If He's Wicked. Hannah Howell

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