“Good.”
He poured himself a tot of Matheson whiskey from his own distillery and downed it in one swallow. Then he turned to tip his glass at Gage, asking if he would like one.
Gage shook his head. “No, thank you. I should be going.” He reached up to brush a hand through his golden hair. “It’s been a long evening.”
“Take the carriage,” Philip told him.
“Thanks, but I prefer to walk.”
“No,” I interrupted. “That’s exactly what Bonnie Brock would want you to do.”
He turned to me wearily. “Kiera, the man is not going to ambush me tonight. He’s probably at home already, tucked up warm in his bed.”
“All the same, you said you would take precautions. And the carriage will be much warmer than walking.”
“I have my precautions,” he declared, lifting aside his greatcoat so that I could see his pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers. He looked to Philip. “Thank you for purchasing that Hewson for Kiera.”
Philip nodded. “Though you’ll have to thank her brother for teaching her how to shoot it. I’m afraid I never got the opportunity.” His gaze shifted to me. “Did she use it?”
“Only in threat. But it worked well enough.”
I scowled. They didn’t need to speak about me as if I wasn’t here.
“Gage, please take the carriage,” I begged, deciding to try a different tack. “I’ll worry all night if you don’t.”
“Kiera,” he murmured, wrapping his hands around my upper arms. “No.” Then he dropped a swift kiss on my lips and turned to go.
“Bloody stupid man!” I cried after him, wishing now I’d never gone to see him after Bonnie Brock had released me.
I heard the front door of the town house open and close with a thud, and I felt like throwing something. Philip stood by the sideboard, smiling in commiseration.
“You could have stopped him,” I snapped, before stalking up to my room to pass what was certain to be a long, sleepless night.
? ? ?
As it turned out, I spent more than half of the night tucked up in my makeshift art studio in a small room at the back of the top floor. Worry and anger turned out to be marvelous distracters, and I was able to make significant progress on the portrait of Philip’s cousin Caroline I had left behind when I departed for Blakelaw House. I would have preferred to work on Gage’s portrait, but I had not brought it with me when we journeyed to Edinburgh, the recent paint I had added to it making it too fragile to transport.
When Gage called for me the next morning in his black lacquer carriage, I was peering out the window, watching for him. I was so relieved to see him that I didn’t even wait for him to disembark and come inside to collect me, but simply grabbed my reticule and bounded down the steps. He must have seen me coming, because he had not yet emerged, and in fact sat stiffly on the far side of the carriage while the footman helped me inside.
He made only the most perfunctory reply to my greeting, seeming far more interested in the antics of the neighbor children playing in the square under the watchful eyes of their governesses and nannies. Malcolm, Philippa, and Greer usually joined them sometime around midmorning, after their first course of lessons. Their shouts and laughter could be heard even over the sound of the carriage wheels, as we rounded the square and headed east.
When the organized streets of the new town were behind us, and the towering form of Calton Hill rose to our left and Salisbury Crag to our right, and yet Gage had still not spoken more than two words to me, I became concerned. I turned away from the sight of the new burying ground begun south of Calton to stare at his profile. His firm jaw was as smooth and as hard as granite above the expertly folded draping of his snowy white cravat.
“Maybe you’re waiting for an apology from me for my being so angry with you last night,” I began. “But you’re not going to get one. Not when I was only thinking of your safety.” When he didn’t even turn to look at me, I became irritated. “You cannot expect to give orders and demands about my safety without my being able to do the same.” I frowned at his silence. “I’m glad to see you’re unharmed. But that doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”
Gage sighed heavily and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he turned to look at me.
I gasped as the light from the window illuminated the nasty contusion over his left eye. Leaning forward, I reached out to touch it, but he only turned away.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled.
“Let me see it,” I ordered him. When he still resisted, I gripped his jaw between my thumb and forefinger and forced his head to the side. Finally he relented.
The bruise was a mottled circle of purple and red extending over his eyelid and down to his cheekbone. There were no lacerations, and the damage would most likely heal without any serious complications, but that did little to soothe my distress.