Page 2 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

After the men went their separate ways, Garrett relaxed in the inn’s common room, sipping a tumbler of scotch. Riordan’s generous and heartfelt words still reverberated in his mind. It humbled him to know that his family thought well of him.

Strange lot, the Wollstonecraft men. Once touched by tragedy, they did not give their hearts easily. Happiness? Love? Garrett decided early on to lock his heart and toss the key. It had only been engaged once. So long ago it was if it had happened in a dream. Her name formed on his lips, begging to be spoken aloud, but it remained a quiet whisper. Abbie.

Never again. Frowning briefly, he pushed the memories away, as he often did.

He was better off alone.

Chapter 1

Two days later

Whitechapel, London

A curse could be a damnable weight to carry, but Garrett reasoned he had shoulders broad enough to handle the burden. How does a curse come about? Did a medieval witch cast it on the ancient Wollstonecrafts for an imagined slight, or was the sixteenth century Earl of Carnstone born under a black moon, passing the curse down through the generations?

Every man born through this particular bloodline of Wollstonecrafts suffered incredible tragedies. Women in the family, either born or wedded into it, did not live long. Didn’t matter how many times the man remarried.

Why such darkness hung over his family remained a complete conundrum. After all, they had dedicated their lives to progressive causes and the plight of the poor, especially his father and brother in parliament. It should count for something. Yet sitting here in Edwin Seward’s office in Whitechapel, Garrett wondered if the curse moved beyond romantic attachments to include other aspects of the Wollstonecraft men’s lives. There was no better example than his brother Julian’s oldest, Aidan.

His nephew had been missing for close to four months, as if he’d fallen off the edge of the earth. Since he was only six years older than his paternal twin nephews, Aidan and Riordan, they all were more like brothers. They shared a close bond, as did all the men in the family, but none like the one he shared with the twins.

Riordan was happily settled, and though Garrett had tried to make him see sense regarding the curse, he would have none of it. He was deeply in love. No talk of an ancient curse had deterred him from Sabrina. Well, it was his decision. Garrett could only wish them the best.

He turned his attention back to Aidan, the main reason he’d remained in London. The reason he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. For more than a year, Aidan had been wallowing in the seamy underbellies of London and Bath by sinking into even darker, more debauched depths. Despite his vices, he’d kept in touch. Returned home every month without fail. Well, until last September, that was. Shortly thereafter, the contact ended.

Garrett had hired an ex-Bow Street Runner, Edwin Seward, and finally the investigation bore fruit. Garrett decided to keep the information to himself until he had a chance to probe into the particulars.

At that moment, Edwin strode into the room, a thick folder clutched in his beefy hand. The man was nearly as tall as Garrett’s own imposing six-foot-five frame. An aura of danger followed Seward, and the jagged scar running down the left side of his face added to the implied menace.

“Edwin.”

“Garrett.” He sat with a huff, slamming the folder in front of him. “Where would you like me to start?”

“Where is Aidan?”

Edwin opened the folder. “As of last night, he is living in a rookery in St. Giles, a doss-house on Petticoat Lane.”

“Jesus.” St. Giles was one of the worst slums in London. Even the coppers loathed to enter it because of its maze of hovels and alleyways. Overcrowding, squalor, and the resultant stench, along with a generous helping of disease, completed the bleak picture.

“We’re friends, correct?” Edwin asked.

They’d known each other for years, originally met in Scotland one summer. Both were half Scottish and visiting relatives, so they gravitated toward each other and kept up a correspondence through the years. When Garrett ventured to London, they would meet and share a pint. “Absolutely.”

“Why are you taking this burden on yourself? Why haven’t you told your brother, Julian? Your father, the earl? Or Aidan’s brother, Riordan? Wasn’t he here in London with you? If I’ve overstepped the bounds, tell me.”

A fair question. “No, not overstepping. Guilt perhaps? Aidan’s decline was slow, over a period of years, and instead of reaching out and trying to discover why he behaved in such a manner, I became disgusted and ignored him. We all did. I turned away when he needed me most, and because of it, didn’t hear his cry for help under all the arrogance.” Garrett exhaled a shaky breath. “I also want to protect Julian and the rest from the worst of this.”

“I just met your brother a couple of months ago, but I have the distinct feeling he will be livid when he finds out that you didn’t inform him of his son’s discovery right away,” Edwin said.

“No doubt, but one drama at a time. Aidan means the world to me, both the twins do. They are much like brothers instead of nephews, and when we were younger, they often followed me about like eager puppies.” He paused, as speaking of this caused a lump of emotion to lodge in his throat. “I love them. Aidan especially. Though always in one type of trouble or another, he possessed a good-natured charm, which meant that I couldn’t stay annoyed at him for long. There is goodness in him. He’s worth rescuing. I aim to be the one to do it.”

“Fair enough. I’ll do all I can to assist you in your quest.”

“I appreciate it, Edwin.”

“To continue. As your brother suggested, we’ve been watching your family’s bank for close to two months. Last week, a man approached the building, hesitating, as if deciding whether to proceed inside. He fit the description, and resembled the small portrait that you gave us, so we instigated a surveillance. I thought it best not to contact Julian until we were sure of his identity.” Edwin flipped a page over. “The subject did not enter the bank, and my man followed him to the aforementioned doss-house on Petticoat Lane. He’s not alone. There are at least four or five others, with many more coming and going at all hours of the day and night.”

After clearing his throat, Edwin continued. “I had my man blend in with the great unwashed, and he got close enough to observe that the place is used for deviant pursuits. Opium. Orgies. From what my man reported, financed by thievery and prostitution. There are two women in there with the men. Probably prostitutes.”