if hes wicked (3 page)

little difficult to understand, or tolerate. “Me and Leo’s men Todd and Wynn.”

With his left hand Julian touched the bandages at his waist and shoulder. “How bad?”

“You wil live. The wounds were deep enough to need stitching but are not mortal. They also cleaned up wel , the bleeding was stopped fair quickly,

and you continue to reveal no sign of a fever or an infection. You have also slept most peaceful y for nearly two ful days. Al good.”

He nodded faintly. “I should go home. I can have my man care for me and relieve you of this burden.”

“That might not be wise,” said Leopold. “This is the fourth time someone has tried to murder you, m’lord. The ones who want you dead nearly

succeeded this time. Indeed, they came closer than ever before. I think you might wish to consider letting them think that they
have
succeeded. The rumors of your sad fate have already begun to slip through the ranks of the ton.”

Before Julian could ask just how Lord Sir Leopold knew this was the fourth attack on him, he was surprised by the arrival of Edgar Dramfield. He

watched his old friend greet Lord Leopold with obvious warmth and wondered when the two men had become such good friends. It surprised Julian even

more when Edgar greeted Miss Wherlocke as if he had known her for quite a while as wel . Final y Edgar stepped up to the side of the bed and studied

him.

“Either the ones trying to kil you are completely inept or you are one very lucky man, Julian,” said Edgar.

“’Tis a bit of both, I think,” replied Julian. “Have you come to take me home?” He frowned when Edgar looked at Leopold before answering and

that man slowly shook his head.

“Nay,” replied Edgar.

“What is going on here?”

Edgar sat in the chair Leopold brought to the edge of the bed. “We have decided that it is time this deadly game was ended, Julian. You have

been attacked four times. Four times someone has tried to kil you. Your luck simply cannot hold. Do you real y wish to continue to give them the chance to succeed? To win?”

Julian closed his eyes and softly cursed. He was in pain, although he wondered what had been in that drink he had been given, for his pain was

definitely less sharp than it had been when he had first woken up. Nevertheless, he was not in the mood to discuss this matter. And yet, Edgar was right.

He had been lucky so far but this time, if not for the Wherlockes, he would be lying dead in a foul al ey outside a brothel. And what the Wherlockes had to do with his troubles, he did not know. He looked at Edgar again.

“No, I do not want them to win, whoever they are,” he said.

“I think you know exactly who is behind it al , Julian,” Edgar said quietly, his eyes soft with sympathy.

Not ready to say the name, Julian turned his attention to the Wherlockes and frowned. “Just what do you have to do with al of this?”

Chloe felt a pang of sympathy for the man. She knew the pain in his jade green eyes was not al due to his injuries. Even if he had lost al love for

his wife, the betrayal stil had to cut deep, and she was soon to add to his wounds. As her cousin retook his seat at the foot of the bed, she clasped her

hands in her lap and tried to think of just what to say and how best to say it.

“I believe we can leave the explanations as to
how
we stumbled into this until later,” Leopold said.

“That might be best,” Chloe agreed and then smiled faintly at Julian. “We have been involved in your difficulties for quite some time, m’lord.”

Edgar nodded. “Leopold was the one who brought you to my house the last time you were attacked.”

“But did not stay until I could offer my gratitude for his aid?” Julian asked.

“Nay,” Leopold replied. “You were not as sorely injured as you were this time and I felt we stil had time.”

“Time for what?”

“To gather the proof you wil need to end this deadly game.” Leopold cursed softly. “It is time to be blunt, m’lord. You know who wants you dead.

Edgar knows. We know. I can understand your reluctance to speak the ugly truth aloud.”

“Can you?”

“Oh, aye, most assuredly. Our family is no stranger to betrayal.”

“Fine,” Julian said between tightly gritted teeth. “My wife wants me dead.”

“Your wife and her lover.”

“Which one?” The bitterness in his voice was so sharp Julian nearly winced, embarrassed by the display of emotion.

“The only one who could possibly gain from your death—your uncle Arthur Kenwood.”

Chloe clenched her hands together tightly as she fought the urge to touch Lord Julian, to try to soothe the anger and hurt he felt. She was relieved

when Wynn arrived with tea and food, including a bowl of hearty broth for his lordship. It was best if the harsh truth was al owed to settle in a little before they continued. She proceeded to feed Lord Julian the broth, oddly relieved by the way he grimaced over such weak fare in the normal manner of most

patients. Edgar and Leopold moved to the table set near the fireplace to sip tea, eat a little food, and talk quietly while she tended to Lord Julian.

“What are they talking about?” Julian asked between mouthfuls of the surprisingly tasty broth.

“You, I suppose,” Chloe replied. “They are probably making plans to keep you alive and bring down your enemies.”

“Edgar’s interest I can understand, but I stil have to wonder what you and your cousin have to do with this.”

“What sort of people would we be if, upon knowing someone was in danger, we just turned our backs simply because we did not know him?”

“Quite normal people.”

“Ah, wel , very few people have ever accused the Wherlockes of being normal.” After feeding him the last of the broth, Chloe set the bowl aside

and retook her seat by the bed. “Perhaps we just feel that one cannot al ow people to dispose of the gentry whenever the mood takes them. Tsk, think of

the chaos that would result.”

“Enough of your sauce,” said Leopold as he and Edgar rejoined them. “Shal we plot our plots, m’lord?” he asked Lord Julian as he sat down at

the end of the bed again. “Unless, of course, you enjoy indulging in a slow, catch-me-if-you-can sort of suicide.”

“And you reprimand
me
for sauce,” Chloe muttered but everyone ignored her.

“No, curse you, I do not enjoy this game,” snapped Lord Julian, and then he sighed. “I but wished to ignore the harsh truth staring me in the face. It

is bad enough knowing one’s wife is cuckolding one—repeatedly. To think one’s own uncle is not only doing the cuckolding but that he and said wife want

one dead is a bitter draught to swal ow. I am not a complete idiot, however. You are al right. They nearly succeeded this time. I am just not certain what can be done about it. Did the man you caught say anything useful?”

“Nay, I fear not,” Leopold replied. “He says the man who hired him was wel hidden in a large coat, a hat, and a scarf. Al he is certain of is that the

man was gentry. Fine clothes, fine speech, smel ed clean. Al the usual clues. He also said that he was paid a crown to fol ow you about until an

opportunity to kil you arose and then grasp that opportunity.”

“A crown? Is that al ?” Julian felt strangely insulted by that. “An earl’s life ought to be worth more than that.”

“To that man a crown is a smal fortune, and he was promised more if he could prove that you were dead. And, nay, there is no hope of catching

anyone red-handed. A very convoluted way was set up to deliver the extra payment. One that easily al ows your enemy every chance to slip free of any

trap set for him. Also, proof of your death must be shown, and we cannot feign that. I am assuming that you are rather fond of your right hand.”

“You could say that.” Julian frowned at his right hand, at the scar that ran raggedly over the back of it. “It was a near miracle that I did not lose it to this wound. A duel,” he said when he noticed the curiosity the Wherlockes could not hide. “The first and last I fought in the name of my wife’s honor.”

Julian was beginning to feel very tired and he knew it was not just because of his wounds. It was his own emotional turmoil that stole his strength, a

heaviness of the spirit and the heart. Not only had his pride been lacerated by his wife’s betrayal, but his confidence in himself and his own judgment.

However, he had wal owed in self-pity long enough. Painful though it was to face the truth, he could no longer try to ignore it, not if he wished to stay alive.

Soaking himself in drink and whores might have looked like a slow suicide to others, but that had never been his intent. He was certainly miserable, but

not so much that he was ready to welcome the cold oblivion of the grave.

“Edgar and I think you should play dead for a while,” said Leopold. “Aside from us, the only one who knows you are alive is the man who attacked

you. He wil very soon be too far away to tel anyone the truth.”

“Your servants—”

“Wil keep the secret.” Leopold smiled faintly at Julian’s look of doubt. “You must accept my word on that, m’lord. Our family and our cousins the

Vaughns have servants whose loyalty and silence is absolute.”

“Something many would pay a fortune for. So, I remain dead. Do I hide here then?”

“Do you trust
your
servants to be silent?”

“Not al of them, no.” Julian sighed. “I stil do not understand how you became involved in this mess.”

“We have been involved from the beginning, m’lord,” said Chloe. “From the night your wife gave birth—”

“To someone else’s child,” he snapped. “That was
not
my child.”

“I know, m’lord. It was my sister’s.”

Julian was shocked speechless. As he slowly recovered his wits enough to start asking a few questions, he became acutely aware of a new, very

pressing need. He tried to wil it away, but reluctantly accepted that his body was not wil ing to wait until he got the answers he needed.

“Damnation,” he muttered. “We need to talk about that, but, right now,” he hesitated, then said, “I need some privacy.”

“Ah, I understand.” Chloe stood up, quickly guessing what he needed, and moved toward the door. “I wil have the answers to your questions when

I return.”

“How can she know what my questions wil even be?” he asked Leopold the moment Chloe was gone and Edgar quickly moved to help him tend

to his personal needs.

“Oh, she can easily guess,” replied Leopold.

Julian fought down a sense of humiliation as the two men helped him, washed him down, and put him in a clean nightshirt. He hated being so

weak and helpless but had to accept that he was both at the moment and that he needed al the help he could get. Once settled back in his bed, he

needed a few moments to stil the trembling in his body and wil his pain to recede. When he final y opened his eyes again, he gave the two men watching

him with concern a weak smile. Then he recal ed what Chloe had said and frowned. Julian decided he must have misheard her.

“Did she real y say that the child was her sister’s?” he asked. “That I have interred her sister’s child in my family crypt?”

Leopold sighed and nodded. “Her sister Laurel’s child. Laurel married a poor man who died whilst out fishing. She knew she would not survive the

birth of her child, that she was too weakened by a recurring fever and grief. Two men came whilst Laurel lay dying on her childbed, her babe born dead,

and they took the child away.”

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

“Oh, nay, not al ,” said Chloe as she entered the room and walked to the side of his bed, al owing 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 wel 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 wel 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 al 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.

“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 recal 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