Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

"W HAT ?" N ATHAN ' S EYEbrOWS shot up.

"Sh!" Verity hissed. " Pretend , Nathan. As if you want me in your bed."

Well, that wouldn't be difficult, pressed against her this way. Nathan braced his forearm against the wall and half turned to shield her from the view of whoever was climbing the stairs. He lowered his head, bending toward her and setting his other hand on her waist. "Wonderful," he groused. "Now everyone will say I'm a lecher."

"More acceptable than everyone saying you're a thief."

Verity curled one hand around the back of his neck, and a frisson shot down his spine like a bolt of lightning. Heaven help me, she smells good. It wasn't the bold provocative fragrance he would have expected her to wear, but a light, elusive floral scent that was somehow even more stirring to his senses.

They were so close he could see each individual eyelash, the smooth texture of her skin, the curve of her lips. He had a mad urge to trace that curve with his finger. Her supple body was molded to him all the way down, and he had the embarrassed certainty that Verity could feel his body move in response to her. There was a little glimmer in her eyes that he knew was amusement.

To avoid her gaze, Nathan pressed his cheek to the side of her head. Her hair was soft, a few fine stray hairs tickling his nose. He slid his head down and found that her cheek was as soft and smooth as it looked. He stopped short of her shoulder so that he would appear to be nuzzling her neck. He resisted the temptation to actually press his lips to her skin.

The voices had been growing louder, but now they stopped abruptly. There was the distinct sound of a snicker and someone cleared his throat, followed by a low murmur of voices.

"Are they coming this way?" Nathan whispered.

"Hmm? Oh." Verity shifted so that she could see around his arm. "They're just standing there grinning."

He let out a little huff of exasperation. "How long are we going to have to keep this up?"

"I know it must be a trial to be this close to me," she told him tartly. "Perhaps I should end the scene by slapping you for making improper advances."

"I'd rather you not." Nathan managed not to add that the only trial was not acting on his impulses. Continuing the pretense but removing himself somewhat from danger, he straightened and cupped her face in his hands, gazing down at her. Her eyes were fascinating, somewhere between amber and whiskey and always alight, whether it was with amusement or anger or curiosity.

"Or maybe we should slip off the other direction and go into a bedroom," Verity suggested.

"Verity..." Nathan sighed. "They may have recognized you. Your reputation would be in tatters."

"No. Mrs. Billingham 's reputation would be in tatters." Her eyes sparkled. "Ah. There they go." An instant later, she added, "We're safe."

Nathan relaxed, realizing only now how taut his entire body had been. He moved away, tugging at his lapels as if he could pull himself back in order as long as his clothes were straight. "I'd hardly say we're safe."

"Of course you wouldn't." Verity seemed—as usual—irritated with him. She started away. "You needn't stay, you know."

"Ah, but then who would you have to play your wicked seducer?"

Verity made a show of rolling her eyes, but the corner of her mouth deepened into a dimple. And her dimple was lethal. She set off down the hall and Nathan fell into step beside her. "I suppose I must keep you in that case." She continued looking into rooms, then stopped at a doorway and peered more closely. "I think this is it."

"You must have the eyes of a cat if you can see anything in that darkness."

"Didn't you know? That's what I am." Verity cast him one of her sly sideways glances. Nathan had to admit that she did look a bit like a cat, golden-eyed and complacently mysterious, as if she knew things you could never possibly guess, but she would tolerate you anyway. She certainly moved as silently as a cat. He suspected her claws were equally sharp.

She picked up a candlestick from the hall table and led him into the room. It was a spacious chamber with a massive bed of black walnut, obviously inhabited by a man. Verity began the same sort of search she had downstairs, though here she added opening drawers and going through their contents, careful not to disturb them.

This time Nathan joined her without having to be asked, looking behind pictures and under the thick rug. He was not expert enough to riffle through the drawers without leaving any trace of a search, but he opened the doors of the large armoire to peer inside. One side was lined with widely spaced shelves holding hat boxes. In the other half, shirts hung from pegs.

There was something odd about the cabinet. Nathan frowned, studying it for a moment. Then it struck him that the floor of the side where clothes were hung was several inches higher than the floor of the shelved half. His mind went to the secret drawers and puzzle boxes where Annabeth's father had hidden things.

Nathan went down on one knee and ran his hand across the floor of the armoire. There was a joinder line near the back of the floor. Farther back, in the corner, he found a slight depression, and he pressed against it. Nothing happened. He tried pushing it to the side, and there was a faint click, and the front portion of the raised floor tilted up slightly.

Sliding his fingers under it, he pulled and the section opened easily. Beneath the floor lay a metal box. "Verity."

"What?" She must have heard the tone of barely repressed excitement in his voice, for she was at his side immediately. "Oooh. Clever lad."

Nathan was annoyed by the gratification he felt at her approval. He lifted the box from its hiding place. It was locked, but Verity made short work of the lock and opened the lid. Inside was a jumble of objects—folded pieces of paper, a monogrammed handkerchief, a pair of spectacles, and several bits of jewelry. Verity pounced on an emerald brooch, but Nathan was more intrigued by a silver disc, engraved with something that resembled a family crest, but which, on closer inspection, proved to be a graphic phallic symbol emerging from flames. Nathan hastily closed his fist over the token, his cheeks reddening, and cast a sideways glance at Verity.

She was watching him, a frown starting to form between her brows. "What's that? What are you hiding?"

Nathan sighed. Of course she had seen it. Indeed, it was probably his attempt to conceal it that had drawn her attention. "It's, um, well a sort of coin. A kind of badge, as it were. A token...though it's usually called a key because it gains one entrance."

"Entrance to what? Nathan, you're babbling," Verity said crisply. "And you're blushing. What is it?" She reached over, trying to pry his fingers apart, and, with another sigh, Nathan opened his fist. Verity plucked it from his hand and looked at it. The other side of the coin was facing upward. "Lord Arden's initials—did you notice that the monogram on the handkerchief was not his? But wha—"

She turned over the disc and sucked in a small breath, her eyebrows vaulting up. Her reaction gave Nathan some satisfaction. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had said, "Oh, that," and tossed it back. And, though the light was dim, he was almost sure that was a hint of red staining her cheeks.

"The Devil's Den. It's, um, a certain sort of club where men and women engage in certain—" Nathan began. Good Lord, how was he supposed to explain this to a lady—even one as lacking in delicacy as Verity?

"You mean it's like the old Hellfire Club? The Marquis de Sade? That sort of thing?"

Well, apparently not so difficult to explain, after all.

"And you know this place?" Verity stared at him. It was the first time he had ever seen shock on her face.

"No! I mean, not personally. I've never been there. I wouldn't—it isn't the sort of thing that I—I've simply heard of it. I wasn't even sure if it actually existed."

"Rumors around your gentlemen's club, then." No one could put as much scorn into the word "gentlemen" as Verity.

"Well...yes."

Verity frowned, rolling the coin back and forth between her fingers in a way he'd seen street entertainers do. "Are they willing? The women, I mean."

"Yes, of course. At least, I've never heard anyone say otherwise. Like-minded women. Or, um, women who are, uh..."

"Prostitutes?"

Nathan simply nodded.

"Just because a woman is paid for her services, it doesn't mean she wants to be hit for some man's pleasure." Verity's tone was bitter and she continued to hold the token, looking at it but not, Nathan thought, actually seeing it.

Nathan had never seen this expression on Verity's face before, either. He wasn't sure what it was—anger? Sorrow? Regret? Whatever it was, it was a deeper emotion than she usually showed. Obviously the conversation had touched a nerve somewhere, and he realized suddenly how very little he knew about this woman, even though they'd spent a fortnight or more around each other.

"Verity," he said softly, reaching out toward her.

Verity quickly swiped a hand under her eyes, then stood and tossed the token back in the box. "We have the brooch. It's time to go."

Obviously, whatever emotion had touched her, Verity wanted no sympathy for. Or, at least, none from him.

Nathan closed and relocked the box and returned it to its hiding place, sliding the wooden covering back where it was before. Just as he stood up, footsteps rang in the hallway. Good Lord. Did no one stay in the ballroom at this party? Though he couldn't exactly blame them—he himself had been thinking how very boring it was until Verity showed up and turned it into a whirlwind of intrigue.

Verity gestured at him and jumped into the wardrobe. Nathan followed, closing the door behind them.

"I have it here somewhere," a man said, entering the chamber. An indistinct murmur followed in reply. There was the sound of the man—Lord Arden, presumably—rattling around, opening and closing drawers.

It was cramped, hot and dark in the wardrobe. Nathan imagined Lord Arden opening the door and finding them hiding in the furniture. What could he possibly say to explain that away?

Nathan turned his head to look at Verity. The thin line of light between the doors fell across her face, lighting the dried track of a tear on her cheek. Sympathy stirred in him again, and he took her hand in his. This time she didn't pull away, but closed her fingers around his.

Arden apparently found the object of his search, for the other man laughed and thanked him, but the two men lingered, chatting about some bet. Finally they left the room, but Verity and Nathan remained where they were until the sound of the steps faded away entirely.

Then Verity eased open the door and they surveyed the room before leaving the wardrobe. They paused once more at the doorway, listening for a long moment before slipping out into the corridor. The hall was blessedly vacant, and they walked quickly toward the servants' staircase. It wasn't until they started down the narrow steps single file and Verity dropped his hand that Nathan realized that they had continued to hold hands ever since they left the armoire.

The staircase eventually opened up into a hallway and Verity stopped so abruptly at it that Nathan, lost in his own thoughts about what exactly the handholding had meant, almost ran into her. A large man, presumably a guard hired specifically for the party, had spotted them. There was no time for a thrown-together pretense. In the seconds it took for the man to turn his head as if to call to someone, Verity launched herself at him. Her raised knee caught him square in the solar plexus. Air whooshed out of the guard's lungs. He fell to his knees, and swiped at Verity's leg on his way down, but she easily sidestepped his clutches. In one smooth movement she slid behind his torso and locked her elbow around his neck, using her other hand to pull her binding arm tighter until the man's eyes got hazy.

"What are you doing?" Nathan hissed.

"Just knocking him out," Verity said, letting up pressure the second the guard's lids fluttered closed. His limp form slid down to the floor as she moved to listen at a doorway nearby. Seemingly satisfied by what she did, or didn't, hear, she peered inside.

"Here. Drag him into this closet." She waved Nathan over. "It'll give us enough time to escape before anyone knows something is amiss."

Nathan looked at the large man's form and back at Verity. Had it really only been an hour that she'd been back in his life? He'd already committed more sins than he cared to count. At this point what was one more?

"Fine." Nathan hooked his elbows under the arms of the guard and started dragging him over to the door. "How exactly do you propose we keep him in?" he asked after the guard's large frame had been folded away into the rather small space. "It's not as if we have the means to lock this door."

"We just need something to wedge it closed." Verity tapped her finger against her bottom lip in thought. Suddenly her golden eyes lit with a gleam and she pulled out her fan, jamming it under the door until the folds of the handle forced it to a stop.

"That's not going to hold him for long."

"We're not trying to trap him forever. Besides it'll likely take him a minute before he has his wits about him enough to realize he just needs to push the fan out to be able to open the door."

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.

T HE 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.