Authors: Hannah Howell
“You cwying, lady? Wanna sweet? Makes you feel bedda.”
Startled out of her dark thoughts by that sweet, high child’s voice, Evelyn looked at the little boy standing before her. He held one of the tea cakes
out to her, a frown of concern on his cherubic and cake-smeared face. She started to smile at him and then looked into his big eyes. His big verdant
green eyes, eyes just like hers, just like Julian’s. Even the shape of them and the ridiculously long lashes were the same. Evelyn had to take several deep, slow breaths to keep from swooning.
It was impossible, she told herself as she struggled to calm her pounding heart. Unfortunately, the more she looked at the boy, the more she felt
sure she was looking at Julian’s son. The boy looked exactly like Julian had at that age.
She yanked her glove off her right hand and felt her own forehead, afraid that she had suddenly been afflicted by a raging fever. This had to be
some il usion caused by a fevered brain. Perhaps grief had her thinking she could see her son, see him when he was stil sweet and innocent of al the
hurt and evil in the world.
“Want me to get Cohee?”
Not sure who Cohee was, Evelyn shook her head and tentatively reached out to touch his thick golden curls. Even the boy’s hair reminded her of
Julian. “How old are you, child?”
“Three. I am a man,” he said and puffed out his thin chest. “I have pwetty hair.”
“That you do,” she said and smiled, but thought only that he had hair just like Julian had as a child. “Does it grow into big, fat curls?”
“Aye. But Leo keeps it cut so I look like a man. Not a girl.”
“Very wise. Are you Lord Wherlocke’s son?”
The little boy shook his head. “Nay. He just lubs me like Cohee does.” He leaned a little closer. “I am hiding.”
“Do they know you are hiding?”
“Nay. They are looking. Want this sweet?”
She cautiously took the slightly battered cake and ate a little of it. The smile the boy gave her made her heart ache. Everything about him made
her think of Julian, and she was beginning to feel certain that it was not because she was stil so mired in grief. If she recal ed the gossip she had heard correctly, this boy was a cousin to Lord Wherlocke, an orphan whose mother had married beneath her. Suddenly that explanation seemed suspicious.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Anthony,” he said, pronouncing it very careful y.
“Anthony what?”
He shrugged. “I gots lots of names but I just need one.”
“Wel then, Anthony, I am Lady Evelyn Kenwood, the dowager countess of Colinsmoor.” She watched closely as his eyes widened and then
narrowed in what could only be cal ed suspicion, a look that sat il upon his sweet face.
“Do you know the Pitahel Monster? He lives dere.”
“At Colinsmoor?” When he nodded, she frowned. “I am not sure what that is, but I never saw it. I no longer live there, not since my son brought his
wife home five years ago. Why do you think a monster lives there?”
And who would have told you about Colinsmoor
, she wanted to ask but knew that she had to step careful y with such a young child.
“Cohee. She said it swal owed my mama because she did bad things and that be why I never see her. It did not eat my papa.”
“And who is your father?”
The boy shrugged and grabbed a cake, shoving a lot of it in his mouth. It was obviously a question he had been told not to answer. Evelyn was not
surprised to see her hand shaking. The only thing that kept her from immediately believing that she was looking at her grandson, at Julian’s child, was the boy’s age. Julian would have stil been in enthral ment to Beatrice at the time this child had to have been conceived. She did not believe Julian would ever break his marriage vows, and certainly not when he stil foolishly believed his marriage was one of mutual love.
“There is no need to tel me if you do not wish to. It is just that you remind me very much of my son Julian when he was a little boy,” she said softly
as she touched his hair again. “The same hair. The same eyes. I was just wondering if we were, mayhap, related in some way.”
She felt a pinch of shame for using such trickery on a young child, but Evelyn al owed a tear to slip from her eye. As she thought, he grew
distressed, not liking to see her cry. Evelyn just hoped that what she got from him now was information and not another badly mangled little cake. Even if
this child was bastard born, if he was Julian’s son, she intended to make him part of her family. If nothing else, it would mean that she had not completely lost her son, that a smal part of him stil remained on this earth.
With a smal , gooey hand, Anthony patted her on the arm. “Do not cry,” he said, the distinct hint of command in his childish voice. “I know I looks
like Papa. But I have to keep a secret. Secrets are important. If I tel you, it wil not be a secret anymore, and that wil be bad.”
The last sentence sounded as if the child was repeating, almost word for word, what someone had told him. “I wil not tel anyone. I swear it. But I
am so curious as we have the same eyes. Can you not see?”
Anthony leaned so close his little nose almost touched hers. “Aye. They looks just like mine and Papa’s. I have to keep the secret. Papa was bad
hurt and I do not want him hurt again. Me and Cohee have to keep him safe.”
“I would never hurt him, Anthony. Is your papa’s name Julian?” Just the way the boy stared at her with narrowed eyes and pressed his lips tightly
together was answer enough, but Evelyn real y needed to hear him say it. “Please. I real y need to know, as I lost my Julian and my heart hurts.”
Anthony patted her on the arm again. “He is not lost. He is just hiding. Like me.”
“Why is he hiding?” she asked, afraid her heart was pounding so fast it would beat itself right out of her chest.
“Because the Pitahel Monster wants him. The monster is bad and it sent men to stick a knife in my papa. Two times. I can count, see?” He held up
one, then two fingers. “Two.”
Evelyn was just taking slow, deep breaths again to keep herself from swooning when the door opened. She turned with the boy to look at the
young woman standing there. For a moment the look of dismay and fear was clear to see on her pretty face. Evelyn could see how such a woman could
tempt Julian, yet she did not feel that this woman was the sort to indulge in some sordid affair. There was a look of innocence about her. It was a puzzle
she intended to solve just as soon as the woman answered one very important question.
“What the bloody hel are you doing with my grandson?”
“Julian, we have a problem,” Chloe announced as she burst into his room without knocking.
“Anthony?”
Seeing how pale he had suddenly gone, Chloe grimaced. Her mind had been so fixed upon Lady Evelyn and Anthony meeting that she had
completely forgotten that Julian stil thought Anthony was missing. She moved to his side and rubbed his arm, idly wondering why she thought such a
gesture might soothe a man terrified about losing his son. The confrontation she had just had with Lady Evelyn had obviously left her utterly witless just at a time when she needed her wits sharp.
“Anthony is just fine. Truly,” she said.
Julian closed his eyes for a moment and struggled to push away the terror that had briefly grabbed him by the throat. “You found him.”
“Aye. I did. He was in the blue salon.” She took a deep breath and blurted out, “With your mother.”
“What?” He stared at her in speechless shock for a moment before asking, “My mother is here? Down in the blue salon?” Chloe nodded. “Why?”
“She wished to speak to us about our cousin Bened Vaughn, the man who guards your brother, although she does not know that Bened is Nigel’s
guard and not real y just his aide-de-camp. She does not know anything about what has been going on, does she? How could she? She was just sitting in
the blue salon when I came downstairs after…” She blushed as she remembered what she had been doing just before she had gone to meet Lady
Evelyn. “Wel , just after I put away the things I had bought from the shops and spoken to you and you threw me out. Then Anthony went missing and I had to
leave her to look for him, but he obviously got into the blue salon somehow and—”
Her rambling was brought to an abrupt halt when Julian suddenly yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Chloe forgot al about Lady Evelyn and
Anthony and saying
oh bugger
before fleeing the blue salon and flung her arms around his neck. This time she tentatively used her tongue as he did his and she heard him groan, a low, soft, nearly feral noise. A little dazed when he pul ed away, she felt a blush heat her cheeks, as she suddenly feared that she had been too daring, too forward.
“Enough of that,” Julian said and hastily cleared the husky tone of desire run rampant from his voice.
“
You
kissed
me
.”
“I know. I was scolding myself. I kissed you for two reasons. The first was that you were babbling.”
As the memory of why she was in Julian’s bedchamber abruptly returned, Chloe mumbled a curse. “I know. I babble when I am nervous, and the
fact that your mother has met Anthony made me very nervous. What was the second reason?”
“I wanted to.” And he would surely go to hel for that, he thought. “Help me don my boots. I need to go and speak with my mother.”
“Are you sure you should do that?” she asked as she moved to help him tug on his boots.
“If she has met Anthony, she has obviously seen how much he resembles me as a child. She asked you about that, did she not?” Chloe nodded
and the blush that tinted her cheeks made him curious, but he pushed that interest aside. “Did you give her any reasonable explanation for that?”
“Nay. She did not say it aloud but there was a look upon her face that told me she thinks Anthony is your bastard child. Even though she only
knows us in passing, I suspect she knows we claim Anthony is my sister’s child, orphaned, and the get of a very bad, unequal match. She might even think
he is mine. I fear that when she asked what I was doing with her grandson, especial y when she cursed—”
“My mother cursed?”
Even though she could feel the heat of a blush on her face, Chloe answered, “She said,
What the bloody hell are you doing with my grandson?
”
Julian did not know whether to be shocked or amused. “And what did you say?”
“I fear I also fel to cursing. I said,
Oh, bugger!
and then that I would fetch Leo, and I ran. I did stop in my cowardly flight long enough to tel Wynn to find Leo and get him here quick.” She watched as he laced up his shirt and reached for his waistcoat. “Let me help,” she said even as she moved to do
so. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very long day, and you do not want to start the ordeal already aching because you strained your wounds. Are you very certain we should tel your mother the truth?”
“I do not believe we have much choice.” Julian was pleased that, with her help, donning his waistcoat and coat caused only a smal pain in his
shoulder and side.
“But if we let her think Anthony is my sister’s bastard—”
“No. I wil not al ow your sister’s name to be stained by a rumor like that.”
“Julian, sad to say, my sister’s name is rather stained already. She married a fisherman.”
“That does not matter. I have heard some of what is said, and it is never forgotten that it was a love match, unequal though it was, and that eases
the taint in many eyes, whether they believe in such things or not. You set a bastard child in her arms and she loses even that.”
“Then my bastard child.”
“Do not be ridiculous.”
He was actual y pleased to see her eyes narrow in a show of temper over his pompous tone. She had looked too pale and frantic for his comfort.
He also wanted her to never repeat the words she had just said. They had stirred an image in his mind that he would be a long time shaking free of, one of
Chloe rounded with his child. Julian knew that some of the attraction of that image was his knowledge that she would love and care for his child; unlike the woman he had married.
Julian wondered exactly what he should tel his mother, aside from begging her forgiveness for any grief he had caused her. He suspected that
once she understood how his life had depended upon secrecy, she would forgive him for the deception. It was the truth about Arthur and Beatrice and al
they had done, al they planned to do, which might need to be softened. Then again, his mother had said the words
bloody hell
, he thought, and almost grinned. Perhaps she did not need any cosseting.
“Chloe, tel ing her such things wil not make any difference. She wil not keep Anthony a secret; wil not even attempt to hide him. Not simply
because she thinks he is a bastard. She has never believed such treatment of children begot outside of marriage was fair or just. And if she lets the world know about Anthony, then my uncle and wife wil know about him. Once Beatrice and Arthur learn about Anthony, then he wil be in danger.”
“Not if they think he is a bastard, too.”
“They wil know that he is not. Despite what my disgraceful behavior over the last year might have led you to believe, I am not a man of wide
experience. I had little before my marriage and I was faithful to my wife for the first years of our marriage, right up until I discovered she was never faithful to me, did not even try to be. In truth, I was never unfaithful to her until this last year, even after I had doubts that the child we buried was actual y mine.
“My uncle wil know that I have no bastards, certainly not one who would be Anthony’s age. The moment he knows of Anthony, he and Beatrice wil
know that their attempt to leave my heir to die in some isolated cottage on the moors failed. And even worse, once he has that knowledge it wil not take