I wasn’t surprised to hear the latter, for two days prior Bree, my maid, had pointed out the column placed by “a certain lady” in the Caledonian Mercury inviting Bonnie Brock to visit her one night. It was so absurd that it was almost laughable.
“And noo Maclean’s sniffin’ around again.” He turned his head to scowl blackly at Gage, as if he could be blamed for Sergeant Maclean, our friend with the Edinburgh City Police, doing his job. However, he spared no sympathy for the difficulties this book about him had caused us. “I dinna have anythin’ to do wi’ that pack o’ lies!”
“Except it’s not all lies,” I ventured to say, knowing it would earn me further ire. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so determined to figure out how the author learned about your past.”
“What of some of your exploits it describes?” Gage challenged. “The thefts. The body snatching. The time you broke out of jail. Were any of those true, too? Because we knew nothing of those. Certainly not in such detail.”
Bonnie Brock’s gaze slid sideways to meet Locke’s before he admitted begrudgingly, “Some o’ ’em.”
The entire book was a disquieting swirl of fact and fiction, but too many of the more obscure particulars were true for us to believe they’d been cobbled together from what little was publicly known about Bonnie Brock.
“You’ve read it, then?” he asked.
Gage’s expression turned wry. “Once we heard about the characters Lady Dalby and her charming partner, Mr. Gale, and the foul assertions made about them, we could hardly ignore it.”
For not only had the book called my child’s parentage into question, but it had also alleged that our interactions with Bonnie Brock had not been entirely law-abiding, or in the public’s best interest.
“Then who do you think wrote it?”
Gage shook his head. “We don’t know. Surely, you know better than we do who’s been privy to all the particulars about your life.” His gaze shifted to Stumps, who didn’t seem to appreciate his making even this subtle accusation. The ruffian lifted his broad hands, cracking his knuckles loudly.
“It’s no’ Stumps or Locke,” Bonnie Brock replied. “Or Maggie.” His sister. His eyes scrutinized Gage’s impeccably dressed figure.
My husband scowled. “We already told you it wasn’t us. Now, are you going to let us pass?” He stretched his hand back toward me, pulling my arm through the loop made by his. “I’d like to escort my expectant wife home before she takes a chill. Or shall we call for help when this carriage approaching drives by?”
True to his threat, the clatter of wheels against the cobblestones could be heard in the near distance. It would be a matter of seconds before the carriage was upon us.
Bonnie Brock continued to glare at us for a few more heartbeats. Long enough to make me wonder if he truly did intend to harm us. But at the last moment before the carriage swept around the corner of Albyn Place, he relented with a grunt and a nod. He pivoted to the side, melting back into the shadows. “You’d better be tellin’ the truth,” he threatened as Gage urged me forward. “For if I find oot you’ve lied . . .” He left his words dangling, the implied threat worse than anything he could say.
I turned my head to meet his hard gaze as we passed.
“We’re even noo, remember,” he mocked. “I owe ye nothin’.”
I struggled not to react, especially knowing I’d forfeited the last favor he’d thought he owed me to his sister, Maggie, before we departed on our honeymoon. After all, finding the pocket watch that had wreaked such havoc in his family, and set off the chain of events that had altered the direction of his life, had been more about saving the residents of Edinburgh from the mayhem that seemed to follow in the watch’s wake than protecting him. In the past, Bonnie Brock’s strict adherence to the rule of quid pro quo had initially seemed beneficial but then had proven to cause us more trouble than it was worth. I hadn’t wanted to leave the city, not knowing when I would return, and leave Bonnie Brock feeling indebted to me. I’d decided it might be dangerous to hold such a thing over him for so long, but perhaps I’d been wrong.
Gage and I strolled quickly up Charlotte Street, and I pressed close to his side, both for reassurance and for warmth. We approached the patisserie at the corner which, even at this hour, scented the air with the smell of sweet breads and puff pastries. In the week since our return, I had already become well acquainted with the owners, Monsieur and Madame Lejeune, for I could not seem to pass their shop without stopping inside for a macaron, a profiterole, or a mattentaart. Even now, after eating too much salmon mousse and roast pheasant at dinner, my mouth still watered as we hurried past.
As we turned the corner, I risked a glance behind us, and finding that neither Bonnie Brock nor his lieutenants seemed to have followed us, I breathed a sigh of relief. The lamp outside the door of our town house was lit in anticipation of our return, a halo forming around it in the mist. Gage hastened us across the street toward the welcome sight. But I could not move as swiftly as him in my condition, and when I clutched my left side, feeling a stitch, he checked his pace.
“Well, I hadn’t expected that,” I murmured, breaking the tense silence once I’d caught my breath.
“Perhaps we should have.”
I looked up to find his brow furrowed in frustration, part of which I knew was directed at himself for not anticipating such an action on Bonnie Brock’s part.
“Maybe,” I conceded as we leapt over the foul ooze at the edge of the gutter. “After all, we know how secretive he is about his past. But really, how could he think we were the authors, or the informants, when the book contains such foul insinuations about us?”
“He’s very angry. And that anger is making him lash out blindly and perhaps recklessly.” He pulled us to a stop beneath a streetlamp just steps from our door, turning me to look at him. “Kiera, I don’t want you speaking with him alone.”
“You don’t have to tell me. Not that I trusted him before, but I certainly don’t trust him now.” I nodded back in the direction we’d come. “Not after that confrontation.”
Though I strove to deny it, I still felt shaken from the encounter. I’d witnessed Bonnie Brock’s temper in the past, but never like this. Never with the complete absence of any of his usual sense of humor. Never when I wasn’t certain of his control. In the past, his actions and emotions had always been measured and deliberate. This time, he’d seemed one false word or one false move from snapping. And the glimmer of leniency, of even the indulgence he’d seemed to extend toward me, had all but vanished.
Gage’s pale blue eyes softened with understanding. He wrapped his arm around my waist, guiding me toward the door as I leaned my head against his shoulder. “One thing is for sure. He’s not going to rest until he discovers who betrayed him.” He turned his head to stare beyond the brim of my bonnet as we climbed the steps. “I just hope for their sake it was worth it, because men like Kincaid believe justice is dispensed by the end of a knife, not the word of the court.”