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

His gaze softened. “Perhaps, but they didn’t stamp that furrow of worry upon your brow.”

“How do you know that furrow indicates worry? Maybe it’s a sign of concentration.”

“Kiera,” he chastised gently, halting any further attempts to distract him. His fingers fanned out along my jaw, the calloused pads of their tips lightly abrading my skin. “I can tell when something is troubling you.” His pale blue eyes searched mine, but rather than reassuring me, his words only made me more aware of all the things that were currently troubling me. All the things I was currently keeping from him. As if sensing my unease, he added. “But if you’d rather not tell me, I won’t pry.”

I considered telling him about Lord Henry but then dismissed the notion. Not now. Not when I was already smarting from Alana’s disapproval and rejection. I couldn’t stand to face his as well.

“Alana was here today,” I finally said.

He nodded, plainly trying to figure out where this was leading. “For your appointment.”

“Yes. Well, she was supposed to be anyway.” I frowned in remembered disbelief. “But she was late. Very late. And she didn’t seem to even realize it until she glanced at the clock in our drawing room.”

“And that troubles you?”

“A little.” I worried one of the gold buttons on Gage’s coat between my fingers, struggling to put it into words. “It’s not like her. She . . . she was frazzled when she arrived. Yet it clearly wasn’t about the time.”

“She was probably just preoccupied with something. A matter with her children or Philip.” He brushed his fingers through the wisps of hair that curled against my neck. “You shouldn’t let it overconcern you.”

I nodded without lifting my eyes, cognizant that I was stalling. As was Gage, ever attuned to the things I didn’t say as much as the things I did.

“And what did she say?”

I peered up at him through my lashes, before focusing on his button again. “That I make a spectacle of myself.” When he didn’t immediately reply, I risked another glance up at him to find him scowling.

“And I presume this preluded another attempt by her to convince you to stop assisting me in our inquiries.”

“It was more of a scolding than an attempt to convince me. But yes.”

Gage huffed. “I thought you and your sister had made up. That she’d accepted that this is your decision to make.”

I felt a pulse of annoyance. Was he being deliberately obtuse? He’d heard some of Alana’s barbed comments. “It’s more like she accepted our decision to take a respite from any murderous inquiries until after the baby is born as an indication that we agreed with her and would continue to do so.”

“Kiera.” He cupped my face in his hands, forcing me to look up at him. “You do not have to agree with her, and you are not wrong for it. In fact, I would go so far as to say you are very right.”

“Then I’m not displaying a lack of maturity and motherly instinct by choosing not to conform?” I asked, both craving his reassurance and hating that I needed it. Shouldn’t I be strong enough by now to know my own mind and stand firm in it?

“Is that what she said?”

There was no need to respond, for the answer was obvious.

His head dipped so that our foreheads nearly touched. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you conform. I fell in love with you because you are instinctively, unabashedly, unequivocally you, with all your brilliance and eccentricities. And that is the woman I want our child to have as a mother. Not some diluted version of yourself, where you mute your vibrant reds and blues into conformist grays and browns.”

I blinked rapidly as tears began to fill my eyes, and squeaked, “Really?”

He smiled that tender, private little smile that I knew was only ever for me. “Really.”

His lips pressed to mine as if sealing a promise, and I returned the pledge.

“Now,” he declared. “I suppose it’s past time we dressed for Lady Edmonstone’s ball.” He trailed his fingers down my neck in a caress, his eyes turning languid. “Unless you’ve decided not to attend.”

I sighed, fighting the temptation reflected in his eyes. “We really should attend. For Miss Drummond’s sake.” I swallowed. “And her stepmother’s.”

Gage nodded, understanding what I was trying to convey without the need for words. Sometimes I struggled with the realization that Lady Drummond had been dead for just a year. My friend had died before my eyes, overwhelmed by the final dose of the poison that had slowly been killing her. And if not for my insistence, her death would have been ascribed to natural causes and her killer never found. Her stepdaughter, Imogen, had been a great help during the investigation, and while away from Edinburgh I had kept in touch with her through letters. I knew the lonely, melancholy girl was anxious about her debut, and I wanted to be there to support her.

I admitted I was also anxious to shelter her. She reminded me too much of myself at that age. But while I’d had a loving father, an older sister, and a brother to look out for me, her father was uninterested, at best, and neglectful, at worse. He was also likely to sell her to the suitor who was the highest bidder. Yet even with my family looking after my best interests, I had still made the dreadful mistake of marrying Sir Anthony Darby. I feared that with her ethereal beauty and uncaring father, Imogen’s fate might be even worse.

Chapter 9

My first impression of Lady Edmonstone was that of a brick wall—sturdy, stalwart, and unbending—and the deep red hue of her gown only heightened the comparison. But I quickly recognized that her ladyship also possessed a weak spot when it came to Imogen. It was evident in the gentle smiles she bestowed on her