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“I have to wonder,” Henry began after some rumination. “If Sir James is capable of such cruelty, are there others he’s mistreated?”

“It’s a rational question.” Gage’s gaze met mine, and I knew he was thinking of Jeffers and how I’d asked him to uncover what he could about Sir James. We’d yet to hear his report.

“One we definitely need to ask him,” I said. And wasn’t that going to be a pleasant conversation.

“Well, wear your dowdiest dress,” Lord Edward advised after taking another drink of his whisky. “He has an eye for the ladies.” He dipped his head to indicate my attire. “If you arrive in a gown with that neckline, you’ll be addressing the top of his head.”

I flushed at this remark, and Henry glowered quellingly at his brother.

However, I realized Lord Edward meant well, even if he was a trifle too forthright, and I knew better than to be discomfited by his notice of my attributes, such as they were.

Lord Edward was not interested in me—or any woman, for that matter.

Gage seemed to be aware of this, too, for his displeasure was all directed at me, undoubtedly seeing this as confirmation that I’d misled him about Sir James’s behavior at the Inverleith Ball.

Particularly considering the decolletage of my ball gown that evening had been lower than the one I wore now.

“Marvelous color, by the way,” Lord Edward added casually. “It brings out your eyes.” Then his own dark gaze flashed with mischievous intent. “I quite see why some have called them ‘witch bright.’ It gives them an excuse for falling under your spell.”

Henry groaned, tossing a pillow at him. “Terrible, Ned. Simply terrible.”

I shook my head, but upon hearing Lord Edward’s ringing laughter I couldn’t withhold a smile.

“She’s certainly bewitched me,” Gage quipped, joining in.

Henry searched to the left and then right. “Where’s another pillow?”

At this, we all broke into peals of laughter.

· · ·

However, we weren’t laughing the next morning when we sat down with Sir James Riddell at his Abercromby Place home.

It was located just three blocks away, on the north side of Queen Street Gardens, so we’d elected to walk despite the slight drizzle in the air.

Per Lord Edward’s suggestion, I wore a rose-printed morning dress with a high neckline—one that went all the way up to my chin—and a scalloped pelerine that did much to hide the shape of my figure.

Gage had taken one look at me when I appeared at the breakfast table and nearly choked on his bite of sausage.

“Taking Lord Edward seriously, are we?” he rasped after his coughing fit. “Or is there something else I should know about your desire to escape Riddell’s presence at the Inverleith Ball?”

I’d been able to successfully divert him from asking this sort of question the previous evening after Henry and Lord Edward departed, but I should have known my garments would invite comment. Fortunately, with our staff bustling in and out, I was able to defer the query again with a simple, “No.”

Though seated in Sir James’s drawing room, with Gage eyeing the man with thinly disguised disfavor, I wondered if perhaps I should have told him something. At least then he wouldn’t be picturing whatever it was he was imagining.

“Is your wife not in Edinburgh with you?” Gage inquired with a slight bite that Sir James didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care.

He leaned back, crossing one knee over the other as he draped his arm along the back of the camelback sofa. “No, no. She’s at our estate in Strontian. Prefers it there.”

I was not acquainted with Lady Riddell, but I did know that Strontian lay in the far northwest of Argyllshire, near the Sea of the Hebrides.

Having spent a winter at Philip’s castle in the northern Highlands along the part of the sea called the Minch, I knew just how cold Strontian must be in winter and how frigid the winds must blow.

As such, Lady Riddell was either a heartier soul than I’d imagined or the other compensations of living there—perhaps the absence of her husband—far outweighed the inconveniences of the climate.

“Now, how may I help you?” he asked, presenting himself as the ever-gracious host.

I turned to Gage, allowing him to do the talking despite his vexed demeanor, for the matter was delicate. The possibility of Sir James having been the intended target must be explored, but without revealing there was anything suspicious about the events at Picardy Place.

“It’s come to our attention that someone may be here in Edinburgh intending to do you harm.”

“Really?” Sir James’s eyebrows arched, though he looked only mildly interested. Perhaps this was a common occurrence for him—people wishing him harm.

“Someone who wants revenge for the ruthlessness used when you had those clachans cleared from your land.”

An annoyed pleat formed in his brow. “That was nearly five years ago. It seems rather silly to think they would be coming after me now. Not to mention highly unlikely any of them have made their way to Edinburgh.”

His failure to even attempt to refute the claims of brutality and otherwise callous disregard for the matter and the people impacted seemed to affect Gage much the same way it did me. At first stunning us into silence and then igniting our tempers.

“You don’t deny the charges, then?” Gage demanded.

“Of ruthlessness? Why would I? It was my land they were living on and doing very little of good with. It was more profitable being used by the sheep.” He held up his hands as if to ward off our growing anger, but his tone of weary indifference did nothing to help.

“I know some of my men got a trifle out of hand. That incident with the half-witted woman was unfortunate. But it was her own fault for refusing to leave when given ample warning.”

It was no more than I’d heard from any number of Scottish landowners.

Philip was forever bemoaning the brutal treatment some Scots had received at the hands of their fellow countrymen.

Lairds who should have cared more for their people than lining their own pockets.

Nevertheless, that didn’t make Sir James’s words any easier to endure.

“As I said, that was five years ago,” he drawled. “So what does it have to do with now?” He arched an eyebrow quizzically. “Unless this is because of the floor collapse in Picardy Place. Like the roof collapses.”

“The ones your men caused,” Gage pointed out.

I pressed a hand to Gage’s arm in warning, for there was a distinctive glint in Sir James’s eye that suggested he saw more than we wished him to.

His full lips pursed as he scrutinized us both. “I thought the floor collapse was deemed an accident.”

“It was,” Gage replied. “We merely wished to warn you of the rumors and ask if there’s anyone in particular you would be wary of.”

“No,” Sir James said, sounding unconvinced, though he didn’t press us further.

Much as I wished there was something else we could question the man about to draw him out, Jeffers hadn’t uncovered anything else distinctly untoward.

Not unless you counted Sir James’s penchant for taking lovers, but many gentlemen did so.

As such, we had no choice but to excuse ourselves, lest we give away the game.

Continuing this ruse was becoming a tremendous headache and a hindrance to our investigation.

Once back on the street, I could restrain myself no longer. “Deplorable! He expressed absolutely no remorse for his or his men’s actions. Blaming those people for not wanting to leave their home. A home their family had probably lived in for generations.”

Gage patted my hand where it rested against his arm. “I know, darling. I was no more impressed than you are.” His mouth flattened into a grim line. “But even though I dislike the fellow. Intensely . That doesn’t make him the intended target.”

He turned his head to look at me as we waited at a corner for a carriage to pass by.

“His arguments were valid. Five years is a long time to wait for revenge unless there’s another impetus, and we haven’t discovered one.

And while it’s not impossible that one of the people he ejected made his way to Edinburgh, it is unlikely. ”

With Gage’s assistance, I leapt over the puddle left between the cobblestones and the pavement as we crossed the street. “Then I suppose we’re back to Sullivan and Cranston.” I glanced toward the leafy bower of Queen Street Gardens across Heriot Row. “Unless it’s me.”

His pale blue eyes met mine.

“Unless I was the intended target.”

He clutched my arm tighter, as if doing so would ward off the possibility.

We were quiet for some time. I suppose each of us was lost in our thoughts. Though I rather wished he would distract me from mine. I turned to peer down the next cross street and happened to see a pair of men carrying a stack of planks. The sight of the building materials jogged my memory.

“What of the research you wanted to do on building laws?” I asked, reminding him of what he’d said in the carriage on our way home from the Inverleith Ball.

He’d seemed so keen on it being the key to solving the mystery.

But that had been before he’d returned home to hear what Anderley had learned about Mr. Sullivan.

I supposed that had diverted his interest.

“Perhaps you should ask Henry to look into it,” I said. “He’s rather good at those sorts of things.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Gage pronounced, gazing at me in approval. “I’ll pay him a call this afternoon.”