A Wicked Conceit

his forehead. “But the question remains, does he also have a vendetta against you?” His gaze dipped to my rounded belly. “Or are ye merely a convenient pawn with which to illustrate Kincaid’s depravity?”
I couldn’t answer that. Not without knowing who Mugdock was. But his attack of me and Gage certainly felt personal.
Gage arched his chin, giving the publisher a long look. “What do you think?”
“That I dinna ken,” he replied measuredly. “But I can tell ye that, whatever his motivations, he doesna like ye. No’ one bit.”

Chapter 5
Even though the sun had not yet set, the shadows had already begun to deepen beneath the screen of winter trees surrounding the garden. Elms, limes, horse chestnuts, and laurels lined the gravel paths, which crunched beneath my slippers. Gage and I were already dressed in our finery for the dinner party my sister was hosting that evening somewhat unofficially in our honor, and so we did not wander far from the defined trails. But I still took extra care not to muss the hem of my celestial blue dinner dress of gros de Naples.
Bonnie Brock had not specified in his message which of the three sections of the Queen Street Gardens he wished to meet us in, but I could only surmise he meant the westernmost segment as it stood closest to our abode. It was also perhaps the easiest to sneak into. The eastern garden, being the oldest, possessed the most mature trees, and the central garden had been planted with a thick perimeter of greenery. Though the gardens were private, with the residents in the surrounding terraces of town houses possessing keys to their gates, none of them were terribly difficult to trespass upon. All one had to do was pick the rather rudimentary locks or scale the five-foot-high rod iron fences. For a man like Bonnie Brock, both of these tasks were child’s play.
As the sun dipped behind the skeletal trees and buildings to the west, the warmth of the day all but dispersed. A cool breeze wafted down the back of my neck, and I clutched the fur collar of my cloak closed beneath my chin to block the chill. In another hour, the temperature would dip so low that we could see our breath lingering in the air.
Silently, Gage guided our steps toward the crescent-shaped shrubbery near the center of the west garden, fashioned of holly and yew. A formation I could smell almost before we saw it upon rounding a thickly wooded turn in the path. As we approached the broader sweep of lawn that adjoined it, we swiveled to peer around us, searching for any sign of the roguish criminal or his henchmen.
“There he is,” Gage murmured, drawing my attention to the four figures descending the gentle slope of the terraced edge of the garden along Queen Street.
As always, Locke and Stump shadowed Bonnie Brock, but I was surprised to find his sister, Maggie, also following in his wake. Being a foot shorter than her brother, she scrambled to keep up with his ground-eating stride. As they moved closer, I was relieved to see that the formerly waif-thin girl had gained some much needed weight over the past year, though it was less than I’d hoped. Her lips curled in a shy smile as they drew near, further softening her knife-sharp cheekbones, and I returned the greeting before focusing on Bonnie Brock’s sullen visage.
“Well, what have we here?” he drawled with almost spiteful pleasure as he came to a stop some eight or ten feet away without Gage even having to remind him to maintain a distance because of the cholera. His gaze drifted over my fur-trimmed cloak and Gage’s dark evening attire. “We havena interrupted your plans for the evenin’, have we?”
“Of course not. We’re on our way there from here,” I replied briskly. We might have agreed to meet him here now for the sake of expedience, as in the past Bonnie Brock had shown he could make himself quite the nuisance if we did not obey his requests, but that did not mean we were going to wholly alter our plans for him. “Now, why did you want to speak with us?”
“You. ’Tis always only you, lass.”
That this was stated with the intention of riling Gage was certain, but while I felt my husband’s arm flex beneath mine, he did not rise to the bait.
“You saw the play?”
He already knew the answer to this, but I responded anyway. “Yes.”
“Then you ken what a bloody spectacle it is,” he practically growled, glancing off to the right and then the left. “As is the show your servants saw at the Grand.”
That he should also know where Bree and Anderley had been wasn’t truly unexpected, though I couldn’t help but feel irritated that he was not only having us followed but also our staff.
“As we understand it, that version is rather bawdy.” I spoke softly, clipping my words with disapproval.
His gaze shifted to Gage before settling back on me, a smile lurking at the corners of his lips. “If you think that one’s bawdy, you should see some o’ the gaffs.” His gold-green eyes glinted with savage delight. “Apparently, you’re no’ the type to keep quiet.”
Blood rushed into my cheeks at the implication of what that meant, both for me and for the scripts of those penny gaffs.
Gage took a warning step toward the rogue. “You’re deluding yourself, Kincaid, if you think I’m going to stand here and allow you to insult my wife.”
“Och, you thought that was an insult? How verra tellin’,” he sneered.
Gage lurched forward, and I was forced to restrain him, lest this meeting dissolve into a violent scuffle. One which would more than likely end with my husband stabbed.
“Enough!” I snapped. “Quit behaving like a child,” I scolded Bonnie Brock. “Tell us why you asked us here or we’re leaving this instant.”
His