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

In truth, I was somewhat fearful of what he would do, who he would become, if he lost Maggie. He already skirted the edge of cruelty and ruthlessness in his crimes, and the death of his sister might rob him of any remnant of compassion he had left. An utterly heartless Bonnie Brock would be a terrifying thing indeed.

“Would you like Maggie to stay with us?” I asked before I could think better of it. I knew Gage would be furious I’d made the offer, but I trusted that I could talk him around to my way of thinking.

The quickness with which Bonnie Brock turned his head to look at me told me I’d shocked him. However, it was Maggie’s face to which my eyes were drawn. Her shoulders lowered and her mouth gaped, and if I wasn’t very much mistaken, I thought I detected a shimmer of wetness in her eyes. But then she blinked, and it was gone.

Bonnie Brock’s hands clenched and unclenched by his sides, and his Adam’s apple actually bobbed up and down as he swallowed. I’d never seen him as disconcerted as this. Not even when he was lying ill in our guest bedchamber ten months’ prior. It seemed for a moment he was considering my offer. But then he shook his head. “Nay, the protection o’ my sister is my responsibility. I canna entrust it to anyone else.”

I nodded in acceptance, half torn and half relieved. “Well, if you should change your mind, the offer stands.” I transferred the handle of the umbrella to my other hand. “Better here than somewhere like the vaults,” I tried to quip as the atmosphere among the three of us had grown heavier than the leaden skies.

Bonnie Brock seemed to regain his equilibrium at this comment. He certainly recovered his cocksureness. “No need to worry aboot that. I’ve ne’er used ’em. ’Tis just a rumor, and a useful one, at that.”

Maggie seemed just as intrigued by this comment as I was.

“But I thought some years ago the police discovered an illegal distillery there,” I retorted.

“Aye, they did. But ’twasn’t mine. I dinna distill whisky.” He flashed a wide grin. “I simply broker it.”

Broker it, indeed. He was a smuggler, plain and simple.

“Then whose was it?”

“That’d be Geordie McQueen. And he’s blamed me ever since. But it’s no’ my fault he wasna wise enough to realize the pollies would eventually be brave enough to raid the place.”

I’d heard of McQueen, and despite Bonnie Brock’s carefree demeanor, I didn’t believe for one second he was truly so unconcerned about the man commanding one of his rival gangs. Particularly if McQueen’s cold-blooded reputation was true.

But his comments also raised another question. “How much of the book is true and how much is fiction?” I asked him bluntly, wiping the amusement from his face. But I was in earnest. “Truly? How much of The King of Grassmarket is accurate? Fifty percent?” I prodded when he didn’t reply. “Seventy-five percent? I know it’s not all.”

But he seemed determined not to answer, staring out into the rain-soaked garden to my left, his jaw tightly locked. So I prodded a little harder.

“What of the speculation about your father’s identity? You must know the rumors abound. And yet Mugdock never definitively named him. Why do you think that is? Does he not know, or did he deliberately choose to omit that information?”

“I dinna ken,” he finally ground out between his teeth. “Maybe he saved it for the sequel.”

That was certainly a possibility, but somehow I didn’t think so. It made little sense to keep such a titillating piece of information from the book, from the beginning of Bonnie Brock’s story, where it belonged, if the author had intended to reveal it at all.

In any case, it was clear Bonnie Brock wasn’t going to share it with me. Not when he was already withdrawing. “Give Gage my regards,” he drawled, knowing full well I would do no such thing. Though I could hardly keep Bonnie Brock’s visit from him, no matter how much I wished to spare myself the exasperation that would follow.

I frowned as he turned to go, beckoning Maggie to follow him as he disappeared from sight. But even so, her gaze never moved from mine, not until the door swung shut, and I was left to wonder just what she’d wanted to say. I knew she was aware who her brother’s father was. She’d admitted as much to me in the past. Was it the critical piece of information we needed to unmask Mugdock? And if so, could she be convinced to share it?

Chapter 15

Fortuitously, Gage returned home a short time after I’d emerged pink from the bath, having washed the stench of the printers from me. He had often been disarmed by the sight of me lounging barefoot before the fire, my long chestnut tresses cascading around my shoulders as they dried, and this proved no exception. As a consequence, any fury he felt upon learning that Bonnie Brock had come to our home was soon mitigated. Particularly when I assured him of the precautions I’d taken, and shared with him the fact that Bonnie Brock and Maggie were being hunted.

Gage sank back in the chair across from mine and turned to stare broodingly into the fire. “I suspected the police would make the apprehension of Kincaid their top priority, whether the evidence points to him being the murderer or not. And while we both know he’s committed an untold number of crimes.” He sighed. “I don’t think this time he’s the one to blame.”

“Did you uncover anything of interest at the bank or via Rookwood’s solicitor?” I asked, adjusting the belt of my indigo silk dressing gown.

He shook his head. “They confirmed Heron’s presence at approximately the times he said he was there, but neither visit was