Highland Sinner (39 page)

Appearances could be deceptive, however. Leopold had been indefatigable in his surveillance of the Kenwoods, had gathered up reams of information, had assembled a large group of associates who were all dedicated to keeping the earl alive and getting proof of who was trying to kill him, and was himself responsible for saving the man’s life three times. England also benefited from dear Leopold’s many skills, 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 well, but she never asked. Leopold held fast to the country’s secrets.

“He will live,” Leopold said, after carefully 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.”

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“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 all.”

“How do you know all that?”

“His best friend has become mine. Do not look so uneasy, love. I truly like the fellow. 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 call 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 all. 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 Millicent’s on occasion. She is his godmother. A very good fellow. He is kinder to Lady Millicent 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 will undoubtedly arrive soon.”

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

Leopold sighed. “It was a hard decision. Yet, the earl does not know us at all, does he? He has, however, known Edgar all 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 usually when a man bares his soul,” Leopold drawled and then smiled at Chloe when she rolled her eyes. “I felt the earl would need a friend, Chloe, and Edgar is the only close one he has. We will be telling 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 will be filling 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 allow 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 pillows 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.

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“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 tell the man just how she had known he needed her help. People often found her visions a little difficult to understand, or tolerate. “Me and Leo’s men, Todd and Wynn.”

With his left hand Julian touched the bandages at his waist and shoulder. “How bad?”

“You will live. The wounds were deep enough to need stitching, but are not mortal. They also cleaned up well, the bleeding was stopped fair quickly, and you continue to reveal no sign of a fever or an infection.

You have also slept most peacefully for nearly two full days. All good.”

He nodded faintly. “I should go home. I can have my man care for me and relieve you of this burden.”

“That might not be wise,” said Leopold. “This is the fourth time someone has tried to murder you, m’lord.

The ones who want you dead nearly succeeded this time. Indeed, they came closer than ever before. I think you might wish to consider letting them think that they
have
succeeded. The rumors of your sad fate have already begun to slip through the ranks of the ton.”

Before Julian could ask just how Lord Sir Leopold knew this was the fourth attack on him he was surprised by the arrival of Edgar Dramfield. He watched his old friend greet Lord Leopold with obvious warmth and wondered when the two men had become such good friends. It surprised Julian even more when Edgar greeted Miss Wherlocke as though he had known her for quite a while as well. Finally Edgar stepped up to the side of the bed and studied him.

“Either the ones trying to kill you are completely inept or you are one very lucky man, Julian,” said Edgar.

“’Tis a bit of both, I think,” replied Julian. “Have you come to take me home?” He frowned when Edgar looked at Leopold before answering and that man slowly shook his head.

“Nay,” replied Edgar.

“What is going on here?”

Edgar sat in the chair Leopold brought to the edge of the bed. “We have decided that it is time this deadly game was ended, Julian. You have been attacked four times. Four times someone has tried to kill you. Your luck simply cannot hold. Do you really wish to continue to give them the chance to succeed?

To win?”

Julian closed his eyes and softly cursed. He was in pain, although he wondered what had been in that drink he had been given, for his pain was definitely less sharp than it had been when he had first woken up. Nevertheless, he was not in the mood to discuss this matter. And, yet, Edgar was right. He had been
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lucky so far, but this time, if not for the Wherlockes, he would be lying dead in a foul alley outside a brothel. And what the Wherlockes had to do with his troubles he did not know. He looked at Edgar again.

“No, I do not want them to win, whoever they are,” he said.

“I think you know exactly who is behind it all, Julian,” Edgar said quietly, his eyes soft with sympathy.

Not ready to say the name, Julian turned his attention to the Wherlockes and frowned. “Just what do you have to do with all of this?”

Chloe felt a pang of sympathy for the man. She knew the pain in his jade green eyes was not all due to his injuries. Even if he had lost all love for his wife, the betrayal still had to cut deep and she was soon to add to his wounds. As her cousin retook his seat at the foot of the bed, she clasped her hands in her lap and tried to think of just what to say and how best to say it.

“I believe we can leave the explanations as to
how
we stumbled into this until later,” Leopold said.

“That might be best,” Chloe agreed and then smiled faintly at Julian. “We have been involved in your difficulties for quite some time, m’lord.”

Edgar nodded. “Leopold was the one who brought you to my house the last time you were attacked.”

“But did not stay until I could offer my gratitude for his aid?” Julian asked.

“Nay,” Leopold replied. “You were not as sorely injured as you were this time and I felt we still had time.”

“Time for what?”

“To gather the proof you will need to end this deadly game.” Leopold cursed softly. “It is time to be blunt, m’lord. You know who wants you dead. Edgar knows. We know. I can understand your reluctance to speak the ugly truth aloud.”

“Can you?”

“Oh, aye, most assuredly. Our family is no stranger to betrayal.”

“Fine,” Julian said between tightly gritted teeth. “My wife wants me dead.”

“Your wife and her lover.”

“Which one?” The bitterness in his voice was so sharp Julian nearly winced, embarrassed by the display of emotion.

“The only one who could possibly gain from your death—your uncle Arthur Kenton.”

Chloe clenched her hands together tightly as she fought the urge to touch Lord Julian, to try to soothe the anger and hurt he felt. She was relieved when Wynn arrived with tea and food, including a bowl of hearty broth for his lordship. It was best if the harsh truth was allowed to settle in a little before they continued.

She proceeded to feed Lord Julian the broth, oddly relieved by the way he grimaced over such weak fare in the normal manner of most patients. Edgar and Leopold moved to the table set near the fireplace to sip tea, eat a little food, and talk quietly while she tended to Lord Julian.

“What are they talking about?” Julian asked between mouthfuls of the surprisingly tasty broth.

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“You, I suppose,” Chloe replied. “They are probably making plans to keep you alive and bring down your enemies.”

“Edgar’s interest I can understand, but I still have to wonder what you and your cousin have to do with this.”

“What sort of people would we be if, upon knowing someone was in danger, we just turned our backs simply because we did not know him?”

“Quite normal people.”

“Ah, well, very few people have ever accused the Wherlockes of being normal.” After feeding him the last of the broth, Chloe set the bowl aside and retook her seat by the bed. “Perhaps we just feel that one cannot allow people to dispose of the gentry whenever the mood takes them. Tsk, think of the chaos that would result.”

“Enough of your sauce,” said Leopold, as he and Edgar rejoined them. “Shall we plot our plots, m’lord?”

he asked Lord Julian as he sat down at the end of the bed again. “Unless, of course, you enjoy indulging in a slow, catch-me-if-you-can sort of suicide.”

“And you reprimand
me
for sauce,” Chloe muttered, but everyone ignored her.

“No, curse you, I do not enjoy this game,” snapped Lord Julian, and then he sighed. “I but wished to ignore the harsh truth staring me in the face. It is bad enough knowing one’s wife is cuckolding one—

repeatedly. To think one’s own uncle is not only doing the cuckolding, but that he and said wife want one dead is a bitter draught to swallow. I am not a complete idiot, however. You are all right. They nearly succeeded this time. I am just not certain what can be done about it. Did the man you caught say anything useful?”

“Nay, I fear not,” Leopold replied. “He says the man who hired him was well hidden in a large coat, a hat, and a scarf. All he is certain of is that the man was gentry. Fine clothes, fine speech, smelled clean.

All the usual clues. He also said that he was paid a crown to follow you about until an opportunity to kill you arose and then to grasp that opportunity.”

“A crown? Is that all?” Julian felt strangely insulted by that. “An earl’s life ought to be worth more than that.”

“To that man a crown is a small fortune and he was promised more if he could prove that you were dead.

And, nay, there is no hope of catching anyone red-handed. A very convoluted way was set up to deliver the extra payment. One that easily allows your enemy every chance to slip free of any trap set for him.

Also, proof of your death must be shown and we cannot feign that. I am assuming that you are rather fond of your right hand.”

“You could say that.” Julian frowned at his right hand, at the scar that ran raggedly over the back of it. “It was a near miracle that I did not lose it to this wound. A duel,” he said when he noticed the curiosity the Wherlockes could not hide. “The first and last I fought in the name of my wife’s honor.”

Julian was beginning to feel very tired and he knew it was not just because of his wounds. It was his own emotional turmoil that stole his strength, a heaviness of the spirit and the heart. Not only had his pride been lacerated by his wife’s betrayal, but also his confidence in himself and his own judgment. However, he had wallowed in self-pity long enough. Painful though it was to face the truth, he could no longer try to ignore it, not if he wished to stay alive. Soaking himself in drink and whores might have looked like a slow suicide to others, but that had never been his intent. He was certainly miserable, but not so much
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