if hes wicked (4 page)

frantical y. When he final y 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.

“Tel me exactly how you came to have the boy?” Julian asked, thinking it odd that holding her smal hand should bring him a measure of comfort,

but reluctant to give that up.

“If you wil be patient, I shal begin at the very beginning,” Chloe said. “When my sister’s husband died, she grew il 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 stil born, 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,

tel ing 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 al 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 al 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 wel , did you? The way you behaved made Leopold feel that you were not real y 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, especial y 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 al , 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 smal , 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 wel .

“I stil do not understand
how
you knew to do al you did,” he final y said.

“Ah, wel , 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 wel . 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 pil ows again and helped him sit up more comfortably. “Oh, there have been some of us who

have dabbled in what many cal 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 wil .” 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, swal owed by the sea. I saw Laurel upon a bed, her body swol en

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 smal cottage where my sister lay

dying was a beautiful woman, also great with child. She wore flowing white robes decorated with bleeding hearts and skul s. The dream quickly grew very

dark and frightening. The woman turned frightening as wel 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 al 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 fel 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 al the information on her that I could. Laurel did as wel . Soon the plot was clear and we began to

spin our own plots, to prepare ourselves to thwart the woman. It al transpired as my dream foretold,” she whispered. “Anthony was the life brought into the midst of death and grief.”

Although Julian was stil 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 wel , 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

ful y 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 tel you.”

Julian nodded in reluctant agreement, accepting the distasteful fact that he had been so enthral ed 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 cal ing the child Antonia. Quite sil y, of course.

Truly, most women would kil 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 al ow her to put on the boy. Al 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 al ow 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 wel hope that was al nonsense.”

“Some of it,” she said and grinned. “He real y 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. Actual y, I believe Leo wil 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 al ows 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, fol owed 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, stil suffered, was almost overwhelming. Beatrice had denied him his own child, and had ful y intended

that the boy die. She had obviously not dared to kil 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 al bedda?” asked Anthony.

“Yes.” Julian hastily cleared his throat, a little embarrassed by the hoarse emotion in it. “I am al 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?”