A Wicked Conceit by Anna Huber (best young adult book series txt) 📗

“I am,” Jeffers replied, moving several steps nearer.

Lord Phineas was known to be a friend of Lord Drummond, who was Jeffers’s previous employer, so it had seemed a safe assumption that Jeffers knew him.

“Apparently, Sir Phineas was the victim of a housebreaking a short time ago. Their jewelry was stolen from their safe,” Gage explained, reminding me that there had been no time to discuss what he had learned from the Riddells at Imogen’s ball. Just as there had been no time for me to arrange with Lord Henry Kerr when it would be best for him to inform Gage that he was his half brother.

“I believe I heard mention of that somewhere,” Jeffers replied evenly.

Of course he had. The best butlers were always well informed. And Jeffers was undoubtedly one of the best.

“See what you can find out about the matter from their staff.”

“Anything in particular?”

Gage frowned at the fire burning low in the hearth. “I want to know if they believe a theft actually occurred.”

Jeffers bowed his head. “Will that be all?”

“Yes. Mrs. Gage and I will retire shortly,” he added distractedly.

Jeffers bowed again before exiting the room.

I shifted closer to where Gage perched on the opposite arm of the settee. “You think Sir Phineas is lying?”

He didn’t speak at first, forcing me to grasp his hand and repeat myself in order to pull his thoughts from whatever unhappy place they’d gone.

“Yes. At least I’m fairly certain of it.” His gaze dropped to my hand, his long fingers skimming over the skin of each of my knuckles. “When I spoke to him at the ball he suggested perhaps I had something to do with it. Said that Kirkcowan had told him that we were responsible for the theft of his jewels last year.”

I flushed in acknowledgment that at least part of that statement was true. “What did you say?”

“I questioned why he would believe such an assertion when he must know what an inveterate gambler Kirkcowan is. And not a very good one at that.” His eyes lifted to meet mine. “Most surprisingly, Lord Drummond agreed with me.”

My eyes widened. “He did?”

There had been no shortage of animosity between me and Lord Drummond a year ago when I had insisted that his wife had met with foul play, and subsequently proved it and unmasked her killer. For a time, I had even believed him to be the culprit, for he had been brutish to her, and his first wife’s death from a fall down the stairs still struck me as suspicious. But perhaps time had mellowed his hostility toward me.

“He did.” His mouth pursed briefly. “Little good it did. Sir Phineas merely countered with the argument that Kirkcowan never seems to be short of funds.”

It was my turn to pucker as if I’d tasted something sour. “You know, he’s right. Kirkcowan does always seem to get his hands on money from somewhere. I was just wondering earlier today how he’s able to keep his town house here in Edinburgh. Surely it’s not entailed. Not like his estate, which his wife told me last year was mortgaged to the hilt.”

Gage brushed his fingers over my palm, sending pleasant tingles through my body. “I don’t know. But truthfully, I don’t wish to discuss any more of this tonight.” He hoisted me to my feet, positioning me so that I stood between his legs. With him perched on the high, rounded arm of the settee, our heads were almost the same height. His hands shifted to gently cradle my rounded abdomen between them. “You must be more exhausted than I am.”

“I admit, I am looking forward to lying down.” I glanced down at my stomach. “Though this little one now makes it difficult to rest.”

He smiled tenderly at me before bending his head. “Are you pecking at your mother in there, little Branok?”

I heaved a playfully aggrieved sigh. “Not another of your relatives’ names.” This was a familiar refrain, his suggesting we name our child after one of his Cornish great-grandfathers, and me demurring.

“No. But Branok means ‘raven’ or ‘crow,’ so it seemed apropos.”

“Only if you want our child to arrive with raven-dark hair. Personally, I’m hoping he or she looks astonishingly like you.”

His pale blue eyes softened with empathy. “That would put an end to all the spiteful gossip, wouldn’t it?”

“You would think the known facts about gestation would have already done that,” I remarked drolly. “But people seem happy to either live in or feign ignorance.”

Gage’s arms slipped around my waist, pulling me closer. “Forget them,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my lips. “And they’ll forget their ridiculous speculation in time, as well. We won’t let it blight our happiness at Meryasek’s birth, no matter what he looks like.”

I smiled at his persistence in slipping these Cornish names into our discussions about the babe. “What do Meryasek and—what’s the other name you’ve mentioned? Casworan? What do they mean?”

“I believe Meryasek means ‘sea lord,’ after the founder of Brittany. And Casworan has something to do with a warrior or a battle hero.”

I chuckled. “Your father would be pleased with either of those.”

“Well, don’t let that turn you against them.”

I laughed aloud at this quip, and he grinned broadly, a sight that was certain to make me weak in the knees. Skimming my hands up his broad chest, I began to pick at the folds of his cravat, suddenly hesitant to voice my own suggestion. “Actually, if our child is a boy, I wondered if we might name him Will. Well . . . William.” I snuck a glance up into his eyes, uncertain what I would see reflected there.

“After William Dalmay?” he asked softly.

I swallowed past the lump that had gathered at the back of my throat at the memory of my friend. “Yes.”

William Dalmay had been an old family friend and had served as my drawing instructor one formative summer when I was fifteen. That is, before he had suddenly disappeared. He’d served as an officer