A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,21

the surface never sealed, leading to flooding in the vaults. Soon after, legitimate businesses had abandoned its use, and it was taken over by less savory enterprises, as well as the most desperate residents of Cowgate. One could only imagine how appalling conditions must be in that damp, sunless world and what desperation those forced to dwell there must feel.

“It’s clear the author has never actually been down there,” Anderley surmised.

“No, he hasn’t.”

I turned to look at Gage, alerted by something in the tone of his voice. The almost derisiveness of its certainty. I glanced at Anderley, realizing he hadn’t compared the author’s words to the scene in the play. Bree had been the one to do that. Anderley had stated it as if he had firsthand knowledge. Which more than likely meant Gage also did.

A sharp lance of horrified fear streaked through me. “When have you been down in the vaults?”

He blinked rapidly, and I could tell he was considering lying to me. I narrowed my eyes letting him know I was not going to be fobbed off.

“Last year,” he admitted. “Actually, that’s one of the places Sergeant Maclean took us to search for Kincaid.”

On that fateful night of my first encounter with Bonnie Brock, when he had appropriated Philip’s carriage outside the Theatre Royal with me inside. I frowned in remembrance of that event, and the fact it had been missing from both the book and the Theatre Royal play. I couldn’t help but wonder what that meant, if anything.

However, Gage evidently thought my glower indicated anger. “Darling, we never went deeper than a few rooms. Which was more than enough, I assure you.” He took hold of my hand. “We were purely there to ascertain Kincaid’s whereabouts.”

I nodded distractedly. “Of course.”

“We should tell them aboot his father,” Bree murmured to Anderley.

I had been on the verge of excusing myself to retire, but her words made me sit taller. “Did they speculate on his identity?”

“No’ explicitly,” she replied. “But he had a cane wi’ a gold lion head at the top, and Bonnie Brock’s mother called him Leon.”

But was that truly his name, or purely an inference on their part? After all, Bonnie Brock’s unruly, tawny hair was often compared to a lion’s mane. Had he inherited that trait from his father in fact, or did it merely make a pleasant fiction?

I remembered then that Maggie had told me once that her brother looked nothing like his father. But once again, had that been the truth or merely misdirection?

Chapter 4

I lay on my side, staring into the shadows gathered at the edges of the room, when the door to the dressing chamber clicked open behind me. Closing my eyes, I feigned sleep as I heard Gage cross the room and then remove his dressing gown, tossing it across the bottom of the bed. It seemed wrong not to wish him a good night, but I didn’t want to face his questions. Not tonight.

He stubbed out the candle on his bedside table, and I waited for the familiar weight of his body to slide beneath the covers. When it didn’t come, I found myself straining to hear any sound of his movement, but he seemed to still be standing at the side of the bed, perhaps staring at me. It made the breath I was already struggling to keep deep and even hitch inside my lungs.

“I know you’re awake, you know.” Amusement softened his voice. “Otherwise you’d be snoring.”

“I do not snore,” I retorted.

He chuckled, perhaps at my so easily revealing my ruse. “Normally, no. But for the past few weeks you have.”

“That’s the fault of the baby.”

“Likely,” he conceded, sliding under the covers. “Is it also the fault of the baby that you decided to pretend to be asleep?”

I frowned. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

“I see. So you’re not angry with me for visiting the vaults?”

Turned away as I was, I couldn’t see his face in the faint moonlight filtering through our bedroom drapes, but I could tell he was goading me to roll over. “Of course not. I understand it was Sergeant Maclean’s decision to take you there.” I adjusted the pillow clasped between my knees to ease the pressure on my hips. “I was startled because you’d never told me before, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s not precisely a pleasant confession, and the topic never arose.”

I suppressed a snort of derision because I was certain I’d asked where they had searched for Bonnie Brock that cold night in January