Scandalous Desires by Elizabeth Hoyt Page A

before shutting the window firmly and lighting a candle. For the next hour he worked steadily at a narrow desk, writing and reading. Some of his work was in preparation for the day’s lessons, but he also was in correspondence with scholars of philosophy and religion both in England and on the continent. In fact, his recent trip to Oxford had been to call upon an old acquaintance—an elderly philosopher who was on his deathbed.

    When the sky had fully brightened, Winter stood andstretched before pinching the candle out. Picking up the pitcher, he locked his bedroom carefully behind him and paused for a moment to glance at his sister, Silence’s, bedroom door. No light shone beneath it. She was probably still abed. He contemplated waking her, then decided against it. Silence could use the extra minutes of rest.

    He clattered down the stairs, nearly running into a small boy lurking rather suspiciously on one of the turns.

    Winter grabbed him by the collar—he’d learned early in his career of teaching young hellions that it was best to catch and then ask. “Why are you not at breakfast with the other boys, Joseph Tinbox?”

    Joseph, his freckled face cowled by the jacket Winter held, rolled his eyes up at him. “I was jus’ now goin’ down, Mr. Makepeace.”

    “Indeed?” Winter inquired skeptically. He set down the pitcher and made a lightning fast snatch at the object Joseph had been attempting to hide behind his back. “And what plans did you have for this sling?”

    Joseph’s eyes widened in what was a very good imitation of innocence at the leather strap dangling before his eyes. “I found it on the stairs, truly I did.”

    Winter cocked his eyebrow, staring at the boy.

    Joseph’s gaze slid away from his own.

    “Joseph,” Winter said quietly. “You know that I do not condone lying in this house. A man’s word is a treasure he holds within himself no matter how poor his outer garments. To squander it recklessly is the mark of not only a fool, but a cheat as well. Now tell me. Is this sling yours?”

    The boy swallowed, his small throat working. “Yes, sir.”

    “I am displeased to hear that you’ve been playing with a sling,” Winter said calmly. “But pleased that you havespoken the truth to me. As punishment for the former, I would like you to sweep out the kitchen hearth and scrub clean the outer tiles around the fireplace.”

    “Aw!” Joseph began, but gulped back his groan at a look from Winter. “Yes, sir.”

    “Good.” Winter let him go, pocketed the sling, picked up the pitcher, and gestured for the boy to precede him down the stairs.

    They descended in silence, but as they made the bottom step, Joseph hesitated.

    “Sir?”

    “Yes?” Winter glanced at Joseph. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

    “I’m sorry, sir.”

    “We all make mistakes, Joseph,” Winter said gently. “It is how one acts afterward that distinguishes the righteous man from the dishonest one.”

    Joseph’s brow crinkled as he contemplated that statement. Then it cleared. “Yes, sir.”

    The boy walked into the kitchen, his habitual jaunty step nearly restored.

    Winter felt his lips twitch in amusement as he followed. This was not the first such talk he’d had with Joseph, and he did not expect it would be the last, but at heart the boy was a good lad.

    The home’s kitchen was bright and loud with the chatter of children. Two long tables took up the center of the crowded room, one for the boys, one for the girls. Joseph Tinbox went to the boys’ table and hopped onto one of the long benches.

    “Good morning, Mr. Makepeace,” Alice, one of the home’s maids said, pausing as she hurried by.

    “Good morning to you, Alice,” Winter said, handing her the pitcher.

    “Oh, thank you, sir, for saving me the trip upstairs.” Alice flashed a smile that lit up her rather careworn face before rushing to catch a spilled cup of milk.

    “Children,” Nell Jones, the head