Wicked Intentions

by Elizabeth Hoyt

  “And you?”

  Temperance inhaled. “I hated to pay her, but she made it quite plain that she would find another buyer if we did not give her the price. Someone who would not care for the child’s welfare at all.”

  “A whoremonger.”

  She glanced swiftly at him, but his face was in profile to her, cold and remote. They’d crossed into a larger lane, one in which she could walk beside him. This wasn’t the way she’d taken Lord Caire to Mother Heart’s-Ease’s cellar. Idly she wondered if he was lost.

  Then she faced forward again. “Yes, a whoremonger, most probably, though Mother Heart’s-Ease never actually said the words. She simply hinted horribly.” Temperance’s head was down, remembering that ghastly negotiation. She’d still been a little naive then. She’d had no idea how black a woman’s soul could be.

  She wasn’t paying enough attention to the way. Her toe caught on something, and her hands shot out as she stumbled, trying to regain her balance. There was an awful second when her belly dove, and she knew she was going to hit the ground.

  And then he caught her, hard hands—painful hands—gripping her elbows but keeping her safe. She looked up and he was there, right in front of her, his blue eyes gleaming like a demon’s. He drew her closer, almost into an embrace. Like a friend. Like a lover.

  All her worst desires clamored to the surface.

  He whispered, his breath brushing her lips, “So you bought the babe.”

  “Yes.” She glared at him, this unfeeling aristocrat. Why did he want to hear this story? Why did he insist on ripping open old wounds? Why was he searching for a dead woman’s murderer? “Yes, I paid the price. I sold the only bit of jewelry I had—a gold cross my husband had once given me—and I bought the babe. I named her Mary Whitsun for the Whitsunday on which I first held her.”

  He cocked his head, his blue, blue eyes asking the question.

  She sobbed, fury and sorrow welling up from that place where she carefully controlled all the emotions she couldn’t afford to feel. Temperance trembled as she tried to beat her passion down. Trap it and conceal it.

  He shook her as if to dislodge the answer he waited for.

  “Winter was right,” she gasped. “The baby girl was safe, but two months later, Mother Heart’s-Ease came to us again with another baby, a boy this time. And his price was twice what the girl’s had been.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” She closed her eyes in defeat. “The price was too high; we hadn’t the money. We—I—could do nothing. I begged, I got on my knees and pled with that witch, and she sold him anyway.”

  She bunched the edges of his cloak in her fists, shaking them as if to impress the awfulness of the memory on him. “She sold that sweet baby boy, and I could do nothing to save him.”

  One moment she was crying in fury up at him and the next he’d swooped down and caught her mouth. Hard, with no mercy. She gasped at the shock. He ground his mouth against her soft lips. She felt his teeth, tasted his hot tongue, and that part of herself, that wretched, sinful, wrong, part broke free and went running. Reveling in his savagery. Rejoicing in his blunt sexuality.

  Completely out of her control.

  Until he raised his head and looked down at her. His lips were wet and slightly reddened, but otherwise he showed no sign of that devastating kiss.

  He might’ve just relieved himself against a wall for all the emotion he displayed.

  Temperance tried to pull from his grasp, but his hands held strong.

  “You are such a passionate creature,” he murmured, examining her from beneath half-lowered eyelids. “So emotional.”

  “I am not,” she whispered, horrified at the mere notion.

  “You lie. I wonder why?” He raised his eyebrows in amusement and let her go so suddenly she stumbled back a step. “She was my mistress.”

  “What?”

  “The murdered woman, the one gutted like a pig at the butcher’s. She was my mistress of three years.”

  She gaped at him, stunned.

  He inclined his head. “Until tomorrow evening. Good night, Mrs. Dews.”

  And he walked away, disappearing into the night shadows.

  Temperance turned, her mind whirling, and saw it, not twenty steps away. The door to the foundling home.

  Lord Caire had brought her safely home after all.

  Chapter Three

  King Lockedheart lived in a magnificent castle that sat on the top of a hill. In his castle there lived hundreds of guards, a swarm of courtiers, and a multitude of servants and courtesans. The king was surrounded day and night, and yet none were close to his heart. In fact, the only living thing that was important to the king was a small blue bird. The bird lived in a jeweled golden cage, and sometimes it would sing or chirp. In the evening, King Lockedheart fed the bird nuts through the bars of its cage….

  —from King Lockedheart

  The sun never seemed to shine in St. Giles, Silence Hollingbrook reflected the next morning. She glanced up and caught sight of only a handspan’s width of blue amongst the overhanging second stories, signs, and roofs. St. Giles was far too crowded, the houses built one on top of another and the rooms divided and then subdivided again until the people lived like rats in warrens. Silence shivered, glad for her own neat rooms in Wapping. St. Giles was a terrible place to live one’s life. She wished her elder brother and sister could find another place for the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children. But then St. Giles was where Father had founded the home, and St. Giles was where the poorest of the poor lived in London.

  She stopped before the worn stoop and knocked loudly on the thick wooden door. The foundling home had had a bell until last Christmas, when someone had stolen it. Winter had not had a chance to replace it yet, and sometimes she knocked for several minutes before being heard.

  But today the door was opened almost at once.

  She looked down into scrubbed pink cheeks, black hair scraped back from a wide forehead, and sharp brown eyes. “Good morning to you, Mary Whitsun.”

  Mary bobbed a curtsy. “Good morning, Mrs. Hollingbrook.”

  Silence entered the narrow hall and hung up her shawl. “Is my sister about?”

  “Ma’am is in the kitchen,” Mary said.

  Silence smiled. “I’ll find her, then.”

  Mary nodded solemnly and marched up the stairs to whatever work she’d been interrupted at.

  Silence hoisted the flat-bottomed basket she’d brought and walked back to the kitchens. “Good morning!” she called as she entered.

  Temperance turned from a huge pot boiling over the fire. “Good morning, sister! What a nice surprise. I didn’t know you were to call today.”

  “I wasn’t.” Silence felt her cheeks heat guiltily. She hadn’t been to the home in over a week. “But I bought some dried currants at market this morning and thought I’d bring some over.”

  “Oh, how thoughtful! Mary Whitsun will like that,” Temperance said. “She has a fondness for currant buns.”

  “Mmm.” Silence set the basket on the old kitchen table. “She seems to have grown another inch since I last saw her.”

  “She has indeed.” Temperance wiped at the sweat on her temples with her apron. “And she’s quite lovely, though I don’t tell her so to her face. I don’t want her to become vain.”

  Silence smiled as she uncovered the basket. “You sound proud.”

  “Do I?” Temperance asked absently. She’d turned back to the steaming pot.

  “Yes.” Silence hesitated a moment before continuing apologetically. “She’s of age to apprentice out, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. Almost past the age, in fact.” Temperance sighed. “But she’s of such use about the home. I haven’t begun looking for a position for her yet.”

  Silence took the items from her basket without comment. Temperance knew better than she that becoming too fond of the foundling children could only lead to hurt.

  “You’ve got more than
currants there,” Temperance said, coming to the table.

  “I brought some stockings I made as well.” Silence shyly presented her workmanship—three pairs of tiny stockings. True, none of them were quite the same size as the other, but at least they matched in shape. More or less. “I was making a pair for William and some wool remained.”

  “Oh, my.” Temperance set her hands on her hips and arched her back, stretching. “I’d quite forgotten that Captain Hollingbrook was to return soon.”

  Silence felt the ripple of quiet joy spread through her at just the mention of her husband’s name. William had been away at sea for months, captaining the Finch, a merchant ship returning from the West Indies.

  She ducked her head as she replied to her sister. “He’s due any day now. I hoped that when he returns, you and Winter would come and sup with us in celebration.”

  When Temperance didn’t respond immediately, Silence looked up. Her sister was frowning down at a pile of turnips on the table.

  “What is it?” Silence asked.

  “What?” Temperance glanced up quickly, her face smoothing. “Oh, nothing, dear. You know Winter and I would be pleased to dine with you and Captain Hollingbrook. It’s just that we’re so busy with the home right now….” Her words trailed away as she looked about the big kitchen.

  “Perhaps, then, it is time to hire more help. Nell works hard, but she’s only one woman.”

  Temperance laughed, but the sound was hard and short. “If we had a patron to supply the home with money, we would. As it is, we were just able to finally pay this month’s rent and last’s today. If we’re late again, Mr. Wedge may well evict us.”

  “What?” Silence sank into a kitchen chair. “I have nearly a pound left from my grocery money. Would that help?”

  Temperance smiled. “No, dear. That would only help us for a little while, and I don’t want to take Captain Hollingbrook’s money. I know how you and he scrimp and save.”

  Silence colored a little. William was a wonderful husband, but a merchant ship’s captain didn’t make all that much, especially when he had a wife and an elderly mother and spinster sister to keep.

  “What about Concord?”

  Temperance was shaking her head. “Winter says the brewery has lost money since Father’s death. And besides, Concord has his own family to take care of.”

  Silence shook her head. She’d had no idea Concord was in financial straits, but then the men of the family didn’t always like to talk business with their women. Concord and his wife, Rose, had five adorable children and another on the way.

  She looked up. “And Asa?”

  Temperance grimaced. “You know Asa has always been scornful of the home. I think Winter hates the thought of going to him again with hand outstretched.”

  Silence pulled the turnip toward herself and picked up a knife to chop off the greens. “Winter is the least prideful man I know.”

  “Yes, of course, but even the most humble of men have just a touch of pride. Besides, even if Winter did ask Asa, there’s no guarantee he would help.”

  Silence wanted to protest that of course Asa would help if he could, but the truth was that she was uncertain. Asa had always walked apart from their family, secret and alone.

  “What shall you do?” Silence began dicing a turnip, her little pieces more odd lumps than squares. She’d never been very good at dicing.

  Temperance took up another knife but she hesitated. “As to that, I already have a plan.”

  “Yes?”

  “You must promise not to tell our brothers.”

  Silence looked up. “What?”

  “Or Verity either,” Temperance said. Verity was the eldest of the Makepeace family.

  Silence stared. What secret would Temperance want to keep not only from their brothers, but also their sister?

  But Temperance’s expression was almost fierce. If Silence wanted to know, she’d have to promise. “Very well.”

  Temperance set down the knife and leaned close to whisper, “I’ve met someone who will introduce me to the influential and wealthy people of London. I’m going to find a new patron for the home.”

  “Who?” Silence knit her brows.

  Their family was a humble one. Father had been a beer brewer, and on their father’s death, Concord had taken over the family business. Father had believed deeply in learning and had seen to it that all her brothers were very well educated in religion, philosophy, and Greek and Latin. She supposed in that way they might be called intellectuals, but that didn’t take away from the fact that they worked for their living. The kind of people Temperance was talking about were well out of their league.

  “Who is this powerful friend?” Silence saw the moment when something shifted behind her sister’s eyes. Temperance was a wonderful person, which was perhaps why she was also a terrible liar. “Temperance, tell me.”

  Her sister tilted her chin. “His name is Lord Caire.”

  Silence’s brows furrowed. “An aristocrat? How in the world did you find an aristocrat to help you?”

  “Actually, he found me.” Temperance pursed her lips, her eyes firmly fixed on the growing mound of chopped turnip roots. “Do you think anyone really likes turnips?”

  “Temperance…”

  Temperance poked the tip of her knife into a white cube and held it up. “They are very filling, of course, but really, when was the last time you heard someone say, ‘Oh, I’m so very fond of turnips’?”

  Silence set down her knife and waited.

  The lid of the pot over the fire rattled, and Temperance’s knife thunked against the table for perhaps a half minute before she broke.

  “He followed me home the night before last.”

  “What?” Silence gasped.

  But her sister was speaking rapidly. “That sounds worse than it is. He was quite harmless, I assure you. He merely asked me for my help in speaking to some people in St. Giles. In return, I requested that he introduce me to the people he knew who were wealthy. It’s a very practical arrangement, truly.”

  Silence eyed her sister skeptically. The picture Temperance drew was altogether too rosy. “And I suppose this Lord Caire is an ancient gentleman, white-haired and bony-kneed?”

  Temperance winced. “His hair is white, actually.”

  “And his knees?”

  “I hope you don’t think I stare at a gentleman’s knees.”

  “Temperance…”

  “Oh, very well, he’s a young and rather handsome man,” Temperance said not very graciously. Her cheeks had pinkened.

  “Dear Lord.” Silence stared with concern at her sister. Temperance was a widow of eight and twenty, but sometimes she behaved with all the circumspection of a silly girl. “Think. Why would Lord Caire pick you in particular to lead him about St. Giles?”

  “I don’t know, but—”

  “You must tell Winter. This thing sounds like a made-up story to entice you. Lord Caire might have dreadful plans for you. What if he lures you into debauchery?”

  Temperance wrinkled her nose, drawing attention to a speck of soot at the tip. “I hardly think that’s likely. Have you looked at me recently?”

  She spread her arms wide as if to emphasize the ridiculousness of an aristocrat wanting to seduce her. Silence had to admit that standing in her kitchen, her hair half down, and with soot on her nose, Temperance certainly didn’t look like someone particularly tempting to a seducer.

  But she replied loyally. “You’re quite pretty and well you know it.”

  “I know nothing of the sort.” Temperance let her arms drop. “You’ve always been the beauty of the family. If a dastardly lord were to corrupt anyone, it would be you.”

  Silence looked sternly at her sister. “You’re trying to distract me.”

  Temperance sighed and sank into a kitchen chair. “Don’t tell anyone, Silence, please don’t. I’ve already accepted Lord Caire’s money to pay the rent—that is how we paid off our debt.”

  “But Wi
nter is sure to find out eventually. How did you explain paying the rent to him?”

  “I told him that I sold a ring that Benjamin had given me.”

  “Oh, Temperance!” Silence covered her mouth in horror. “You lied to Winter?”

  But Temperance shook her head. “It was only a small lie. This is the only hope we have for the home. Think what it would do to Winter should the home close.”

  Silence glanced away. Of all their brothers, Winter had been the most devoted to their father and his charitable works. It would disappoint him terribly to have the home fail under his watch.

  “Please, Silence,” Temperance whispered. “For Winter.”

  “Very well.” Silence nodded once. “I won’t tell our brothers—”

  “Oh, thank you!”

  “Unless,” Silence continued, “I feel you are in danger.”

  “I won’t be. That I can promise.”

  LAZARUS WOKE ON a silent scream. His eyes opened wide, and for a moment he simply lay there and looked about the room, straining to remember where he was. Then he recognized his own bedroom. The walls were a dark brown, the furniture old and impressive, and his bed hung with dark green and brown curtains. His father had slept here before him, and Lazarus hadn’t bothered changing anything when he’d inherited the title. He felt each muscle in his body slowly relax as he glanced at the window. The light there was a pale gray; dawn couldn’t be too far away—and he never went back to sleep after a nightmare. He stretched and rose, nude, then padded to the tall dresser to splash cold water on his face. He donned a yellow brocaded banyan and sat at the elegant cherrywood desk in the corner—the only piece of furniture in the room that he’d brought with him. His father would’ve disapproved heartily of writing in dishabille.

  Lazarus grinned at the thought. Then he uncapped his inkwell and began work on his current translation project. Catullus was particularly scathing of Lesbia in this poem. He wanted to find the right word—the perfect word—that, when correctly set, would shine like a diamond in an exquisite ring. It was exacting, meticulous work, and it could consume him for hours at a time.