A Wicked Conceit by Anna Huber (e novels to read TXT) 📕

“He was.” One corner of Gage’s mouth quirked upward. “I think it helps that he can count.”

Meaning that Lord Gage was well aware I hadn’t conceived until long after we’d departed Edinburgh. I wasn’t certain I was comfortable with my father-in-law contemplating such things, but in this case at least, I was glad of it.

“Then . . . he didn’t berate you for your poor choices?” I asked. A familiar refrain from his father.

The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as that. He is my father, after all. He definitely bemoaned the situation. But he seemed to direct most of his hostility toward the people foolish enough to give any credence to such a tale about the extreme level of our supposed involvement with Bonnie Brock.”

I nodded, still feeling bemused by Lord Gage’s measured response and my husband’s reaction to it. Since I’d met Gage, there had been a significant strain in his relationship with his father. One that I’d gathered had been there almost since birth. But since our time in London, matters had improved. The shadows that lingered in Gage’s eyes when he spoke about his father were not so deep, their depths no longer fathomless. His lips no longer constricted into a grimace. I had even seen him smile over an anecdote shared in his letters.

All of which would have made me overjoyed, but for the secret I was keeping from him. I felt the weight of it settle in my gut like a lump of coal—black and fetid and combustible.

Just like dozens of times before, I ordered myself to tell him. I summoned the words to the back of my mouth, but then I couldn’t force them out. Instead they sat there, crowded in my throat, choking me.

If only I hadn’t promised Lord Henry I would let him tell Gage. If only I’d ignored that promise the moment Lord Henry had departed with his brother. Then I wouldn’t be stuck in this impossible situation.

From the moment I’d discovered that Lord Henry was Gage’s half brother, I’d known my husband would be tremendously hurt by it. At the time Lord Gage would have slept with the Duchess of Bowmont, conceiving Henry, he would have been wed to Gage’s mother. And Emma Gage had been in love with her husband, even though she only saw him for about a fortnight each year, as he was off captaining a ship in the Royal Navy during the wars with Napoleonic France. Perhaps because of that.

Gage had adored his mother, stoutly defending and protecting her from a very young age, even from her own family. When he learned that his father had betrayed her in such a manner, he would be devastated, and the reconciliation that had begun between father and son would be utterly blighted.

All of this had been running through my mind when I initially hesitated to tell Gage the truth he rightly deserved to hear, and so I had sought to soften the blow, waiting for the right moment to tell him. Except there was no right moment. It had been foolish of me to think there ever would be. Gage’s fury and disillusionment over the way matters had ended during our last inquiry had given way to new frustration at the discovery of the publication of The King of Grassmarket. And the longer I waited to tell him, the harder it became to do so.

Now two months had passed, and I still hadn’t told him, and the realization not only that doing so would hurt him but that my keeping it from him for so long would also inflict another wound and possibly damage the trust he placed in me, held me immobile. The truth was, I didn’t want to tell him. To cause him pain. To face the repercussions. But I also didn’t want to face his anger.

I knew Gage would never intentionally harm me. I knew it to the depths of my soul. But I was not yet far enough removed from the years of abuse I’d received at the hands of my first husband, and those memories lingered below the surface, affecting me in ways I didn’t always seem to be able to predict or control. I mistrusted anger, even in Gage, and then hated myself for feeling that fear at all.

Something of my agony must have communicated to Gage, for his brow furrowed in concern. “Don’t worry, Kiera. My father isn’t blaming you this time.”

“Well, that will be a novelty,” I replied with a weak laugh.

Unable to continue to meet his searching gaze, my eyes dipped to the ribbon trim of my bodice, which I plucked nervously.

“Is something wrong?”

“Of course not,” I replied, forcing my hand back down to my side. But I could tell Gage wasn’t convinced. “I’m just . . .” I cleared my throat, searching for an explanation. “Your father . . .” I was interrupted by a rap on the door, and I leapt on the fortuitousness of the timing, for I still had no idea how I was going to finish that sentence. “Come in!” I called, relieved when Bree and Anderley stepped through the door.

Ignoring the look Gage aimed my way, telling me he would bring up this discussion again later, I smiled brightly at my maid. She looked lovely in a willow green gown I had given her, which she had reworked to fit her more petite frame. However, her sparkling whisky brown eyes were noticeably dimmed, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was because of the play or the man standing behind her. When she cast a glance over her shoulder at Gage’s valet, setting the upswept curls of her strawberry blond hair bobbing, I suspected I had my answer.

Anderley was the dark foil to Gage’s golden good looks. With his height, coal black hair, and olive skin, he had never failed to receive attention from the maids of the homes we visited. I’d thought Bree to be immune to