If He’s Wicked Page 3

  “But why? Was Beatrice feigning that she was with child? Was it all a lie?”

  “Oh, nay, not all,” said Chloe as she entered the room and walked to the side of his bed, allowing little Anthony to remain hidden behind her skirts for the moment. “Your wife was indeed with child. She and Laurel took to their birthing beds at the same time, something your wife was well aware of as she held the midwife in her power. S’truth, I think the midwife made certain that both women birthed their children at the same moment.”

  “That makes no sense,” Julian muttered. “If Beatrice was with child, what happened to it? Where is it buried?”

  “It is not buried, m’lord, although Laurel and I worked very hard to make your wife believe the child lies in a grave with Laurel. A trade was made. Lady Beatrice’s live child for my sister’s dead one.”

  “Again—why? To what purpose?”

  “Why? Because the very last thing your wife and uncle wanted was for you to have an heir.”

  “If the child was even mine. That woman was never faithful.”

  Chloe stared at him for a moment and then smiled. “Then it seems you won the luck of the draw, m’lord. The child is yours.”

  “You have seen the child? You know what happened to the baby?”

  “The baby has been well cared for.” Chloe tugged Anthony out from behind her until he stood in front of her. “The child is the very image of his father. My lord, meet Anthony Peter Chadwick Kenwood—your son and heir.”

  Julian stared into eyes the same verdant green as his own. Thick golden curls topped the boy’s head, sharply reminding Julian of his own boyish curls. Julian looked at the three adults all watching him intently and then looked into those eyes that marked the child as his own. Even as he opened his mouth to speak, he felt himself tumble into blackness.

  Chapter 2

  “What happened?”

  Chloe turned from tending the fire the instant she heard those softly croaked words and walked back to stand by the bed. “You swooned, m’lord,” she replied.

  It took Julian a moment to recall where he was and who this delicate woman was. “I never swoon.”

  “I fear you have blotted your copy book this time. You have been out cold for three hours.”

  “Where is Edgar? And Lord Sir Leopold?”

  She noticed he did not ask after little Anthony. “They are in the parlor playing with your son.”

  Lord Julian turned so pale that Chloe reached for him. It startled her when he grabbed her hand in a tight hold and looked around the room a little frantically. When he finally looked at her again it was a struggle to keep her own expression one of gentle concern. For the moment, he was not the earl, or even that lecherous debaucher of the last year. He was simply a man trying desperately to cope with the pain of an enormous betrayal. She cautiously returned his tight grasp.

  “Tell me exactly how you came to have the boy?” Julian asked, thinking it odd that holding her small hand should bring him a measure of comfort, but reluctant to give that up.

  “If you will be patient, I shall begin at the very beginning,” Chloe said. “When my sister’s husband died, she grew ill with grief. She was already several months gone with child, and that also sapped her strength. We both knew she would not survive the birthing and soon doubted that her child would, either. We knew your wife was also carrying a child and soon knew her plans for it.”

  “How?”

  “Let me explain that later, please. So, knowing what was to come, we gathered the bones of an infant. As is custom, London graveyards are often cleared of the long dead to make room for the newly dead. During one of the times that Laurel felt somewhat stronger, we went to London and gathered the bones we needed. We then returned to our cottage on the moors that stretch between Colinsmoor and the baron of Darkvale’s property. And then we waited. My sister grew weaker and the birthing was hard, the bleeding—” Chloe took a deep breath to push aside a lingering grief. “Two men arrived and so I hid myself away. They took poor little Charles Henry, who was stillborn, and set Anthony in my sister’s arms. One man, Jake Potter, could not just walk away. He tried to make my dying sister and the baby comfortable and warm, even building a fire. Then he slipped some papers beneath her covers, telling her that he and a few others had gathered what proof they could for the boy so that, if he survived, he could prove who he was.”

  “But he did no more? He just left her and the child alone and helpless?”

  “He was afraid. They are all afraid at Colinsmoor. People who disobey do not live long. Jake’s partner reminded him of that sad truth. Something about a man named Melvin and a pit. Leopold knows more about all that than I do. The moment Jake left, I rejoined my sister. She soon died, but she was at peace with it. I buried her and that poor babe’s bones near the cottage. Then I took Anthony and headed for London to join Leopold, who was expecting me. For the last three years we have waited for you to learn the truth about your wife.”

  “I have known most of it for a year now.”

  “True, but you did not take it well, did you? The way you behaved made Leopold feel that you were not really prepared to hear all the truth. We cannot wait any longer. You came too close to being murdered this time and, even now, Anthony sees Leopold and me as his family. And to be blunt, his heritage needs protecting—now.”

  Julian let go of her hand and covered his eyes, softly reciting every curse he knew. He sought to stir up anger and resolve, to overcome the urge to weep like some brokenhearted child. The crimes against him were almost too great to comprehend, especially since his wife and his uncle had committed them. Yet he did believe and the grief, the pain, he fought to control formed a hard knot in his chest. Worse, this wide-eyed innocent miss knew it all, even knew of the depths he had sunk into over the last year.

  As he began to regain control of his emotions, he realized something else. This small, delicate woman and her dying sister had planned, very cleverly, a way to save his child. This stranger had buried her sister and, despite the grief she must have been suffering, had taken his child out of danger. She had made her way to London and cared for his child for three years as she waited for him to be able to take on the responsibility. What he owed this woman and Lord Sir Leopold was beyond calculating, and the debt was bound to grow as they helped him defeat his enemies. It humbled him and he found that an uncomfortable feeling. When he took his hand from his eyes, he stared at the bedclothes as he tried to conquer that feeling as well.

  “I still do not understand how you knew to do all you did,” he finally said.

  “Ah, well, I suspect you have heard a few rumors about the Wherlockes and our cousins the Vaughns,” she said.

  “Foolish things about spirits and gifts. Even sorcery and witchcraft. There have always been such rumors about your family. One should pay no heed to rumors.”

  “Nay? Not even when those same rumors have been whispered throughout the ton for generations? True, many rumors are to be doubted, but I believe one should at least listen to them. In our case, these rumors have caused wives to leave our men and husbands to leave our women. And most leave the children they have bred together as well. Time and time again. In the past, those rumors have caused Vaughns and Wherlockes to be burned at the stake or hanged or hunted down like wild beasts.”

  He frowned at her. “Are you claiming to be a witch?”

  “Nay, m’lord,” she replied as she plumped up his pillows again and helped him sit up more comfortably. “Oh, there have been some of us who have dabbled in what many call the dark arts but, nay, we are not evil witches or warlocks or worshippers of Satan.” She held out a goblet of cider enriched with healing herbs. “Drink.”

  After sniffing the drink she held under his nose, Julian asked, “What is in this?”

  “A few herbs to gentle the pain you feel and to enrich your blood, build up your strength, and hasten your healing. No eye of newt or even a pinch of magic.”

  Ignoring that, he drank it down with a
little assistance from her. “Why remind me of what is whispered about your family?” he asked as she set the goblet aside.

  “Because of how Laurel and I, and even Leo, knew what was to come and what needed to be done. I had a dream, or vision if you will.” She held up her hand when he started to speak. “Hear me out first, if you would be so kind.” When he pressed his lips together and curtly nodded, she continued, “Laurel married beneath her as far as my mother and society was concerned, a good but very common man. My mother cast her out. Laurel and I had kept in touch through letters I smuggled out to her and which my aunt smuggled to me. That is how I knew when Laurel suspected she was with child. Shortly after learning that, I had a dream. In that dream I saw poor Henry, her husband, swallowed by the sea. I saw Laurel upon a bed, her body swollen with child, but there was little life there and it was rapidly fading.”

  Chloe sat down in the chair by the bed and tightly gripped the arms as she continued, “Lurking about outside the small cottage where my sister lay dying was a beautiful woman, also great with child. She wore flowing white robes decorated with bleeding hearts and skulls. The dream quickly grew very dark and frightening. The woman turned frightening as well and yet remained beautiful. She tore the dead child from my sister’s womb and then fled toward a mist-shrouded castle. Other figures, shadowy ones, flitted about and all the while the glow of life within Laurel continued to fade. I saw Henry weeping and reaching out for his wife and child. Then, suddenly, life appeared again, settling itself in the crook of Laurel’s arm.”

  “And you could make sense of that?” Julian asked when Chloe fell silent for a moment, intrigued despite his lingering doubts.

  “Some. I did know that I had to get to Laurel. My mother said that if I left, I was not to return.” She shrugged. “I have not. When I reached Laurel, she had just received news of Henry’s death. I had to help her bury him and then nurse her. She recovered a little, enough to give me false hope. I also discovered who the beautiful woman was and gathered all the information on her that I could. Laurel did as well. Soon the plot was clear and we began to spin our own plots, to prepare ourselves to thwart the woman. It all transpired as my dream foretold,” she whispered. “Anthony was the life brought into the midst of death and grief.”

  Although Julian was still not sure he believed any of the talk about visions, he asked, “You discovered the plot so quickly?”

  Chloe smiled faintly. “I was but the sister of a poor widow. People would say things to me or near me that they would never even whisper within a mile of you. Also, mayhaps, I had a natural, feminine tendency to immediately distrust such a beautiful woman. It matters not. When I first had the dream I thought I was needed to save Laurel. It did not take me so very long to see that I was drawn into that tragedy to save Anthony.”

  She watched him struggle with the tale she told. There was the hint of belief in his expression, but reluctance as well, and Chloe understood that. Few people wanted to believe in such gifts. She was pleased to see no fear. Doubts were something she could deal with, but for reasons she could not fully comprehend, she knew it would hurt if he feared her.

  “It is difficult to accept that a dream was what saved my”—Julian hesitated—“the boy.”

  “He is your son, m’lord. I have the papers to prove it if you wish to see them.”

  “Later.” He sighed. “He has my eyes,” he whispered and then scowled at her. “Why did you not come to me immediately?”

  “I doubted that you would believe me. So did Leo. She was your wife, your love, and we were strangers to you. The cost of trusting in you too soon would have been Anthony’s life. We dared not risk it. We had to wait until we felt certain you had seen the truth about her or, at the very least, knew enough to heed what we had to tell you.”

  Julian nodded in reluctant agreement, accepting the distasteful fact that he had been so enthralled with Beatrice he probably would have believed her over the Wherlockes. “I knew the child she showed me was not mine. In my heart, I knew, but I told myself many a lie until that doubt receded. The child did not have the Kenwood birthmark.”

  “Ah, aye, the little strawberry-colored mark upon the right buttock.”

  “Exactly. It was not there, but I convinced myself that its absence meant nothing. Told myself that it would have shown itself later, if he had lived. The boy has it?”

  “He does.” Lord Julian closed his eyes and Chloe knew he was feeling swamped with emotion again. “Anthony is such a pretty boy,” she said. “Leo keeps sneaking about and cutting the child’s hair. It grows into the most beautiful fat curls, you see. Just perfect for a bow or two. Green bows, of course, to match his lovely eyes.” She tsked and shook her head. “Leo even had his valet make some little manly clothes for Anthony, even though the child looked adorable in his child’s petticoats. Leo claims that, if I had my way, everyone would soon be calling the child Antonia. Quite silly, of course. Truly, most women would kill for curls such as Anthony has. I see no harm in showing them off just a little.”

  Chloe babbled on about the exquisite lace adorning the child’s little gowns, ones Leo adamantly refused to allow her to put on the boy. All the while she talked, she watched Lord Julian. His rather beautiful mouth soon lost the faint tremor afflicting it and firmed into a frown. By the time she began to complain about how Leo would not allow her to wash the child or his clothing in rose-scented soap, the man was glaring at her.

  “Enough,” Julian snapped. “Your ploy has worked. I am no longer feeling missish. B’God, I bloody well hope that was all nonsense.”

  “Some of it,” she said and grinned. “He really does have beautiful curls.”

  Julian grunted and then frowned at the door. “I think I would like to see him again now that I have composed myself.”

  “No fear of swooning again?”

  “I did not swoon. I merely succumbed, momentarily, to a lingering weakness due to my wounds.”

  “Of course you did. Actually, I believe Leo will be bringing Anthony by in a moment or two. He has brought the child here each hour on the hour since you, er, succumbed. Poor child thought you had died. Leo allows him to watch you breathe for a moment just to reassure him. Also, Leo hopes to find you awake again for Anthony’s sake and so that you may begin to make further plans. The clock has just struck the hour.” She listened for a moment. “Indeed, I believe I hear the pitter-patter of little feet coming up the stairs. Anthony’s, of course. Leo has rather large feet.”

  “You are a very strange woman,” Julian drawled, feeling an inexplicable urge to smile at her.

  “I know. ’Tis a gift.”

  Before he could reply to that nonsense, the door opened and Leo entered with Anthony, followed by Edgar, who looked uncertain. Julian stared at the child, who skipped up to the side of the bed. He stared into those eyes that matched his to a shade and knew, without a doubt, that this boy was his son. A quick study of the boy’s features, his hair, and even his long-fingered hands reminded Julian strongly of the portrait of himself at that age.

  The depth of the betrayal he had suffered, still suffered, was almost overwhelming. Beatrice had denied him his own child, and had fully intended that the boy die. She had obviously not dared to kill the child herself, but leaving a newly born baby with a dying woman, not knowing that Chloe was at hand, was murder nonetheless. To know that his uncle had been part of that crime was even harder to bear. Now this bright-eyed child looked at him as he would any stranger, and that hurt.

  “You all bedda?” asked Anthony.

  “Yes.” Julian hastily cleared his throat, a little embarrassed by the hoarse emotion in it. “I am all better, or nearly so.”

  “Good. Leo and Cohee said you would be. Leo says you are my papa.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You gonna live with us now?”

  “For a while.” He frowned when the child began to look a little distressed.

  “I stay here. I live here. Leo and Cohee are my fambly.” />
  “Ah, I see. Well, they always will be, for they are your godparents.” Julian ignored the looks of surprise the Wherlockes hastily hid.

  “Why did you go away?”

  It took Julian a moment to understand the question, to realize that the child had obviously been told some tale to explain his lack of parents. “I fear I was lost for a while.”

  Anthony nodded. “And Cohee founded you.”

  “Yes, she did. She is also working very hard to make me better.”

  “She cannot find Mama. Cohee said Mama was swallowed by the Pitahell Monster.”

  Julian heard Edgar choke back a laugh. He saw Leo scowl at Chloe. Chancing a peek at her himself, Julian found her looking ridiculously innocent. Yet again, he felt the oddest urge to laugh, something he had not felt like doing for a very long time. The Pitahell Monster, indeed, he mused. Chloe Wherlocke obviously did not temper her opinions much.

  “It made me sad for Mama,” Anthony said, “but I gots Cohee and that makes me happy.”

  “I am sure it does.” The bond between his son and Chloe was going to cause a problem or two, Julian decided. “She has taken very good care of you.”

  Anthony nodded. “She lubs me e’en when I am naughty. But I am a good boy. I have pretty hair.”

  Chloe ignored the way all three men frowned at her and she smiled at Anthony. “Very pretty hair indeed.”

  “Yes, well, I think this has been a long enough visit for now, young man,” Leo said. “Your father needs his rest.”

  “I will take the boy to his nurse,” Edgar said.

  “I have to kiss Papa first,” Anthony said.

  “Careful.” Leo quickly stopped the child from scrambling onto the bed, holding him up so that he could give Julian a kiss on the cheek. “Very good.”

  The moment Leopold set Anthony back down, the boy hurried around the bed to Chloe. He climbed up onto her lap, kissed her cheek, and wrapped his arms around her neck to hug her. Julian caught the child looking at him and recognized a surprisingly adult look of challenge. His pleasure over how easily Anthony had accepted him as his father dimmed just a little. Anthony might not call Chloe Mother, but it was very clear that the bond was there and set hard.