A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,78

I replied, feeling ridiculous for uttering such an inane retort.

Fully expecting this information to be the disclosure of his relation to Gage, I felt my stomach flip over in anticipation of his next words. But instead, Gage leaned against his desk and continued to speak.

“I stumbled upon Lord Kirkcowan again tonight, betting as high stakes as ever in the card room at the club.”

I was sure I stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Why was he talking about Kirkcowan? I looked down at the letter I still held in my hands, wondering if I’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. Or worse, perhaps I was hallucinating.

“What?” Gage replied, having noticed my odd demeanor. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh, no.” I licked my lips, my gaze cutting to Henry, who now perched at the edge of the chair opposite mine. “Please continue.”

He scrutinized my features as I tried to appear unperturbed and then resumed his explanation. “Once again I found myself wondering how Kirkcowan is able to continue financing such a habit, particularly when he loses far more often than he wins.” He nodded at our guest. “That’s when Lord Henry approached me, and after our rapprochement, we found ourselves conversing about the baron.”

Henry cleared his throat. “Yes, a friend of mine told me that he had been privy to a private wager Lord Kirkcowan had made in the betting book at the club and, being aware of my acquaintance with you, wanted to know if it was true.”

I had been on the verge of rolling my eyes at the stupidity and foibles of man. Kirkcowan had gotten himself into trouble numerous times before for his ridiculous and insulting bets in the books at gentlemen’s clubs in both London and Edinburgh. The existence of such books was maddening, in and of itself, as they were filled with both degrading and asinine wagers that often reduced women to little more than chattel or broodmares. However, his mention of our connection to it made my ears perk up.

“What was his wager?”

His watchful eyes never moved from my face. “That a sequel to The King of Grassmarket would be published before Midsummer’s Eve.”

Chapter 16

My head reared back and then I turned to my husband, whose eyes gleamed with satisfaction at my reaction. “Doesn’t that show prior knowledge?”

“My thoughts exactly,” he replied. “How is he even aware of such a publication being a possibility, let alone confident enough to place a sizable wager on its occurring?”

“Are you suggesting Kirkcowan is Mugdock?” I asked, suddenly doubtful.

Gage scoffed. “No, I don’t think he’s capable. But clearly he knows something about him.”

My gaze dipped to the missive in my lap. “Lady Kirkcowan replied to my letter.”

He straightened. “Did she?”

I looked at Henry, wondering if I should be speaking openly in front of him. “She says she never told Kirkcowan what truly happened to the jewels, despite his threatening her, and they are still safely secured. So the necklace people reportedly witnessed Lady Kirkcowan wearing last autumn must have been the paste version of her diamond and sapphire necklace. And as I’ve mentioned before, I recall it being a very good likeness.”

“That also means that any claims Lord Kirkcowan made about any of those pieces being recovered and then restolen are an outright lie,” Gage surmised as he ran his index finger over his lips in thought.

“Yes, but the question is why? For the insurance money? Would he actually have been able to insure them again, unexamined, simply based on his title alone?”

“I highly doubt it,” Henry said, drawing our attention. “Most insurance companies are highly suspicious. It’s their profits at risk, after all, if fraud is perpetuated. Especially on something as expensive and portable as jewelry.”

“Henry’s right,” Gage agreed. “But I do have a thought.” He crossed toward the door and stepped out into the hall. “Jeffers, would you come here for a moment?”

Our butler soon followed him back into the room. “Yes, sir?”

“Were you able to speak with anyone on Sir Phineas Riddell’s staff yet?”

Jeffers’s gaze cut briefly to Lord Henry before he spoke. “Yes, sir. I am acquainted with his butler, and I contrived to encounter him this morning while out on an errand. He joined me here for tea this evening.”

Gage smiled at Jeffers’s distinct use of the word “contrived.” “Were you able to solicit any information from him?”

“I was. Apparently, Sir Phineas and Lady Riddell are rather parsimonious and demanding masters, and he was very affronted, indeed, by what he termed “the incident,” for