Page 7 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

Verity looked over Nathan with a critical eye. “Now straighten your cravat before we enter the ballroom. You look as if you’ve been ravishing someone or committing a crime of some sort.”

Nathan opened his mouth to tell her that, thanks to her, he had done something akin to both those things tonight. But before he could get the words out, there was a stirring in the closet. Verity gave him a pointed look and headed off to the ballroom.

THE POLITE CONVERSATION and blandness of the party was even more noticeable to Nathan after all they had done this evening. It seemed almost farcical how Verity tucked her hand into his arm, and they walked around the dancers, with her chattering about utter nonsense and nodding to this person and that. Surely she didn’t know all these people.

Then Verity turned to him and smiled in that way of hers that left Nathan wondering whether she was pleased or merely laughing at him. “I’m leaving.”

He felt oddly deflated. Just the aftermath of all the tension, he supposed. “I’ll escort you.”

She nodded. “That will make it more noticeable that we’ve been here all the time.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he replied drily.

Every man to whom Verity gave her bright smile as they passed beamed back, a little envy in their eyes as they glanced at Nathan. He couldn’t help feeling a bit of satisfaction at the envious glances—and even more pleased, somehow, that he knew Verity was thinking nothing of the men, except for how their eyes lent her an alibi. Once outside the ballroom, she dropped her hand from his arm and quickened her pace. She went to the cloak room to retrieve a filmy evening wrap that was completely useless to ward off any evening chill, but had the effect of drawing one’s eye even more to the décolletage of her gown.

She glanced at Nathan in surprise as he accompanied her past the footman and out the front door. “You’re not going back in to your friends?”

None of the people inside were really friends, just people one saw at parties. But all he said was, “I’ll walk you home.”

Her smile this time was softer, more real—or perhaps that was just because it was too dark to see well. “That’s kind of you,” she said as a town carriage pulled up in front of the house. “But I have my carriage.”

And before he could speak she was down the steps and climbing up into the carriage. She looked back at him through the window and gave a small wave as the vehicle took off. Nathan stood for a moment, watching it disappear.

Everything seemed deadly dull again. There was clearly nothing else that could compare to the excitement of an evening with Verity. Nathan had no interest in going back inside. He might as well go home. He wondered if Verity meant to continue her role as Mrs. Billingham. Would she go to other parties? For a moment, he thought about remaining in London for a while instead of going back to the manor.

But, no, Lady Drewsbury and Noelle were having a party at Stonecliffe for Lady Lockwood’s birthday in two days. He had to be there for that. And there was no real reason to stay here.

Nathan turned and walked away.

CHAPTER THREE

VERITY SETTLED BACK against the cushions of her carriage. It was a small town coach, seating only two, and quite ordinary on the outside, but inside it was plush, with thick cushions covered in darkest red Moroccan leather. Verity had learned that in her line of work, it didn’t do to stand out. But she could enjoy comfort and beauty where it wasn’t obvious—and she had frankly delighted in her disguise as Mrs. Billingham, wearing the vibrant frocks she usually had to eschew.

She smiled to herself. Mrs. Billingham was enjoyable, but never so much so as tonight. She hadn’t seen Nathan Dunbridge in at least seven or eight months. Annabeth had said once that he was visiting someone in Italy. Nursing a broken heart over Annabeth was more like it.

Verity hoped he was over that now; he deserved something better than unrequited love. Verity had forgotten how handsome Nathan was—slender and tall, with that tousled, wavy brown hair and those hazel eyes. Or were they green? Verity had always had trouble telling which they were. They seemed to change with his mood.

Nathan was remarkably fun to tease, and now that he was no longer mooning about after Annabeth, he wasn’t so annoying. Granted, he was an aristocrat and therefore not someone Verity could fully trust, but still...he was terribly easy to like.

He’d even proved to be handy for providing an excuse for her presence upstairs. It was unexpectedly unnerving to pretend a seduction with Nathan. He’d been warm and enveloping, the scent of him enticing, and really, he had a very kissable mouth. When he had whispered to Verity, his lips hovering only inches from her neck, it had sent a thrill through her. She could only hope he didn’t notice.

She had thought he might actually kiss her, but Nathan was too much the gentleman to take advantage. It was somewhat concerning that she wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or disappointed by that fact. For that reason Verity hadn’t suggested she give him a ride home—she wasn’t about to make the mistake of getting caught up in her own charade of seduction.

It had been too happy an evening to risk that. Nathan had broken the dullness of the ball, and there had been the thrill of the hunt, the gratification of discovering the brooch. There had been that one moment when her mask slipped as she’d looked at the club insignia coin, but it had been very brief, not enough to spoil things. And surprisingly Nathan’s hand on hers had been soothing.

It didn’t take long to reach her home, a narrow terraced house, attractive but indistinguishable from the others in the row. It was a lucky break that it was in a fashionable enough area for Mrs. Billingham, but Verity had bought it solely for her own enjoyment. Like her carriage, the inside was of higher quality than the outer shell, tastefully though somewhat sparsely furnished—too much clutter simply got in the way in an emergency. And Verity always allowed for emergencies.

The house was silent and empty. No servants lived here; even Mrs. Masters, her housekeeper, arrived in the morning and left at night. There was only one maid, Mrs. Masters’s daughter. Verity had no need for a personal maid—she rarely bought anything that did not fasten in the front, and the fewer eyes in the house the better. And it was one less person she had to protect.

Verity had no expectation of danger, really; it had been several months now since anyone had tried to kill her. But old habits lingered. She’d stayed alive throughout the war by exercising caution, and she saw little reason to stop. For the same reason she followed her nightly routine, picking up the small lamp she’d left burning low and walking through the house to check all doors and windows and places where someone might lurk unseen.

Upstairs in her room, she took down her hair and undressed, changing into a silky soft nightgown. Her outer clothes were normally plain and practical, but like her undergarments, her nightclothes were of the finest quality and designed for beauty. It was another one of her secret treasures.

She took the brooch she had removed from Arden’s house and slipped it into a shallow drawer of her dresser, locking it afterward. Her lips curved up as she thought again of the evening. And Nathan. If she continued her charade a bit longer, she might run into him at another party. Mrs. Billingham was a handy disguise to use for her clients. Of course, it wouldn’t do to keep it up too long. Mrs. Billingham would have to disappear—go off to Bath or Brighton or, better yet, the Continent. But another few days shouldn’t hurt.

Not, of course, that she would do that in order to run into Nathan again. She was still looking for another client’s stolen silverware—Verity was growing more and more sure that it was the woman’s granddaughter who had taken it, but in that sort of situation one had to be absolutely sure.

But having a chance to tease Nathan and perhaps manage a dance with him certainly added to the appeal. She had realized tonight how nice it was to have someone for whom she didn’t have to put up an act.