A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,12

he had left me a note of apology, pleading for my forgiveness and promising to visit us in Edinburgh as soon as Lord John was settled abroad, had not assuaged my irritation. Every day that passed without his arrival made my anger burn hotter. For I had now found myself in an impossible situation, and all because of him.

“Yes,” I murmured fretfully, already anticipating how furious my husband was going to be when he learned Lord Henry was his half brother and that I had known this fact now for nearly two months.

Gage’s gaze scrutinized my features in concern, driving the dagger of guilt even deeper. “Surely you’re not concerned for his safety?”

“No, I . . .” But I couldn’t think how to finish my sentence.

“Because given his motives for committing murder in the first place, I doubt Lord John would harm any member of his family.”

“Well, let’s not discuss that here,” Alana snapped, impelling us forward again and saving me from making another bumbling response.

But we only managed to take two more steps before we were accosted by a gentleman reeking of cheroots. I recognized his smug dissipated countenance from an investigation we had conducted a year before. I hadn’t liked him then, and time had not improved my impression of him.

“Lady Dalby,” Lord Kirkcowan drawled. “Er . . . excuse me.” He flashed me a nasty smile. “Slip of the tongue, Lady Darby. Fancy meeting you here.” His eyes cut toward Gage. “And with your faithful husband beside you.” The way he said it made it sound like Gage was some sort of hound. Or perhaps he meant to imply that I was faithless. Whatever the case, I was not going to be cowed by such an odious man.

“Good evening, my lord,” I said before Alana could speak for me. I glanced over his shoulders, pretending to search. “But where is your delightful wife? I should so like to greet her.” Though I had not been in Edinburgh the previous autumn when it was aghast with whispers that Lady Kirkcowan had finally summoned the courage to leave her feckless husband, gossip traveled far and wide in upper-class circles.

Not taken in by my guileless smile, he narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid she’s at our country home.”

This was a lie, for I also knew that his estate was mortgaged to the hilt. Anything of value that had not been directly entailed had been sold to pay his gambling debts. No, Lady Kirkcowan had returned to her father’s house with their three children, likely with naught but their clothes and the jewels I had contrived to have stolen before privately returning them to her a year ago so that she would not be destitute when Lord Kirkcowan lost their remaining property on the turn of a card. She had correctly surmised that her husband would not pursue them or attempt to retain custody of their children, especially given the fact that he had no money to pay for a nanny or governess to look after them.

“Then I shall have to write to her.”

He could make no reply to this without revealing his falsehood, so his gaze shifted to Gage, his mouth twisting cruelly. “And what did you think of the play? I found it illuminating, myself.”

But Gage was not to be goaded either. His features exhibited nothing but the bland insouciance he often adopted in public, and he replied in a bold, clear voice for the benefit of those people surrounding us who were not making any effort to hide the fact that they were eager to hear his answer. “Yes, I suppose in terms of the disposition, habits, and moral character of a criminal there was much to be gleaned. And the performance was quite entertaining, even if a great deal of it was purely fictitious. But I can’t help but wonder if such a play isn’t a trifle irresponsible.”

“Irresponsible?” one gentleman who had been listening in leaned closer to ask. “How do you mean?”

Gage turned to address him calmly. “Well, as I understand it, versions of The King of Grassmarket are being performed in theaters all over the city, even minor revues and penny gaffs.” He glanced about him, showing that he was conscious of his entire audience. “And while I doubt there are many here who would take the words to heart, I fear that those who are impressionable might be swayed to think Bonnie Brock Kincaid’s actions heroic and not criminal, and so be inspired to follow