Brant stared up at Olympia as she climbed up the strange trellis-style ladder that ran up one side of Dobbin House. He had no doubt that it was but one of many routes of escape for the owners and patrons if there was ever a need to run. What held his complete attention, however, was the sight of Olympia’s beautifully shaped backside shown clearly in the trousers she wore. His hands actually itched to caress her there.
When she had come down the stairs at the Warren to join him on this venture he had nearly swallowed his tongue at his first sight of her. Olympia dressed as a man was a sight to heat up any man’s blood and linger in his dreams. He had made her put on a heavy cloak but she had left it in the carriage, which waited around the corner and was guarded by Pawl. It was tempting to run back to the carriage and get it, throwing it around her to hide what he so ached to touch from his sight, and especially from the sight of anyone else.
Olympia Wherlocke had long, beautifully shaped legs, the tight pants revealing a gap between her strong thighs that called out to a man. She also had the most temptingly shaped backside he had ever been blessed to look upon. He wanted to see it naked, wanted to caress it, kiss it. Despite the fact that they were here to save children from the hell callous adults had put them in, he was going to find it difficult to keep his attention fully on the job they had to do.
Forcing his rising lust into submission, he began to climb up after her. Windows around the lower floors of the house had been heavily draped from the inside and even shuttered on the outside. The only windows they might be able to spy through were on the upper floors of the six-story building. It still bothered him that Olympia would be joining him in peering into the abyss that was Dobbin House.
In all honesty, he did not want to peer into the windows of this place. He knew what was happening to all of the children that had been sentenced to this hell. If the boys he looked for were in there, they would be free, but they would be damaged in heart and soul. It would take a long time to heal those wounds and they would leave deep scars. Brant did not think there was a punishment severe enough for people who mistreated children in such a way but, saddened by the truth of it, he knew he was one of few who actually cared what happened to them. Most people barely saw all the poor children, and while some bastards of good blood were supported by their parent, most were discarded with the ease so many others discarded the children of the poor.
A small, soft hand wrapped itself around his wrist and tugged. Brant realized they had reached a narrow landing as he stepped off the trellis. A wooden ledge wide enough to walk on encircled the house, interrupted here and there by other small landings. It looked sturdy enough to hold them. It also looked like yet another way to ensure the patrons and owners would never be caught so long as they had some warning.
“The man who runs this place now has obviously thought of all the ways that might be needed to allow the swine within these walls to escape any attempt to bring them to justice,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It explains why there are still so many fine windows in the place when others sealed up theirs to avoid the window tax.”
“I am surprised they do not worry about the ones they sell here escaping from them by the same routes,” Olympia said, her voice as soft as his.
“I suspect the ones they sell are secured well.”
“Aye, they are.”
The tone of her voice drew his full attention and Brant realized she was peering into a window. She stood to the side of the window frame and leaned her head around it just enough to look inside. He did the same on the other side of the window. It took just one look and he was fighting the urge to drag Olympia away from there.
A small boy was relieving himself in a battered chamber pot. He was naked and there was a shackle around his thin ankle. Brant doubted the boy could be much more than five. As he watched the child crawl up onto the bed, every move he made shouting out the despair and pain he was in, Brant swore he would get the child out of there. The boy was not one of the ones they were hunting for, but no child should be treated so.
Before he could stop her, Olympia moved to stand before the window and the child looked up, gaping at the sight of her. Brant softly cursed and waited for the alarm to be sounded. No sound was made, however, and a moment later he heard the strange wooden screech of a window being opened.
“Who are you?” asked Olympia, reaching out to lightly stroke the child’s cheek.
“Henry. Are you an angel?”
“Nay, lad. I but come here looking for some boys who were taken from us.”
“No one came for me,” the boy whispered and his blue eyes glittered with tears.
“I have.”
“You will take me if you find the boys you want?”
“I will take you from here even if I do not find them.”
“There are a lot of others. Not all of them are children. There are a few girls here, older girls. Ones men like to grab.”
“We will see to their freedom as well. Now, I know you have probably seen few people inside these walls . . .” Olympia began.