If He’s Wicked
Page 13
Julian nodded, handed Edgar back his flask, and idly brushed down his silver brocade coat. “Then I shall go a-wooing. I can convince her that I like her and trust her for I do. I also have one ace up my sleeve.”
“And what is that?”
“If she marries me, she does not have to lose Anthony.”
“You would use your son to pull her into marriage?”
“In a heartbeat,” Julian replied and had to wonder at his own determination to get a wife when he had so adamantly claimed he did not want one.
Lady Evelyn watched her son walk away from Arthur and Beatrice and join his friend Edgar. She then looked at the pair who was trying to kill her son and shivered. Knowing them as well as she did, she could see their hatred beneath their polite masks. It was evident that Julian had done as he had threatened and told them to get out of Colinsmoor.
“I think, until now, I had not really accepted that my husband’s brother and my son’s wife truly want my son dead,” she murmured.
“It is hard to believe,” agreed Chloe. “When one considers their reasons for it, one can easily think of many who share the same feelings, yet those people do not indulge in murder. And it is important that we end their reign because of the attempt to kill Julian, for that is the only way to keep the other crimes Arthur is guilty of becoming public knowledge.”
“I know. I would hate for that stain to touch the Kenwood name, yet I do not like Julian being presented like some sacrificial lamb to protect us all from that.”
Chloe patted the hand that Lady Evelyn had clenched by her side. “It is more than that, is it not? He protects the name and the honor of all those who have gone before. And treason,” she whispered, “is a crime that will mark the Kenwoods for generations.”
“Here comes Lady Marston. Oh, bugger.” Lady Evelyn smiled. “Is that not what you said? It has a nice feel to it.”
“It does. I thought as much when I heard it in the stables once. However, it is a wretchedly coarse curse.”
“I know. I made a point of finding out what it meant. Ah, well met, Lady Marston,” Lady Evelyn greeted the rotund older woman who stopped before them. “Allow me to introduce my companion, Miss Chloe Wherlocke.”
“Came in with your son,” the woman said, raising her lorgnette to look Chloe over. “A Wherlocke, eh? You look like Helena Cummings. Knew the gel years ago.”
“She is my mother. She married Sir George Wherlocke, who died seven years ago,” replied Chloe.
“Ah, heard that. Horse tossed him.”
“That it did.” And Chloe had tried to warn him, but he had refused to listen. She still wondered at times if he had ignored her because he simply did not care if he lived or died, and for that she blamed her mother. “He was a good man.”
“He was. Married the wrong woman, though. No disrespect, but Helena was a whiny brat who was spoiled beyond all good sense and never gave a thought to anyone but herself.”
Chloe simply nodded. Such a statement really could not be answered. She did wonder how the woman could say no disrespect and then rip a person’s character to shreds. If she had loved her mother, Chloe suspected she could have thought of some way to defend her. She was saddened by the knowledge that she could not bring herself to do so.
“Why did you arrive with Lord Kenwood?”
“Mirabelle,” Lady Evelyn murmured in protest, but the woman ignored her and kept her small dark eyes fixed upon Chloe.
“I came in with my cousin and guardian, Lord Sir Leopold Wherlocke, as well, m’lady.”
“Sauce.” She looked at Lady Evelyn. “Glad to have the boy up and walking about, eh?”
“Immeasurably,” replied Lady Evelyn. “I also hope to keep him that way.”
“Best get someone to shoot that uncle of his as well as that whore the fool boy married, then.”
Chloe joined Lady Evelyn in gaping at Lady Marston, who left as abruptly as she had arrived. “Well, at least we know that some people already suspect Arthur and Beatrice,” she said after a moment. “Do you think Lady Marston has shared her opinion with anyone else?”
“With great regularity,” replied Lady Evelyn. “I just hope the people she shares it with actually believe her. I also wonder how she knows.”
“She might not know; she might just feel certain. Does not matter. Even one very opinionated woman stating the fact will only help our cause.”
When Phillipa returned from her dance with an obviously besotted young viscount, Chloe excused herself to go to the lady’s retiring room. She prayed it was not too crowded, for she was growing very weary of crowds. The ball had satisfied her on one matter. At the moment the gossip was almost all against Beatrice and Arthur. She was surprised that the two had lingered as long as they had, for the murmurs about them were growing too loud for anyone to ignore.
Chloe was just thinking that she ought to try to edge closer to the pair so that she could get a good look at the infamous Beatrice when she entered the lady’s retiring room and came face-to-face with the woman. She immediately wished she had remained ignorant of exactly how beautiful Beatrice was. Taller than her and far more voluptuous, Lady Beatrice had all most men claimed they craved in a woman. Hazel eyes containing a strong hint of green, a full bow-shaped mouth, and thick golden curls. Seeing the white expanse of the woman’s impressive bosom, Chloe fought the urge to look down at her own smaller one modestly covered with a fichu.
“You are the woman who came in with my husband.”
Startled by the abrupt confrontation, Chloe glanced around and grimaced. The room was not crowded but it was not deserted, either. Three women were in it adjusting their hair or their gowns. This was not the place to get into an argument with Beatrice. If nothing else, Chloe was afraid she would say too much if the woman made her angry.
“I arrived with Lord Wherlocke, my cousin and guardian. Your husband”—the words tasted foul on her tongue—“was simply accompanying us.”
“You came in on his arm.”
“He was the one standing the closest to the carriage when I began my descent.”
It was clear from the look on the woman’s face that she had made up her mind about Chloe’s place in her husband’s life and nothing would change it. After all her infidelities, Chloe thought it the height of hypocrisy for Lady Beatrice to look so outraged by the fact that her husband had escorted another woman into a ballroom. She supposed it was part of the show the woman liked to put on—that of a wife deserted and continuously humiliated by her husband’s infidelities. A quick glance at the avidly listening women told her that Beatrice was a fool if she thought anyone believed her pose.
“I know it was you and your cousin who hid him from me,” snapped Beatrice. “How dare you keep a husband from his loving wife?”
“Loving wife? Ah, well, I suppose you could be called that, as you are rumored to be very loving, just not always with your own husband.”
Beatrice slapped her, the loud crack of her hand against Chloe’s cheek silencing their giggling audience. It took all of Chloe’s willpower not to curl up her fist and slam it into Beatrice’s pretty little nose. She stared at the woman and suddenly felt a familiar chill down her spine. Instead of Beatrice’s pretty face, flushed with fury, she saw a skull. The skull still wore the luxurious hairstyle that Beatrice did and even had Beatrice’s body, but it was still a skull. There was a thick rope around the woman’s neck.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” demanded Beatrice, her voice growing a little shrill. “Are you simple?”
Chloe started to free herself of the vision even as Beatrice raised her hand to strike her again. Then a hand in a lacy black glove grabbed Beatrice’s wrist. Chloe looked to see Lady Marston standing next to Beatrice and scowling down at the woman.
“You three”—she tilted her head toward the other women making her elaborate hairstyle wobble on her head—“get out.” The three women scurried out of the room and Lady Marston looked at Chloe. “Hit you, did she?”
Lady Marston snorted in a very manly way. “Gadzooks, gel, you cannot believe you are fooling anyone, can you? Are you really that witless?” She pushed Beatrice toward the door. “Get out. There might even be a man or two out there you have not yet spread your legs for.”
Although Beatrice made a soft growling sound of pure fury, she left. Chloe moved to the bowl of rose-scented water left on a marble table and gently bathed her cheek. One look in the ornate mirror hung over the table told her it would bruise, and she sighed.
“She clipped you good. Why did you let her?”
“I did not see it coming.”
“Did not seem inclined to retaliate, either, eh?”
“I would have broken her little pert nose if I had, and that would have shifted the scandalous tale onto me. I believe I will let her keep the weight of it.” She glanced at Lady Marston and said, “I will be out of here in a moment if you require privacy.”
“Did not come in here for that. Knew the bitch was in here, so followed you in.”
“Oh. Well, thank you kindly for interceding on my behalf.”
“No bother. What did you see?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Come, gel, I know about you Wherlockes and Vaughns. You got gifts. I also recognized that look on your face as you stood there doing nothing to stop that bitch from hitting you a second time. What were you seeing?”
“Lady Marston, do you have some, well, anger toward Beatrice, a personal grievance or the like?”
“Other than I cannot stand a whore who pretends to be some fine lady, no. Do you mean did she bed my husband?” Lady Marston laughed, a hearty, deep laugh. “No, gel, my Harold loves horses more than women. He had interest enough to give me seven fine children, and so it was enough for me. Now, tell me what you were seeing.”
Chloe sighed. “So that you might have some tale to tell at some future gathering?”
“No,” she said almost gently. “I do know when to keep silent. As I said, I know about you, even friends with a few. Father was, too. Very useful in the military.”
Knowing the woman would not give up until Chloe told her what she had seen, she looked the woman right in the eye and said, “I saw a skull with Lady Beatrice’s hair and body attached. Lady Beatrice is going to die soon. She also had a thick rope around her neck, so it may be that she will die that way.”
“Ah, that is why you were so pale. Not a pretty sight. Gratifying, but not pretty.”
“Are you certain you have no personal grievance against the woman?”
“Just that the Kenwoods are good people aside from that Arthur. They do not deserve what the man and that whore are trying to do.” Lady Marston smiled. “And my dear friend Mildred Kenwood needs to be free of the burden of the both of them.”
Yet again Chloe found herself gaping after the woman as Lady Marston strode out of the retiring room. Shaking herself free of the shock, she glanced at herself in the mirror again. The print of Lady Beatrice’s hand was very clear to see on her face, but Chloe smiled faintly. It would make a very good reason for someone to take her home.
Chapter 10
“Beatrice should never have touched you.”
Chloe eyed Julian, who sat far too close to her in the carriage, his glare fixed upon her reddened cheek. Much to her relief, he and Leo had immediately agreed to take her home. However, they had not gone far when Leo had halted the carriage and slipped away into the night. Chloe wished she could ask him what he was doing, but she knew her cousin would not be able to tell her much, so it seemed pointless to question him. However, Leo’s desertion had left her alone with Julian and she was finding that—disturbing. Julian’s fury over the fact that his wife had struck her was oddly arousing.
“She just slapped me, Julian,” she said. “She is trying to kill you and tried to kill Anthony. I think that makes this red mark upon my cheek a very small matter indeed.”
He lightly thumped his fist against his thigh. “Her attention turned to you far more quickly than I had anticipated. This is not good.”
“We knew they would look my way eventually. It just happened tonight instead of later in the week. You had to have expected some sort of reaction when you threw them out of Colinsmoor.”
He nodded and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, ignoring how she tensed beneath his grasp. When he had first seen the mark upon Chloe’s cheek, a mark left by the wife he was eager to rid himself of, Julian had become enraged. If not for the fact that Chloe had looked a little wan and Leo was urging them to leave, he would have taken the time to hunt Beatrice down and make her pay for striking Chloe. He knew, however, that there was not much he could have done. Worse than that, he would have only added to the attention that had become fixed upon Chloe. She was right to say that, as of now, she was seen as the wronged party and that could only work in their favor.
“Word of that banishment spread very quickly even though I had not noticed anyone listening to the conversation I had with Arthur and Beatrice. It could be that Beatrice made her anger about that a little too loud and too public.” He lightly ran his hand up and down her arm, biting back a sound of satisfaction when she softened and leaned against him. “And the tale of the confrontation between you and Beatrice in the lady’s retiring room also spread quickly. Beatrice did not act wisely there. There were witnesses and they quickly told the tale to anyone who would listen. Why did you not strike her back?”
“That would not have been wise of me. Best to stand there and look like an innocent victim of a virago.” She sighed. “And if I had hit her back, I would have knocked her flat or broken her nose. Then all sympathy for me would have been lost.”
“Knocked her flat?” He picked up her small hand and studied it. “With this little thing?”
“I have two brothers. I learned how to fight at a very young age.”
“Tormented you, did they?”
“A little, but mostly it was that they played rough and if I wished to play with them, I had to learn how to play rough as well. When I knocked the squire’s son down at the age of fourteen, I decided I had learned my lessons well. Although I was never able to knock down my brothers,” she muttered, still a little disappointed by that.
“Why did you knock the squire’s son down?”
“Because he was sixteen and spotty and thought I would wish to kiss him. I did not.”
“As a man who was once sixteen and spotty, I should feel sorry for the fool, but I think I should like to knock him down myself.”
“Best not. He is married now and his wife could knock us both down with no trouble.”
Julian laughed and rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, enjoying the feel of her silky hair against his skin. “I saw Lady Marston before we left.” He felt Chloe tense again.
“Oh?” Chloe silently cursed, certain that Lady Marston had decided the vision Chloe had had did not need to be kept secret from Julian. “Did she greet you with what appears to be an innate bluntness?”
“As always. Since the day I married Beatrice, Lady Marston has felt it her duty to tell me I made a grave mistake in judgment. This time she suggested I shoot both my uncle and, as she has always referred to Beatrice, that whore.”
“She told your mother the same thing.”
“Lady Marston also said that I should ask you what you saw. She said she was sure I would enjoy it.”
“Humph. She said she would keep it a secret.”
“Then she will. She obviously felt that I would do so as well. So what did you see? What was your vision about, as I assume that was what her ladyship referred to. A vision.”
“Are you certain you wish to hear about it? It was not a pleasant one. I am not sure why Lady Marston thought you would enjoy it.”
“Tell me, Chloe. Should I not know what Lady Marston d
oes?”
She pulled away from him but he kept his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders, so she did not get far. “I was staring at Beatrice after she slapped me when it came to me. That is one reason why I did not hit her back. I saw Beatrice, but not Beatrice. I could see her hair, her gowned body, and even the hand she had raised to hit me again. But her head was not as it should be. It was a skull. Around her throat was not the rope of pearls she was wearing but a real rope. A hempen noose. Beatrice is soon to die.”
He held her close and began to stroke her arm again. “You do not think there could be some other explanation for what you saw?” It was a chilling sight for a young woman to see, but Julian had the strong feeling that she had seen others just as dark.
“Nay. I have seen such things before. Just before my father was thrown from his horse and killed, I saw him in his saddle, his riding clothes clean and fine, and then, suddenly, his head became a skull. It was also sitting oddly upon his shoulders. Afterward I understood why. He broke his neck and he died. I told him not to go riding, told him I had seen that it would be dangerous for him to do so, but he rode out anyway.”
“S’blood, Chloe, do you often have such dark visions?”
“Sad to say, the dark ones outweigh the good ones. Warnings are probably more powerful than glad tidings.”
Julian thought about that and decided that it made a strange sort of sense. “Do you think your vision of Beatrice means that she will hang?” It was a punishment Beatrice had undoubtedly earned, but he would rather not have to tell his son that his mother had been hanged.
“I would think it does. Other deaths matched the things I saw in my visions. Yet, despite committing crimes she must know are hanging offenses, Beatrice revealed no concern about punishment.”
“Beatrice believes her beauty will save her from all consequences of her actions.”
“She is very beautiful,” Chloe whispered, able to see all too clearly how the woman had been able to enthrall Julian.