A Wicked Conceit Anna Huber (learn to read activity book TXT) 📖

his steadfastness. He was nearly tangible, his vulnerability drawing the viewer toward him and his strength.

Just as the vulnerability stamped across his features drew me toward him now when he entered the room.

“Dr. Fenwick was here?”

“Yes,” I replied, holding my hand out to him.

He hurried forward to perch on the side of the bed, clutching my hand tightly with his.

I smiled gently. “There’s no cause for concern. Dr. Fenwick said the back pain and false labor pains I’ve been feeling are perfectly normal.”

“False labor pains?”

“Yes.” I didn’t protest my reasons for not telling him, especially as the last round had occurred just before he learned about Henry. “He said the baby was turned the wrong direction, which could be causing me the pain, but that he or she will more than likely right themselves before I go into labor.”

His pale eyes searched mine. “Then . . . it’s normal?”

“Yes. Although, he did caution me to take it a bit easier than I have been,” I admitted with a sheepish grin. “Not that I should remain in bed all day, which will only make my labor harder when the time comes. But that I might be putting a bit more stress on myself than I should.”

Though I’d spoken the words as lightheartedly as I could, I could tell from the pale flush rising in his cheeks that they’d caused him guilt nonetheless. “And I certainly haven’t been helping that,” he said with such remorse that my heart cracked a little.

“Oh, no, Sebastian. It’s my fault. You were right. My first loyalty is to you, and I should have told you. If not immediately, then the moment I realized Henry had departed Sunlaws with his brother.”

He squeezed my hand between his. “But I understand why you didn’t. I do. And I didn’t react any better with you than I did with Henry. I’m sorry for that. I just . . .” His gaze trailed away, stamped with pain. “I didn’t want to believe, couldn’t believe it.”

“I know.” Tears filled my eyes as I gazed at his beloved face. “I’m so terribly sorry your father hurt you like this.”

“Oh, darling, I know you are.” He shifted closer, using his thumbs to swipe away the tears spilling down my cheeks. “I don’t know why I keep being surprised by anything my father has done.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose if there’s any blessing in this, it’s that my mother isn’t alive to learn of his duplicity.”

Except I wondered if that was really true. If Emma Gage had truly not known precisely what kind of man her husband was. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

“Did you speak with Henry?”

He turned his head, staring unseeing at the book resting beside me on the counterpane. “Yes, and I listened this time.”

“He’s a good man,” I ventured hesitantly.

“He is.” He lifted his gaze to meet mine. “And in time, I hope we’ll grow close.”

I offered him an encouraging smile. “I know Henry would like that. He said as much to me.”

“Did he?” The note of forlorn hope at the edge of his voice brought on another swell of emotion I tamped down.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve invited him to luncheon tomorrow.”

“Good.”

He nodded, as if uncertain what else to say.

“What will you say to your father?”

His expression darkened. “I don’t know. If he were here, I would confront him. But he’s in London, and given his threats to the duchess and Henry, I will need to think on it.”

I squeezed his hand in support.

He sat very still, contemplating something significant, and I waited patiently for him to speak. “I asked Henry if his mother had named him Henry deliberately.”

I frowned in confusion. “Aren’t all the Kerr children named after former kings and queens?” Then I gasped, realizing something I hadn’t before. “Your grandfather.”

“Yes, my father’s father was named Henry. Sir Henry Gage. That’s why it’s one of my middle names.”

I searched his face, trying to decipher what he was feeling. “Does it bother you that he’s named Henry?”

“Actually, no. In truth, it seems rather fitting. Father might have tried to hide from the truth, but in her own way, the Duchess of Bowmont made sure he would never forget it.”

I couldn’t help but smile in approval. “Yes, that does sound like Her Grace.”

Gage reached for my face then, cradling it between his hands before he pressed his lips to mine tenderly, once, twice, and a third time. “Are you in pain now?”

“No. Bree’s application of hot water bottles has helped.”

One of his hands dropped to rest on my abdomen. “When does Dr. Fenwick expect the baby to arrive now?”

“He said it would be at least another week.”

He smiled sympathetically. “So a little more discomfort.”

“Yes. But I can manage.”

“And I will help,” he pledged, kissing me even more deeply.

And he certainly did.

•   •   •

I had decided to make it my goal the following day at luncheon to direct our discussion to the lightest topics possible, but Gage and Henry seemed determined to discuss Rookwood’s murder. Eventually I gave up trying to introduce a different conversational gambit and sat back to smile at their mutual enthusiasm. There was no doubt they were brothers, despite their only having known each other for such a short time.

I didn’t venture many of my own theories, curious to hear what they thought instead. Gage had been so silent the past few days, I hadn’t been as privy to his impressions as I normally was. And even Henry appeared to have followed along as best he could, even from a distance.

“If only Kirkcowan had cooperated with us,” Gage lamented. “Or if he would wake so I could question him now.”

Henry paused with a bite of jam tart halfway to his mouth. “Then, you haven’t heard? Lord Kirkcowan passed away. Sometime in the middle of the night.”

I set down my fork, thinking of Lady Kirkcowan and her children. I would write her that afternoon, though I didn’t know what I could possibly say.

Gage took a drink from his glass of wine and set it on the