Page 27 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“She’s not my—oh, the devil with it.” Sloane stopped and turned to her. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?”

“Because I didn’t want to upset you!” Verity snapped. “I knew it would bring up all the old memories and the pain.” She folded her arms and glared at him. “Although the way you’re acting, I don’t know why I bothered to try to protect you.”

“Neither do I,” he shot back. “That’s not your style.”

Her eyes widened, and she stalked past him, waving her hand to a hackney that had turned the corner.

Sloane blew out a breath. “Wait.” He caught up with Verity. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I was just striking out, and you were the nearest person. I didn’t mean it. You’re the only one in the network with a heart.”

Verity made a face. “Don’t spread that news around. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

He smiled faintly. Despite the bit of annoyance in her voice, he knew she had forgiven his insult. “I’m not mad at you, really. It’s Asquith I’d like to strangle. What the hell is he up to? And why drag Annabeth into it? She never knew about any of it. Not me. Not her father. Nothing.”

“I know. But this doesn’t have anything to do with Annabeth, really; it’s about her father.”

“Naturally.”

“Asquith wants some paper that belonged to Hunter. Truly, I haven’t been trying to get information out of Annabeth or spy on her. I’ve just been searching.”

“For what? What could matter after all these years?”

“I’ll let him explain it to you. It all sounds a trifle vague to me.”

The hackney cab she had hailed rolled to a stop beside them, and Sloane gave him the address of Asquith’s office. Verity turned in surprise. “We can’t go there. I’ll send him a message, and he’ll meet us at the pub he and I have been using.”

Sloane gave her a firm boost into the coach. “Not today. I’m not waiting like a faithful dog for him to show up when he pleases. We’re bearding the lion in his den.”

Verity shrugged and sat down. Sloane climbed in beside her, and the vehicle rolled away. He was silent for a moment, then said, “I’m surprised you agreed to work for him. As I recall, you two didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“No, not unless you consider me threatening to slice his throat polite conversation.”

Sloane smiled faintly. “So why did you take the job? For that matter, why did he ask you?”

“He didn’t. He hired someone else—Richard Forester, and Richard is the one who offered me the job. Forester’s not a bad detective, but he knew he couldn’t do it as easily as I. Frankly, I think he was intimidated by investigating the aristocracy. And everyone knows I’m the best at disguises.”

“That’s true. I almost didn’t recognize you with that color hair.”

“The main thing in being a servant is being unnoticeable—drab clothes, ordinary hair, not looking them in the eye.” She pulled a strand of her hair in front of her face to study it. “It’ll wash out. Eventually.” She sighed and dropped the lock. “I must say, you could have waited and let me clean up a bit. I look like a wreck.”

“You look fine,” Sloane said in an offhand way.

Verity snorted. “I have dirt all over my dress, one sleeve is nearly torn off, I have blood on my arm, and my hair is unpinned and looks like the rats have been in it.” She eyed him critically. “Not that you look much better. Where have you been, wrestling in the mud?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Trying to find Annabeth. Who kidnapped the two of you?”

She glanced at him in surprise. “I thought it was this Parker chap who ordered it, the one you warned Annabeth about.”

“That’s what I thought until I questioned him today. He denied it, and you know how persuasive I can be.”

“That’s one word for it.” Verity arched an eyebrow.

“I believed him. Now that I know Asquith’s involved, I think it might be about something else entirely.”

“Spider didn’t say anything about anyone else being after it.” Verity used the old code name Asquith had gone by in the network. Sloane understood; it was hard to think of Harold Asquith in any other context than the dark, secretive web he’d spun. “And why would he kidnap Annabeth when he knew I was with her and searching for that paper? He certainly wouldn’t have kidnapped me, too.”

“Searching for what paper?” Sloane asked.

“It’s a confession Hunter Winfield may or may not have written. It could be in a letter or just a piece of paper, which could be hidden anywhere.”