A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,102

know what else I can possibly tell you.”

“Mr. Heron told us that Rookwood emphatically rejected the sequel to The King of Grassmarket,” Gage informed him. “That he refused to publish it. And yet you told us he had already brought you the manuscript to do that very thing.”

Lennox’s face rippled with exasperation. “How should I know what Rookwood told Heron? Nor do I care. All I know is that Rookwood brought me the manuscript and told me to hold on to it and await further instructions. His implication to me was that he intended to publish it.” He threw his hands up. “We even discussed the type and layout, and whether there would be any illustrations. A man does not do that unless he intends for me to print it.”

“Would you allow us to see it, simply to prove that what you say is true?” Gage asked evenly.

Lennox’s eyes narrowed for a moment, as if he were considering this request, but then he arched his chin upward obstinately. “No. Not until Rookwood’s estate is settled and I’m told what to do with it.”

“I see,” Gage replied.

Though from my standpoint, I couldn’t see anything. Did Lennox actually have the sequel in his possession or not? And if not, why would he lie about it? For that matter, why would Heron lie? Or if neither man was lying, why had Rookwood changed his mind about publishing the sequel?

“We won’t take any more of your time, then.” Gage reached for the door handle. “But don’t be surprised when the executor of Rookwood’s will comes by to collect the manuscript from you.”

With this parting shot, he pressed his hand to my lower back and urged me from the room, but not before I caught the glower of dislike Lennox directed at him.

Once back inside our carriage, I turned to my husband with interest. “You spoke with Rookwood’s executor?”

“Yes, and he was shocked and bemused by the entire affair. Said Rookwood was the man he would have least likely expected to be murdered.”

“And you think he’ll try to secure the manuscript from Lennox?”

“I don’t.”

My head reared back in surprise.

Gage smiled weakly. “Rookwood’s friend is a fine enough man, but he’s a pudding heart. He’ll no more confront Lennox than sail to the Arctic.” He turned to gaze out the window at the group of people gathered under the vaulted bridge over Cowgate. “The man will do precisely what Rookwood’s solicitor instructs him to do and no more.”

“Then might the solicitor collect the manuscript?”

“He might. But I’ve already uncovered much of what I intended to.”

“Which is?”

He looked back at me. “Lennox doesn’t intend for anyone to take it from him. Not now, not ever. At least, not until he’s printed it. Which makes me think he possesses something.” A hard glint entered his eyes. “And he might be willing to go to great lengths to keep it.”

“Including murder,” I added, boldly stating the implication.

“Yes.”

“But why? For money?”

Gage shrugged. “Money can be a strong motivator.”

And yet I could tell he found that answer no more satisfying than I did.

I gritted my teeth as another sharp pain stabbed me in my back, turning away lest Gage see it. But he was much too attuned to me, even when we were at odds.

“You truly are uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I replied, shifting in my seat to try to find a better position.

“What can I do?”

I lifted my gaze to his, caught off guard by the offer, though I shouldn’t have been. Seeing the tenderness in his eyes, I had to swallow the lump rising in my throat before I could reply. “Will you rub my back?”

“Of course.”

“Lower,” I directed as I turned my back to him as best I could in the confined space. I nearly groaned aloud when he began to knead my muscles there. When he eased up, I realized he feared he’d exerted too much pressure. “No, harder,” I urged him, closing my eyes at the bliss of the relief I felt when he pressed firmly against my spine.

“Better?” he asked, and I nodded.

Gage continued until we reached Albyn Place, though I knew his hands must have ached from the effort. He stretched his fingers as our carriage rolled to a stop before our town house, just in time to encounter Sergeant Maclean descending our stairs.

“Were you looking for me?” Gage asked as he greeted him, and then turned to help me descend on unsteady legs.

“Aye. There’s been a development.” His grim expression and the manner in