if hes wicked (2 page)

opposite side of the road that would lead her to London and her cousin Leopold.

Just as she was ready to resume her journey, she heard the sound of a horse rapidly approaching. She watched as a man recklessly gal oped

down the London road and then turned up the road to Colinsmoor to continue his headlong race. He made quite a show, she mused. Tal and lean,

dressed al in black, and riding a huge black gelding, he was an imposing sight. The only color showing was that of his long, golden brown hair, his queue

having obviously come undone during his wild ride. His lean aristocratic face had been pale, his features set in the harsh lines of deep concern. He was

the perfect portrait of the doting husband rushing to join his wife and welcome their child. Chloe thought of the grief the man would soon suffer believing that his child was dead and the grief yet to come when he discovered the ugly truth about the woman he loved. She wondered how it might change the

man.

She looked down at the infant in her arms. “That was your papa, laddie. He looked to be a fine man. And up the road lies your heritage. Soon you

wil be able to lay claim to both. On that I do swear.”

With one last look toward Colinsmoor, she mounted her horse and started to ride toward London. She fought the strange compel ing urge to fol ow

that man and save him from the pain he faced. That, she knew, would be utter fol y. Fate demanded that the man go through this trial. Until his lordship

saw the truth, until he saw his lady wife for exactly what she was, Chloe knew that her duty, her
only
duty, was to keep this child alive.

A fortnight later she knocked upon the door of her cousin Leopold’s elegant London home, not real y surprised when he opened the door himself.

He looked down at the baby in her arms.

“Welcome, Anthony,” he said.

“A good name,” Chloe murmured.

“’Tis but one of many. The notice of his death was in the papers.”

Chloe sighed and entered the house. “And so it begins.”

“Aye, child. And so it begins.”

London—three years later

Struggling to remain upright, Julian Anthony Charles Kenwood, ninth earl of Colinsmoor, walked out of the brothel into the damp, foul London night.

Reminding himself of who he was was not having its usual stabilizing effect, however. His consequence did not stiffen his spine, steady his legs, or clear

the thick fog of too much drink from his mind. He prayed he could make it to his carriage parked a discreet distance away. While it was true that he had

been too drunk to indulge himself with any of Mrs. Button’s fil ies, he had felt that he could at least manage the walk to his carriage. He was not so

confident of that anymore.

Step by careful step he began to walk toward where his carriage awaited him. A noise to his right drew his attention, but even as he turned to peer

into the shadows, he felt a sharp pain in his side. Blindly, he struck out, gratified to hear a cry of pain and a curse. Julian struggled to pul his pistol from his pocket as he caught sight of a hulking shadowy form moving toward him. He saw the glint of a blade sweeping down toward his chest and stumbled to the

left, crying out as the knife cut deep into his right shoulder. A stack of rotting barrels that smel ed strongly of fish painful y halted his fal backward.

Just as he thought that this time whoever sought to kil him would actual y succeed, another shadowy form appeared. This one was much smal er. It

leapt out of the thick dark to land squarely upon his attacker’s back. As Julian felt himself grow weaker, he final y got his pistol out of his pocket only to realize that he could not see clearly enough to shoot the man who had stabbed him. Even now the pistol was proving too heavy for him to hold. If this was

a rescue, he feared it had come too late.

Chloe held on tight as the man who had stabbed the earl did his best to shake her off his back. She punched him in the head again and again,

ignoring his attempts to grab hold of her, as she waited for Todd and Wynn to catch up with her. The moment they arrived she flung herself from the man’s

back and let Leo’s burly men take over the fight. She winced at the sounds of fists hitting flesh, something that sounded a lot more painful than her fist

hitting a very hard head, and hurried to the earl’s side.

He did not look much like the elegant gentleman she had seen from time to time over the last three years. Not only were his fine clothes a mess,

but also he stank of cheap liquor, cheap women, fish, and blood. Chloe took his pistol from his limp hand, set it aside, and then, with strips torn from her petticoats and his cravat, bound his wounds as best she could. She prayed she could slow his bleeding until she could get him to Leo’s house and tend to

his injuries properly.

“Need him alive,” Julian said, his voice weak and hoarse with pain. “Need to ask questions.”

Glancing behind her, Chloe saw the man sprawled on the ground, Todd and Wynn looking satisfied as they idly rubbed their knuckles. “Did you kil

him?”

“Nay, lass, just put him in a deep sleep,” replied Wynn.

“Good. His lordship wants to ask him a few questions.”

“Wel enough, then. We wil tie him up and take him with us.”

“My carriage—” began Julian.

“Gone, m’lord,” replied Chloe. “Your coachman stil lives and we have him safe.”

“Wynn’s got the other man,” said Todd as he stepped up to Chloe. “I wil be toting his lordship.”

Julian tried to protest as he was picked up and carried like a child by the big man, but no one heeded him. He looked at the smal figure leading

them out of the al ey and suddenly realized that one of his rescuers was a woman.
This has to be some delusion brought on by too much drink
, he

thought.

When he was settled on a plush carriage seat, he looked across at his coachman. Danny’s head was bloody but his chest rose and fel evenly

proving that he stil lived. The smal woman climbed into the carriage and knelt on the floor between the seats, placing a hand on him and the other on

Danny to hold them steady as the carriage began to move.

“Who are you?” he asked, struggling to remain conscious and wondering why he even bothered.

“Hold your questions for now, m’lord,” she replied. “Best they wait until we can sew you up and some of that foul brew you wal owed in tonight is

cleared out of your head and bel y.”

His rescuer obviously had little respect for his consequence, Julian thought as he final y gave in to the blackness that had been pul ing at him.

Chloe sat in a chair by the bed and sipped her coffee as she studied the earl of Colinsmoor. He smel ed better now that he had been cleaned up

but his elegant features held signs of the deep dissipation he had sunk himself in for the last year. She had been disappointed in him and a little

disgusted when he had begun to wal ow in drink and whores, but Leopold had told her that men tended to do such things when they had suffered a

betrayal at a woman’s hands. Chloe supposed that if her heart had been shattered so brutal y, she too might have done something foolish. Yet, rutting like

a goat and drinking oneself blind seemed a little excessive.

Even so, she had to wonder if the earl was lacking in wits. Three times before this he had nearly been kil ed, yet he had continued to do things that

left him vulnerable, just as he had done two nights ago. Did he think he was simply a very unlucky man? She had hoped he knew he was marked for death

and at least had some idea of the who and the why. Chloe did not look forward to trying to get the man to heed her warnings, but Leopold felt they could

no longer just keep watch over the man, that it was time to act.

For little Anthony’s sake she had agreed. The boy saw her and Leo as his family. The longer that was al owed to continue, the harder it would be to

reunite him with his father. Her heart would break when that happened, but she was determined to see that Anthony did not suffer unduly. The boy also

needed his father alive to help him claim his heritage and hold fast to it. Between the earl’s increasingly dissipated ways and his mother’s greed, Anthony would not have much heritage left to claim unless this game was ended very soon. That was unacceptable to her. Anthony was innocent in al of this and

did not deserve to suffer for the fol ies of his parents.

She smiled at her cousin Leopold when he ambled into the room. Leopold never seemed to move fast, appeared permanently languid in his every

action, but it suited his tal , almost lanky, body. Those who did not know him wel thought him an amiable but useless fel ow living off the wealth of his

forefathers. Appearances could be deceptive, however. Leopold had been indefatigable in his surveil ance of the Kenwoods, had gathered up reams of

information, had assembled a large group of associates who were al dedicated to keeping the earl alive and getting proof of who was trying to kil him,

and was himself responsible for saving the man’s life three times. England also benefited from dear Leopold’s many skil s, for he was one of their most

dedicated and successful agents. Chloe wondered at times if there was something about the earl’s enemies that made Leopold think they might be a

threat to England as wel , but she never asked. Leopold held fast to the country’s secrets.

“He wil live,” Leopold said after careful y examining Lord Kenwood’s wounds.

“Again. The man has more lives than a cat,” Chloe drawled.

“His enemies are certainly persistent.” Leopold lounged at the end of the bed, his back against the thick ornately carved post. “Clever, too. If not

for us they would have won this game long ago, even after his lordship discovered the ugly truth about his wife.”

“Ah, but not
all
the ugly truth.”

“I think he suspects most of it. He already strongly suspects that that babe was not his get. And that his wife was never faithful to him, never much

cared for him at al .”

“How do you know al that?”

“His best friend has become mine. Do not look so uneasy, love. I truly like the fel ow. Met him the first time I saved this poor sot’s hide. Thought he

could be useful, but quickly saw that he was a man I could cal friend. Even more important—he was a man I could trust.”

Chloe nodded and set aside her empty cup. “How much does this friend know?”

“Nearly al . Guessed most of it himself. Since I was already disinclined to lie to the man, I
implied
that I had begun to look into the business after the second attempt on the earl’s life. He told me that was exactly when Lord Kenwood himself had begun to believe that his wife wanted him dead, that

she was no longer happy just cuckolding him.”

“Who is this friend?”

“The honorable Sir Edgar Dramfield.”

“Oh, I know him. I have met him at Lady Mil icent’s on occasion. She is his godmother. A very good fel ow. He is kinder to Lady Mil icent than her

own daughter is.”

“He
is
a good man and he is very concerned about his friend. That is why I sent word to him this morning about Lord Kenwood’s injuries, asking

him to keep it quiet. Very quiet. He wil undoubtedly arrive soon.”

“Are you sure that is wise? Lord Kenwood may not wish others to hear what we have to tel him.”

Leopold sighed. “It was a hard decision. Yet the earl does not know us at al , does he? He has, however, known Edgar al his life, trusts him, and

has bared his soul to the man on a few occasions.”

“Whilst deep in his cups, I suspect.”

“That is usual y when a man bares his soul,” Leopold drawled and then smiled at Chloe when she rol ed her eyes. “I felt the earl would need a

friend, Chloe, and Edgar is the only close one he has. We wil be tel ing his lordship some very ugly truths, and he needs to believe us.”

“You said he already has his own suspicions,” Chloe began.

“Suspicions do not carry the same weight, or wield the same blow to one’s heart. We wil be fil ing in a lot of holes he may have concerning his

suspicions and giving him proof. There is also one hard, cold fact we must present to him, one that would bring many a man to his knees. It would certainly cut me more deeply than I care to think about. We may also need Edgar to help us keep this fool from going off half-cocked and to convince him to al ow

us to stay in the game.”

“What game?”

Chloe joined Leopold in staring at Lord Kenwood in surprise. There had been no warning that he was about to wake up, no movements, not even

a faint sound. When he attempted to sit up, he gasped with pain and grew alarmingly pale. Chloe quickly moved to plump up the pil ows behind him even

as Leopold helped the man sit up and drink some cider doctored with herbs meant to stave off infection and strengthen the blood.

“I know you,” Julian said after taking several slow, deep breaths to push aside his pain. “Lord Sir Leopold Wherlocke of Starkley.” He looked at

Chloe. “I do not know you.”

“Chloe Wherlocke. Leo’s cousin,” Chloe said.

There was definitely a similarity in looks, Julian decided. Chloe was also slender, although a great deal shorter than her cousin. Julian doubted

Chloe stood much higher than five feet, if that. She had the same color hair, a brown so dark it was nearly black, but her hair appeared to be bone straight whereas Leopold’s was an unruly mass of thick curls and waves. Chloe was also cute more than pretty with her wide inky blue eyes. Julian nearly started

in surprise when he suddenly realized where he had heard that low, faintly lilting voice before.

“You were there,” he said. “When I was attacked.”

“Ah, aye, I was.” Chloe decided it would be best not to tel the man just how she had known he needed her help. People often found her visions a