If He’s Wicked Page 5

  “Only if he cares about passing down the heritage to a son. These papers imply that he is only interested in the wealth of the estates and titles.” Julian rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “By what I can see written here, once Nigel and I are gone, Arthur will try even harder to wring every coin he can out of the estate. Whoever comes after him will find little of value left.”

  “And that is why we now make plans to try and put some very strong restraints on him.”

  “That we can do, and now I can even see how. What might not be so easy is how to prove that he and Beatrice tried to kill my son and me. You have little here and none of it would hold up very well against my uncle’s skill with words or deception, nor against the connections he has made over the years. Not friends, but confederates, and some unwilling ones.”

  “Ah, blackmail.” Leo nodded. “I did learn that he is very skilled at discovering those secrets one wishes well buried and wields them well. I have extracted a few from his grasp, but the sort of threat he holds over some of the men, and women, is not one easily fixed or uncovered.”

  Julian stared at Leo in surprise. “How do you know he has secrets he can use?”

  “I work for the Home Office, if you recall.” Leopold grinned. “The men I work for are very good at ferreting out secrets, and they do not like anyone to be able to get a tight grip on one of the people they use. I gained a lot of my information on your uncle through my work for them. Not all of his gains are from your pockets. We suspect he sold information to the Americans and is now offering his services to the French.”

  For a moment Julian felt strongly inclined to succumb again, but he fought off the light-headed feeling brought on by the extreme shock of learning a traitor had tainted the Kenwood bloodlines. His line was well dotted with rogues, debauchers, pirates, and a host of other not so proud figures, but never a traitor. The Kenwoods had all been loyal to England. They might have fought on opposite sides in the wars over who would rule Her, cheated Her, stolen from Her, and criticized Her, but none had ever betrayed Her to an enemy. There had been an unbroken line of loyalty to country in the Kenwood family right from the raw beginnings of the family. Julian did not want to think that his uncle had stepped over that line, broken it, and brought such deep dishonor to the family name.

  “Are you certain?” he asked Leo.

  “As certain as we can be without the hard proof that could put the man on the gallows,” replied Leopold. “The Home Office feels that if we can hang him for other crimes, such as killing you—”

  “But at the end of this game, if we win, I will not be dead.”

  “Nay, but others are, and the many attempts upon your life are enough to hang the man or banish him from the country. The men I work for would prefer a more final end to this, however.”

  “So would I. If Arthur was still alive at the end of this, I would always feel as if I had a knife at my back.”

  “As would I.”

  “Do you think my uncle contributed much to the loss of the Colonies?”

  “Nay. We never could have won that war, and a lot of us knew it from the first warnings in the air. Everything from the impossible logistics of supplying men, even getting our forces over there, to the vastness of the land, the tenacity of the people, worked against us. Some like to blame the French for the loss, but their aid to the rebels was not enough to credit them with the victory and, personally, I think it demeans all the Colonials who fought and died for what they believed in. Again, we would have lost that battle anyway. I thought it a mistake from the very beginning.”

  “In truth, so did I. That does not ease the bite of shame that comes from knowing my uncle was a traitor, however.”

  “I did not think it would. I just wanted to pontificate.” Leo shared a brief grin with Julian but quickly grew serious again. “Your uncle’s treachery against England does not need to become common knowledge.”

  “There is comfort in that. How many know that Arthur might be a traitor?”

  “Very few, and they are utterly trustworthy. If the problem were solved in some other way, they would destroy all of their records concerning your uncle’s traitorous activities. They do not want to stain the good name of Kenwood. Your father was well loved and greatly respected, as was your grandfather.”

  Julian nodded and slumped against the pillows. He was exhausted and he knew some of it was because of the shock he had suffered over the news that his uncle was a traitor. Leopold might have said that there was not enough hard proof to hang Arthur for that crime, but the men at the Home Office would not even be hinting at it if they were not certain. They were just waiting to find enough to convince the courts since they knew they would need a lot of proof to convict a Kenwood of treason.

  “If Arthur is decried as a traitor, it will destroy my aunt. Not only does she come from a long line of honorable military men, but she will lose everything, and the stain of it will cling to her daughters far longer than it will to any of the rest of us.”

  “Which is why the Home Office hopes that his crimes against his own country never come to light. Your aunt is well liked and her family’s service to the country highly respected. Indeed, a number of my superiors’ wives are amongst her very good friends.” Leopold smiled faintly. “One or two share most news with their wives, respecting their intelligence and their integrity, and it was made very clear that your aunt and her daughters did not deserve to suffer for Arthur’s crimes. Trust me in this, even though efforts are being made to uncover the full truth about his traitorous activities, it is mostly to cut away his contacts and leave him unable to continue to betray the country. The hope is strong that some other way will be found to be rid of the man, and soon.”

  “Do your superiors know that I am alive?”

  “My direct superior and his own superior are the only ones who know. Sad to say, we believe your uncle has a grip on a few of our men. We are working hard to find out who they are. After all, even if all they do is work to hinder us in finding out the truth about Arthur, they are a weak link and the Home Office cannot afford to have any weak links. There are some dark rumblings in France, and who knows where they will lead us.”

  “’Tis a shame my uncle did not use his obvious talent for ferreting out secrets for the good of England.”

  “I fear working for king and country does not often make a man rich.”

  “And wealth is my uncle’s god.” Julian sighed. “I fear I may be pushed to spill the blood of my own uncle ere this trial is done.”

  “Let us hope that necessary chore will be done by another. However, better that than the deaths of you, Nigel, and Anthony. And, mayhap, your aunt. Better that well-justified stain upon your hands than the unfair one upon the name of Kenwood.”

  “Very true. And that is a truth I will hold fast to, for it will keep me from hesitating if I am faced with that choice.”

  A sharp rap at the door ended the conversation, and Julian was relieved. The talking and the news that Arthur might well be a traitor had sapped his strength. He knew it was cowardly, but he wanted the conversation to end before he was told any more bad news.

  The clock on the mantel told him who was at the door. It was time for another visit from his son. Julian was a little disturbed to discover that he was keenly anticipating another visit from Chloe as well. That interest had to be buried and buried deeply. He might have cut all ties to his wife, but, by law, he was still a married man. Instinct told him that Chloe was not a woman one had an idle flirtation with. She was a woman who would drag emotion into it, and he was done with romance.

  Leopold opened the door and Julian felt his battered heart actually skip at the sight of Chloe. She held Anthony’s hand and led him to the bed. The sight of his son and Chloe together looked right. Too right. As they stood by the bed smiling at him the words mine and family pounded in his head. He staunchly silenced the refrain. Family implied marriage and, once he was free of Beatrice, he had no intention of ever marrying again. He had
his heir. He needed no wife. A part of him scoffed at that and he frowned. It was obvious that he needed to work on strengthening his convictions.

  “Do you have pain?” asked Chloe, trying to guess at the cause of the ominous look that suddenly darkened Julian’s face. “I can fetch you some tea to ease it.”

  Julian forced himself to smile. “No. I am well enough. Just caught fast in thinking on even more bad news.”

  “Ah.” She glanced at Leo. “It should probably be handed out in very small doses for just a while longer.”

  “No,” Julian said before Leo could reply. “As you have all told me, there is no more time to play this game. And, concerning your herbal tea, I would appreciate some after I dine tonight. It does help me sleep undisturbed by aches and pains and that is the best medicine, is it not?” He smiled at Anthony. “And how are you?”

  Anthony climbed up onto the bed to sit beside him and then proceeded to tell Julian about every single thing he had done since opening his eyes that morning. Chloe added a few words now and then to aid clarity. Julian felt the pain of his uncle’s treachery fade away beneath the balm of his child’s happy chatter. He struggled to ignore that part of him that also found peace and contentment in Chloe’s presence. If nothing else, he did not wish to reveal any interest in Chloe in front of her far too astute and watchful cousin.

  “You have had a very busy day,” he said to Anthony, idly and fruitlessly trying to tame the child’s wild curls with his fingers.

  “Aye, I have.” Anthony nodded vigorously, his curls bouncing. “I gots more to do.”

  “Have more to do,” corrected Chloe, “and you can do it all after your nap.”

  A stubborn look settled on the child’s angelic face. “Nay. Not tired.”

  Even though he was amused by the boy’s use of the country-bred aye and nay, Julian hid it and nudged his son toward Chloe. “Then just rest and think for a while.”

  Anthony gave a heavy sigh and slid off the bed. “If I must.”

  It was hard not to laugh at the child’s martyred tone. The way Chloe rolled her eyes severely tried Julian’s control as well. As soon as they were gone, however, he slumped back against his pillows. Renewed anger over how Beatrice and Arthur had tried to kill his son flooded him. He closed his eyes and cursed. It would take a very long time to forget just how close he had come to never knowing his child, and all because of his uncle’s greed. When he finally opened his eyes again, it was to find Leo sprawled in the chair at his bedside, studying him.

  “Aye, it is hard to think of how close the boy came to dying before he had even begun to live,” said Leo.

  “Very hard.” Julian reached for the tankard of cider on the table by his bed and took a long drink in an attempt to clear a sudden lump in his throat. “S’truth, whenever I think on it, I believe I could kill my wife with my bare hands if she was in reach. My uncle, too. The fury the thought stirs within me is hot, and, I fear, nearly blind.”

  “Then douse it. What must be done now must be done logically, meticulously, and coldly.”

  Julian slowly nodded. “Agreed.” He could see a smiling Anthony in his mind’s eye as clearly as if the boy still sat beside him. “There is far too much at risk to fail.”

  Chapter 4

  “Just what do you think you are doing?”

  Julian clung to the chair he stood next to and looked at Chloe. Her eyes were dark with annoyance and she was scowling at him, her soft, full mouth turned down and slightly taut. He had the wisdom not to tell her she was beautiful when she was angry, the flush of temper upon her soft cheeks flattering. Chloe would probably hit him over the head with the loaded tray for uttering such tripe.

  A little unsettled by how well he knew this woman, he answered, hoping conversation would silence his wayward thoughts. “I thought I would have my dinner at this table tonight instead of in my bed.”

  He decided to pretend not to see how she rolled her eyes as she placed his dinner tray on the table. Instead he concentrated on sitting down without revealing how unsteady and weak he was. After a week in bed, his wounds were healing and he had decided it was time to regain the strength he had lost. Once out of bed it had not taken many unassisted steps for him to know that he had a lot of work to do before he could consider himself back in fighting trim. He just hoped that when he achieved that goal he would be able to do more than just hide in the house and listen to reports of what his enemies were doing now.

  When Chloe sat down across from him and helped herself to a tankard of cider, he frowned. “Do you plan to join me for dinner?” The thought was far more attractive to him than it ought to be. “I see no plate for you.”

  “I have already dined,” she replied. “I just thought it might be wise to sit here so that I can aid you in returning to your bed.” She smiled faintly, then had a sip of cider when he grunted. “One more week and you will be nearly as good as new.”

  Pausing in his enjoyment of an excellently cooked and seasoned slice of beef, he eyed her a little warily. “And you know this for certain, do you?”

  “You mean, did I see it?”

  He sighed. “Yes. Well? Did you?”

  “Vaguely. I had no dream, asleep or awake. I just know. At times that is all it is. Just a knowing, an absolute conviction. I know that, in one week, you will be healed. Although I would not suggest that you immediately rush out to slay your enemies.”

  “That is not the best way to deal with these particular foes, is it.”

  “Nay, I fear not. If they were not who they are, were not so highly born and bred, you could probably do as you pleased. Your word on their crimes against you would be enough to justify the punishment you dealt. Not particularly fair, but—” She shrugged.

  He forced himself not to stare at how that movement made her breasts shift enticingly beneath the bodice of her dark blue gown. “But true. Instead, I must become a spy, a gatherer of information, and a deceiver.”

  “Better a short time of playing that game than a long time in a grave.”

  He grinned at her. “Well said.”

  Julian fixed his attention on his meal but found it difficult to become completely unaware of Chloe. Even the tempting aromas of a fine meal could not fully obscure her own soft and alluring scent. The attraction he had for her was refusing to be smothered, pushed aside, or ignored. It kept growing. Each time he heard her soft, husky voice, or her laugh, or looked into her wide, inky blue eyes, he felt it grip him even tighter than before.

  Listing all the reasons he should not think of Chloe Wherlocke as any more than a friend did not help dim that attraction. Each time he reminded himself that he was married, a little voice whispered that he would not be for very much longer. He owed her and Leo his life and his son’s life. She was an innocent, something he was certain of despite the way she ignored the rules of propriety by so often coming into his bedchamber unchaperoned. She thought she could see the future and that her whole family had such gifts. Chloe Wherlocke was the sort of a woman a man married, and he had no intention of marrying again. All good sound reasons, he mused when he finished his silent litany, but a part of him continued to fight to ignore such logic, and that part was winning. Hands down.

  Pushing aside his now empty plate, he set the bowl of stewed, spiced apples in front of him. Chloe handed him the small pot of sweet clotted cream and he emptied it over the apples. When he caught her smiling at him, he cocked one brow in question even as he dug into his rich dessert.

  “Anthony also loves to have a few stewed apples with his clotted cream,” she murmured and laughed when he narrowed his eyes at her but kept right on eating.

  Julian felt inordinately pleased by that information about his son. He took a minute to finish his sweet and clean his mouth and fingers before speaking. It was not just good manners that prompted his hesitation to speak. The mere thought of how the child he had been deprived of for three years showed signs of having even one of his quirks or qualities caused an uncomfortable lump to f
orm in his throat. He needed a minute to regain his calm.

  “The boy reveals excellent taste,” he drawled and sipped his wine in a vain effort to cool his blood when she laughed again. Her laugh had a way of going straight to his groin. “He seems a clever lad.”

  “Oh, aye, he is.”

  The look on her face told Julian just how deeply Chloe Wherlocke loved his son. “You have taken very good care of my son,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an odd combination of gratitude and a possessiveness he could not fully repress.

  Chloe smiled, beating back the pain she felt over the knowledge that she would soon lose Anthony. “Aye, I have, m’lord, but it has also been my pleasure.” She stood up and began placing his empty dishes back on the tray. “I love that child, have loved him since the moment I first held him. But I have never forgotten that he is not mine, that he is not even my sister’s child despite what we have told others. Not for one single moment. He is your child, the future Earl of Colinsmoor. You need not worry that I shall try to keep him tied to my apron strings. Try not to fall on your face as you return to your bed,” she added as she left the room.

  The telltale sharp click of the door shutting behind Chloe told Julian that she had heard the possessive tone of his voice and probably none of the gratitude. He cursed as he cautiously made his way back to his bed, refusing to acknowledge that he could have used her help. After all she had done, it was churlish of him to feel the jealousy he did whenever he saw how close she and little Anthony were. It was also foolish. Anthony had known the Wherlockes since his birth, but had only known his father for a matter of days, and that was not Chloe’s fault. He needed to get control of that unreasonable jealousy.

  A knock came at the door as he wearily settled himself in bed, slumping back against a bank of thick pillows. Bidding the person to enter, Julian knew his smile of welcome was a little weak as he greeted Edgar. His body felt as if he had climbed a mountain instead of simply walking around the room a few times. The revival food had given him had proved to be very short-lived.