If He's Wicked. Hannah Howell

“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 form 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.

      “Perhaps this should wait until tomorrow,” Edgar said, frowning at Julian. “You look pale, tired.”

      “No, come in. Sit down. I just pushed myself a little too hard in my first unassisted walk. It will pass.”

      Edgar nodded and pulled a chair close to the bed. “Getting restless?” he asked as he sat down.

      “Very. I am straining at the bit to get my strength back so that I can do more in my defense than talk.”

      “Understandable. Still, you do not want to push too hard or you will just lengthen your recovery.”

      “I know.” Julian suddenly noticed that Edgar was dressed in some of his finest clothes. “Going somewhere?”

      “The Paxtons are having a gathering. We are going to see if your uncle and wife appear. They were seen at the Gremonts’ just last night.”

      “Obviously my wife does not intend to mourn me for very long.”

      “Seems she is telling anyone who will listen that she has considered you dead to her since the day you left her to take to drinking and whoring. Although she does not say whoring. Uses some very prim words I cannot recall just now.”

      “Clever. Makes herself the victim. Is it working?”

      “With some, but not many.” Edgar cleared his throat and tugged at the lace on his cuffs before mumbling, “Too many know how she was no saint before you left her. Too many angry wives, I think.”

      “Quite possibly. Who is the we going to the Paxtons?”

      “Myself, Leo, and Chloe. I came early so that I could have time to speak to you while Chloe finishes dressing.”

      Julian suddenly realized that Chloe’s hair had been done up in a style that had left fat ringlets brushing her slim shoulders. He had had the passing thought that he preferred her hair in a more untamed style. The fact that a woman had sat across from him while he had eaten his dinner and he had never once told her that her new hairstyle looked nice on her astounded him. He had been well trained in such courteous flatteries. It was apparent that he had become a little too sunk in his own misery. To then let her see his jealousy concerning Anthony’s attachment to her had probably only added to the fuel of the fire started by his lack of attention. He had obviously drowned all of his charm and courtesy in the copious amount of liquor he had consumed in the last year. It was a wonder she had not slapped him upside the head with the tray and slammed the door on her way out.

      “Is this all part of gathering information on my uncle and Beatrice?” Julian found himself wondering if Edgar had a romantic interest in Chloe and was surprised at how much he disliked that possibility.

      Edgar nodded. “Last eve, my godmother overheard Arthur and Beatrice discussing your death.”

      “In public?”

      “I am certain they thought they were private, but it smells like a mistake to me. Careless.”

      “Extremely careless. Considering that my uncle deals in secrets, one would think he would be well aware of how easily someone can overhear something you wish to keep secret. Exactly what did she hear?”

      “Your uncle is not certain they should trust in the news of your untimely demise. He reminded Beatrice that he had received no word of your death.”

      “Very carefully said, damn his eyes.”

      “He is a clever rogue, no doubt about it. Beatrice, however, is not so clever. Cunning, manipulative, and amoral, but not clever. She said that you were dead even if they had not seen the hand. Suggested that you and their man might have killed each other. After all, if you were still alive, they would have known by now. My godmother said Arthur spat out a few words she could never repeat and told Beatrice to guard her words. It is not the sort of thing that can get a man of your uncle’s ilk dragged to the