If He's Wicked. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
us in finding out the truth about Arthur, they are a weak link and the Home Office cannot afford to have any weak links. There are some dark rumblings in France, and who knows where they will lead us.”
“’Tis a shame my uncle did not use his obvious talent for ferreting out secrets for the good of England.”
“I fear working for king and country does not often make a man rich.”
“And wealth is my uncle’s god.” Julian sighed. “I fear I may be pushed to spill the blood of my own uncle ere this trial is done.”
“Let us hope that necessary chore will be done by another. However, better that than the deaths of you, Nigel, and Anthony. And, mayhap, your aunt. Better that well-justified stain upon your hands than the unfair one upon the name of Kenwood.”
“Very true. And that is a truth I will hold fast to, for it will keep me from hesitating if I am faced with that choice.”
A sharp rap at the door ended the conversation, and Julian was relieved. The talking and the news that Arthur might well be a traitor had sapped his strength. He knew it was cowardly, but he wanted the conversation to end before he was told any more bad news.
The clock on the mantel told him who was at the door. It was time for another visit from his son. Julian was a little disturbed to discover that he was keenly anticipating another visit from Chloe as well. That interest had to be buried and buried deeply. He might have cut all ties to his wife, but, by law, he was still a married man. Instinct told him that Chloe was not a woman one had an idle flirtation with. She was a woman who would drag emotion into it, and he was done with romance.
Leopold opened the door and Julian felt his battered heart actually skip at the sight of Chloe. She held Anthony’s hand and led him to the bed. The sight of his son and Chloe together looked right. Too right. As they stood by the bed smiling at him the words mine and family pounded in his head. He staunchly silenced the refrain. Family implied marriage and, once he was free of Beatrice, he had no intention of ever marrying again. He had his heir. He needed no wife. A part of him scoffed at that and he frowned. It was obvious that he needed to work on strengthening his convictions.
“Do you have pain?” asked Chloe, trying to guess at the cause of the ominous look that suddenly darkened Julian’s face. “I can fetch you some tea to ease it.”
Julian forced himself to smile. “No. I am well enough. Just caught fast in thinking on even more bad news.”
“Ah.” She glanced at Leo. “It should probably be handed out in very small doses for just a while longer.”
“No,” Julian said before Leo could reply. “As you have all told me, there is no more time to play this game. And, concerning your herbal tea, I would appreciate some after I dine tonight. It does help me sleep undisturbed by aches and pains and that is the best medicine, is it not?” He smiled at Anthony. “And how are you?”
Anthony climbed up onto the bed to sit beside him and then proceeded to tell Julian about every single thing he had done since opening his eyes that morning. Chloe added a few words now and then to aid clarity. Julian felt the pain of his uncle’s treachery fade away beneath the balm of his child’s happy chatter. He struggled to ignore that part of him that also found peace and contentment in Chloe’s presence. If nothing else, he did not wish to reveal any interest in Chloe in front of her far too astute and watchful cousin.
“You have had a very busy day,” he said to Anthony, idly and fruitlessly trying to tame the child’s wild curls with his fingers.
“Aye, I have.” Anthony nodded vigorously, his curls bouncing. “I gots more to do.”
“Have more to do,” corrected Chloe, “and you can do it all after your nap.”
A stubborn look settled on the child’s angelic face. “Nay. Not tired.”
Even though he was amused by the boy’s use of the country-bred aye and nay, Julian hid it and nudged his son toward Chloe. “Then just rest and think for a while.”
Anthony gave a heavy sigh and slid off the bed. “If I must.”
It was hard not to laugh at the child’s martyred tone. The way Chloe rolled her eyes severely tried Julian’s control as well. As soon as they were gone, however, he slumped back against his pillows. Renewed anger over how Beatrice and Arthur had tried to kill his son flooded him. He closed his eyes and cursed. It would take a very long time to forget just how close he had come to never knowing his child, and all because of his uncle’s greed. When he finally opened his eyes again, it was to find Leo sprawled in the chair at his bedside, studying him.
“Aye, it is hard to think of how close the boy came to dying before he had even begun to live,” said Leo.
“Very hard.” Julian reached for the tankard of cider on the table by his bed and took a long drink in an attempt to clear a sudden lump in his throat. “S’truth, whenever I think on it, I believe I could kill my wife with my bare hands if she was in reach. My uncle, too. The fury the thought stirs within me is hot, and, I fear, nearly blind.”
“Then douse it. What must be done now must be done logically, meticulously, and coldly.”
Julian slowly nodded. “Agreed.” He could see a smiling Anthony in his mind’s eye as clearly as if the boy still sat beside him. “There is far too much at risk to fail.”
Chapter 4
“Just what do you think you are doing?”
Julian clung to the chair he stood next to and looked at Chloe. Her eyes were dark with annoyance and she was scowling at him, her soft, full mouth turned down and slightly taut. He had the wisdom not to tell her she was beautiful when she was angry, the flush of temper upon her soft cheeks flattering. Chloe would probably hit him over the head with the loaded tray for uttering such tripe.
A little unsettled by how well he knew this woman, he answered, hoping conversation would silence his wayward thoughts. “I thought I would have my dinner at this table tonight instead of in my bed.”
He decided to pretend not to see how she rolled her eyes as she placed his dinner tray on the table. Instead he concentrated on sitting down without revealing how unsteady and weak he was. After a week in bed, his wounds were healing and he had decided it was time to regain the strength he had lost. Once out of bed it had not taken many unassisted steps for him to know that he had a lot of work to do before he could consider himself back in fighting trim. He just hoped that when he achieved that goal he would be able to do more than just hide in the house and listen to reports of what his enemies were doing now.
When Chloe sat down across from him and helped herself to a tankard of cider, he frowned. “Do you plan to join me for dinner?” The thought was far more attractive to him than it ought to be. “I see no plate for you.”
“I have already dined,” she replied. “I just thought it might be wise to sit here so that I can aid you in returning to your bed.” She smiled faintly, then had a sip of cider when he grunted. “One more week and you will be nearly as good as new.”
Pausing in his enjoyment of an excellently cooked and seasoned slice of beef, he eyed her a little warily. “And you know this for certain, do you?”
“You mean, did I see it?”
He sighed. “Yes. Well? Did you?”
“Vaguely. I had no dream, asleep or awake. I just know. At times that is all it is. Just a knowing, an absolute conviction. I know that, in one week, you will be healed. Although I would not suggest that you immediately rush out to slay your enemies.”
“That is not the best way to deal with these particular foes, is it.”
“Nay, I fear not. If they were not who they are, were not so highly born and bred, you could probably do as you pleased. Your word on their crimes against you would be enough to justify the punishment you dealt. Not particularly fair, but—” She shrugged.
He