meal but found it difficult to become completely unaware of Chloe. Even the tempting aromas of a fine meal could
not ful y obscure her own soft and al uring scent. The attraction he had for her was refusing to be smothered, pushed aside, or ignored. It kept growing.
Each time he heard her soft, husky voice, or her laugh, or looked into her wide, inky blue eyes, he felt it grip him even tighter than before.
Listing al the reasons he should not think of Chloe Wherlocke as any more than a friend did not help dim that attraction. Each time he reminded
himself that he was married, a little voice whispered that he would not be for very much longer. He owed her and Leo his life and his son’s life. She was an innocent, something he was certain of despite the way she ignored the rules of propriety by so often coming into his bedchamber unchaperoned. She
thought she could see the future and that her whole family had such gifts. Chloe Wherlocke was the sort of a woman a man married, and he had no
intention of marrying again. Al good sound reasons, he mused when he finished his silent litany, but a part of him continued to fight to ignore such logic, and that part was winning. Hands down.
Pushing aside his now empty plate, he set the bowl of stewed, spiced apples in front of him. Chloe handed him the smal pot of sweet clotted
cream and he emptied it over the apples. When he caught her smiling at him, he cocked one brow in question even as he dug into his rich dessert.
“Anthony also loves to have a few stewed apples with his clotted cream,” she murmured and laughed when he narrowed his eyes at her but kept
right on eating.
Julian felt inordinately pleased by that information about his son. He took a minute to finish his sweet and clean his mouth and fingers before
speaking. It was not just good manners that prompted his hesitation to speak. The mere thought of how the child he had been deprived of for three years
showed signs of having even one of his quirks or qualities caused an uncomfortable lump to form in his throat. He needed a minute to regain his calm.
“The boy reveals excel ent taste,” he drawled and sipped his wine in a vain effort to cool his blood when she laughed again. Her laugh had a way
of going straight to his groin. “He seems a clever lad.”
“Oh, aye, he is.”
The look on her face told Julian just how deeply Chloe Wherlocke loved his son. “You have taken very good care of my son,” he said quietly, his
voice carrying an odd combination of gratitude and a possessiveness he could not ful y repress.
Chloe smiled, beating back the pain she felt over the knowledge that she would soon lose Anthony. “Aye, I have, m’lord, but it has also been my
pleasure.” She stood up and began placing his empty dishes back on the tray. “I love that child, have loved him since the moment I first held him. But I
have never forgotten that he is not mine, that he is not even my sister’s child despite what we have told others. Not for one single moment. He is your child, the future Earl of Colinsmoor. You need not worry that I shal try to keep him tied to my apron strings. Try not to fal on your face as you return to your bed,” she added as she left the room.
The tel tale sharp click of the door shutting behind Chloe told Julian that she had heard the possessive tone of his voice and probably none of the
gratitude. He cursed as he cautiously made his way back to his bed, refusing to acknowledge that he could have used her help. After al she had done, it
was churlish of him to feel the jealousy he did whenever he saw how close she and little Anthony were. It was also foolish. Anthony had known the
Wherlockes since his birth, but had only known his father for a matter of days, and that was not Chloe’s fault. He needed to get control of that
unreasonable jealousy.
A knock came at the door as he wearily settled himself in bed, slumping back against a bank of thick pil ows. Bidding the person to
not ful y obscure her own soft and al uring scent. The attraction he had for her was refusing to be smothered, pushed aside, or ignored. It kept growing.
Each time he heard her soft, husky voice, or her laugh, or looked into her wide, inky blue eyes, he felt it grip him even tighter than before.
Listing al the reasons he should not think of Chloe Wherlocke as any more than a friend did not help dim that attraction. Each time he reminded
himself that he was married, a little voice whispered that he would not be for very much longer. He owed her and Leo his life and his son’s life. She was an innocent, something he was certain of despite the way she ignored the rules of propriety by so often coming into his bedchamber unchaperoned. She
thought she could see the future and that her whole family had such gifts. Chloe Wherlocke was the sort of a woman a man married, and he had no
intention of marrying again. Al good sound reasons, he mused when he finished his silent litany, but a part of him continued to fight to ignore such logic, and that part was winning. Hands down.
Pushing aside his now empty plate, he set the bowl of stewed, spiced apples in front of him. Chloe handed him the smal pot of sweet clotted
cream and he emptied it over the apples. When he caught her smiling at him, he cocked one brow in question even as he dug into his rich dessert.
“Anthony also loves to have a few stewed apples with his clotted cream,” she murmured and laughed when he narrowed his eyes at her but kept
right on eating.
Julian felt inordinately pleased by that information about his son. He took a minute to finish his sweet and clean his mouth and fingers before
speaking. It was not just good manners that prompted his hesitation to speak. The mere thought of how the child he had been deprived of for three years
showed signs of having even one of his quirks or qualities caused an uncomfortable lump to form in his throat. He needed a minute to regain his calm.
“The boy reveals excel ent taste,” he drawled and sipped his wine in a vain effort to cool his blood when she laughed again. Her laugh had a way
of going straight to his groin. “He seems a clever lad.”
“Oh, aye, he is.”
The look on her face told Julian just how deeply Chloe Wherlocke loved his son. “You have taken very good care of my son,” he said quietly, his
voice carrying an odd combination of gratitude and a possessiveness he could not ful y repress.
Chloe smiled, beating back the pain she felt over the knowledge that she would soon lose Anthony. “Aye, I have, m’lord, but it has also been my
pleasure.” She stood up and began placing his empty dishes back on the tray. “I love that child, have loved him since the moment I first held him. But I
have never forgotten that he is not mine, that he is not even my sister’s child despite what we have told others. Not for one single moment. He is your child, the future Earl of Colinsmoor. You need not worry that I shal try to keep him tied to my apron strings. Try not to fal on your face as you return to your bed,” she added as she left the room.
The tel tale sharp click of the door shutting behind Chloe told Julian that she had heard the possessive tone of his voice and probably none of the
gratitude. He cursed as he cautiously made his way back to his bed, refusing to acknowledge that he could have used her help. After al she had done, it
was churlish of him to feel the jealousy he did whenever he saw how close she and little Anthony were. It was also foolish. Anthony had known the
Wherlockes since his birth, but had only known his father for a matter of days, and that was not Chloe’s fault. He needed to get control of that
unreasonable jealousy.
A knock came at the door as he wearily settled himself in bed, slumping back against a bank of thick pil ows. Bidding the person to
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