grace, all
their difficulties seemed to melt away. Until now. Now
the duchess had gone to London to visit her daughter.
There was no one at Wenlocke to help Emma. Still the
duchesses' wishes must count for something. "The duchess
kindly gave me a position."
"Don't think to hide behind her grace, girl," the duke
snapped.
"But she's done it for weeks, uncle. Look at her. With
her pink cheeks, golden curls, and round blue eyes, a man
thinks butter won't melt in that sweet mouth, but that's a
lie, isn't it?" Aubrey lifted her chin, the cutting edge
of his nail against her throat. Her stomach roiled at the
touch. "You're a lie, Emma Portland. There's a dead man
in Reading whose reeking corpse says you're someone else."
His broad back was to his uncle. He let go of her chin
and reached down and dealt her breast a swift, stinging
blow with a flick of his middle finger.
Fear cramped her insides, but Emma knew better than to
show it.
"Listen to Aubrey, girl." The duke's voice brought her
gaze back to him. "If you don't want them to break your
pretty neck and feed you to the crows, you'll do as he
says."
Crows. She steadied her treacherous knees. Don't think
about crows, Emma. Tatty and the babe must reach the coast
and the waiting messenger.
The fire crackled, and outside a March gale howled
against the windows. The Englishness of the place, which
had seemed so warm and comforting when she first arrived at
Wenlocke, now seemed chillingly cold. The library's dark
oak cases held thousands of morocco bound tomes with gold-
tooled spines, crushing slabs of history and law. The
English liked their law to do the killing. They did not
send assassins to kill babes in their cradles, but they
would hang the merest child for stealing.
Aubrey and the duke had picked her for some ruthless
business because they believed her to be a murderess. She
could tell them what a joke that was. Tatty was the
fearless one. Tatty had the knife. It had been Emma's
duty to kill the flies and spiders in their cell. And once
she'd been so bold as to kill a rat. But if these
gentlemen knew truth about her, if they saw that she would
be of no use to them, they would simply give her over to
the law. And the crows would get her.
Aubrey handed the duke the paper. His voice turned
coaxing. "We want you to teach a different group of
brats. That's all. Here, read this notice." Emma swung
her gaze back to him. This time he offered her a
newspaper, and she was pleased with the steadiness of her
own hand as she took it. Inside her everything quaked as
if she would shake apart.
The paper was folded open to a small notice inquiring
after a schoolmaster. Private instruction wanted in
letters, mathematics, and geography. References required.
Inquire at Daventry Hall for interview.
Emma handed the notice back. Asking a murderess to
tutor children in a private gentleman's house was not the
favor Aubrey meant. "What makes you think this person
would hire me?"
She did not know where her boldness came from. Aubrey
watched her with a twisted smile. A ridge of vein marred
his smooth broad forehead. "We will send impeccable
credentials with you."
She waited for the trap to close.
"In return, you must do something for us. It's simple
really. I'll keep a man in the village. He'll tell you
what to do, and you'll report to him everything you
discover about your new employer's habits and plans."
"I must spy?" She tried not to betray any relief. They
had not asked her to kill anyone. Still she would have to
report to a man, Aubrey's man. Aubrey would know where she
was. Escape would be very very hard.
"Or hang if that's your preference."
"On whom must I spy?" Her mind raced. Let them think
her agreeable. Let them think she could be bought with a
piece of paper. There would be time while she spied for
them for Tatty to reach the coast and Emma to plan another
escape. She was the planner, not Tatty.
"On the Marquess of Daventry."
"A lord?"
"Whore's get." The duke's cold voice insisted.
She turned to him. The lines cut deep in his harsh
face. The hooded eyes were unreadable. "May I know why I
am to spy on this lord?"
"He's an enemy of this house, Miss Portland."
"Is he dangerous, then?"
"He's damned hard to kill."
She stared at the duke, but his closed expression
revealed nothing. Emma's brain could make no sense of it--
to send a schoolmistress to spy on a dangerous lord. "For
how long must I spy?"
"As long as it takes. And we may ask you to obtain
certain items for us."
They wanted her to be a spy and a thief. "You will sign
the pardon request if I spy?"
In answer duke tossed the paper aside. The weary
gesture told Emma all she needed to know about her
predicament. The duke's unsteady leg buckled, and Aubrey
took his arm to help him to a leather chair. Emma
understood the gesture. The duke relied on Aubrey now, and
Aubrey only waited to take power as it slipped from the
duke's grip.
"When do I leave?"
"Today."
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