Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A FTER J ANET SHOWED Nathan to his bedchamber and he again reassured the woman that Verity would manage not to reveal her help, he went outside. There was a stone bench that looked out over the loch, and he sat there waiting for Verity.

When Verity emerged from the house, he stood up and went to meet her halfway. "I trust Mrs. McCready is still in good health."

Verity smiled and patted his cheek. "I didn't harm a hair on the woman's head. I'm not entirely a barbarian, you know."

"Mmm. Only half of one?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"Nonsense. No more than a third, I'm sure." Verity was clearly pleased at Nathan's hearty chuckle and gave him an answering smile before continuing. "Anyway, I didn't need to resort to anything so crude as violence. I simply pointed out how very distressing it would be to Mrs. McCready and her brother if the British Foreign Office came to investigate their aid to the French."

Nathan choked. "Their what?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I had to have some reason for already knowing what Janet told us. So I told her we already knew about the suspicious circumstances of the Douglases residing here."

"You do know that Malcolm was born before the war with Bonaparte."

"Oh, the Scots are always conspiring against England." Verity waved away that problem. "And England is always at war with France."

"Actually," Nathan said in a musing tone, "I suppose we were at war. His birth would have been during that first little spat with the colonies."

"You see? So I went on to say that we had hoped that she might provide us information that would clear up the reason she was housing known Anglophobes like Flora Douglas, and I was going to give her another chance to tell her side of the story."

"As always, I bow to your wisdom," Nathan said, offering his arm. "Now why don't we take a stroll along the loch and you can tell me what you learned. I think it's better to discuss it away from all the ears in the house."

Verity linked her arm with his. "You are wise, as well. Unfortunately, Mrs. McCready had little to tell that we didn't already know. Margaret and her mother came here to conceal the birth of Margaret's illegitimate child. She didn't know the exact circumstances, such as who the father was. All she cared about was that she was getting several months of paying guests in return for not asking or answering any questions about the whole thing." She paused for a moment, then said, "I did learn one piece of new information, though."

The tone of her voice made Nathan stop and turn to look at her. "Good information?"

Verity nodded. "Well, not good for Margaret, but definitely good for you. Apparently Margaret died only a few months later. Mrs. McCready didn't know the details, unfortunately, but she was positive it wasn't longer than a year after the birth."

Nathan let out a long breath. "Then my parents' marriage was legal. I'm very glad to learn my father didn't deceive Mother like that."

"It also means your birth is legitimate. And since we now know that Malcolm was born before George Dunbridge married his mother, he is not legitimate and therefore has no claim to your estate."

"None?"

"Remember the day you spoke to Robert Douglas at his club? I went to talk to an attorney."

"Yes, I remember. We never talked about it, did we?"

"No. Your discovery of Gairmore was far more interesting. The lawyer told me that if the parents marry after the child is born, the child can share in the personal property but not the real estate. And since the thing you have of value is the real estate, he would get nothing."

Nathan frowned. "That seems rather unfair. I mean, he's older and my father did do the right thing and marry her, even if it was a bit late."

Verity chuckled. "Only you would feel sorry for the man who is trying to steal your estate from you."

"Well, he is my brother, despite all that." They began to walk again. "I can't help but think how different my life would have been if I'd grown up with a brother."

"I think with a brother like him, it would not have been an improvement."

He glanced at her and smiled faintly. "You're probably right."

"I, um, I suppose our case is over now," Verity said.

"I suppose." A fist clenched in Nathan's chest at the thought of not being with Verity all the time, of leading separate lives. It didn't mean he would lose her, but... Anyway, there were things that needed to be done, loose ends to tie up—surely there were. He cleared his throat. "But first I think...I think that we should go to Edinburgh and talk to the Douglases."

"Why?" Verity stared at him, and Nathan had a swift pang of doubt— does she not feel the same desire to stay together that I do?

"Well, um, to talk to Malcolm's parents—or, really, his grandparents." He warmed to this idea. It made sense, really, when one thought about it. It wasn't simply an excuse to extend his time with Verity. "It's possible Malcolm has returned to Edinburgh, given that we haven't been able to locate him. He might have realized that his charade was destined to fail and went home to lick his wounds. Surely, if we can speak to him, he will see that the proof we have would make a shambles of his claim."

"Whether he is there or not, I'd like to discover if his parents are privy to his scheme," Verity added. "If they are, we can show them what folly it would be to continue the plan. To thwart Malcolm's blackmail, we would be forced to expose his family's own lies, and that would plunge not only him but his grandparents as well into a terrible scandal."

"Exactly." Nathan nodded. "If they aren't aware of what he's doing, it would seem to me that they have a right to know that he is about to destroy their reputations. I'm sure they would do their best to dissuade him. I would much prefer to settle all this quickly and quietly. Even though Malcolm cannot succeed, it would cause my mother a good deal of heartache to find out about my father's secrets. It would damage my father's reputation— I find it rather unsavory that he didn't acknowledge his son, that he let someone else raise him. I can imagine how the rest of the ton will seize on that. I'd hate for Mother to have to face the gossip."

"You would have to face it, as well."

"I don't care about that, really. I've realized the past few weeks that the ton isn't all that interesting to me. Still, I think it's worth trying to avert a scandal that can only hurt both the families."

"You're right." Verity nodded. "It doesn't seem likely that Flora has any part in Malcolm's plans. Given all the trouble she went to in order to hide the facts of his birth, I doubt very much that she would want it spread about now. She is probably the best person to control Malcolm. She certainly sounds like she dominated Margaret."

"Yes. Good. Then we'll leave for Edinburgh first thing tomorrow." Nathan stopped and turned to Verity, taking both her hands in his, and smiled down at her. "I don't care for our sleeping arrangements here."

Verity linked her arms around his neck, her golden eyes glinting up at him in that way that never failed to stir him. "Ah, but you have to remember—sneaking into forbidden places is what I do."

She stretched up to kiss him.

V ERITY GLANCED OVER at Nathan as their carriage made its way through the streets of Edinburgh. It hadn't been hard to learn where John and Flora Douglas lived. They appeared to be a prominent family.

Verity and Nathan had dawdled a little on their way to the city. The last three days had been bittersweet, for every touch, every kiss, every shared smile or laugh had been countered by the knowledge that they would soon return to London, to the lives they had established long before they met each other.

She knew Nathan would still come to her even after they returned to London; there had been no slackening in their passion. But it would not be the same. Nathan's calling on her, even spending the night in her bed, would not match the time they had spent in each other's company, the moments, both mundane and monumental, that they shared.

Was this love?

Was love wanting to be with him all the time and missing him when he wasn't there? Was it this desire to have him in her bed, to see him last thing at night and first thing in the morning? Was it the way her heart lifted when he came into the room?

Verity wasn't the kind of woman who fell in love. She was free and independent—accountable to no one, responsible for no one. Needing no one. But at the moment all she could think was I cannot bear to lose him .

And there was the small matter of Jonathan Stanhope and the Bow Street Runner. Verity had managed to be busy enough with Nathan and the case to not give it too much thought, but she knew that snare was also awaiting her in London, at home. Home had just recently started to feel like a safe concept to Verity and now here she was, back to feeling as though laying down roots would invariably mean being entangled by them.

More than once during the trip, she had been tempted to tell Nathan about Stanhope. She wanted his advice—Nathan knew more about those in the ton and perhaps he'd have some way out of the mess she hadn't thought of. But more than that, she had simply wanted to share her thoughts and feelings with him, to wrap herself in his warmth and ground herself in his steadiness. She wanted to believe it wouldn't be too selfish of her.

They seemed to be nearing the end of Nathan's problem, so her concerns would not be adding so much to his burden. And she no longer balked at the idea of him witnessing her fear or weakness. Still, the possibility that Nathan might confront Stanhope frightened her. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Nathan because of her.

How did I let myself get caught up like this?

But Nathan wasn't impulsive; he would listen to reason. And perhaps it was time to just trust him with the knowledge without parsing it over herself first. After all, she had already trusted him with her heart.

"Nathan..." Verity began. "There's someth—"

"This must be it," Nathan said at the same time, gazing out the window. The carriage had rolled to a stop in front of a large, elegant house. "Why would Malcolm have wanted the Dunbridge estate?" Nathan murmured.

"I don't know. Another puzzle. Hopefully we'll find out."

He turned to her. "Sorry I interrupted you. What were you about to say?"

"Oh. It was nothing," Verity replied, smiling at him. This was no time to bring it up. This was the second time she'd been stopped from saying it. Maybe it was a sign it was better left alone.

They went up the few steps to the front stoop. The butler who answered the door at their knock told them Mrs. Douglas was unavailable, but when Nathan told him his name, the butler's eyes widened slightly and he said, "I'll see if Mrs. Douglas will receive you."

The man went into the first room in the hall and they heard him say, "There is a Mr. Dunbridge who wishes to speak to you, ma'am."

"What?" A feminine voice rose in a shriek, and an instant later a woman charged out of the drawing room. She was silver-haired and straight-backed, and her attire was fashionable and expensive, if somewhat staid. Verity thought she would have appeared regal if it had not been for the wild look in her eyes and the way she twisted a handkerchief in her hands, as if to tear it asunder. "Dunbridge! How dare you!"

She strode straight toward Nathan, her eyes flashing, her face twisted in hate. Verity had to admire Nathan's courage for not stepping back. She had visions of having to wrestle the old lady to the ground, but the woman pulled up abruptly. "It was you , wasn't it? You took Malcolm!"

Nathan's brows soared up. "I beg your pardon? Malcolm? What are—"

The woman plowed on, ignoring him. "If you hurt him...if you so much as touch one hair on his head, I will kill you."

"Mrs. Douglas," Verity said crisply, moving forward to draw the other woman's gaze to her. "You must calm yourself."

"Calm myself? Calm myself?" Mrs. Douglas repeated, her voice rising with hysteria. "When you have kidnapped my son?" Her words left both Verity and Nathan gaping at her, and she went on, her voice frantic and high, stumbling over her words. "Give him back to me. I swear—let him go. I'll see you hang for this."

"Stop!" An older man emerged from the drawing room and walked toward them, leaning on a cane. "Flora, you must not disturb yourself this way."

The woman whirled. "John...they have Malcolm." Her voice broke and she went to the man, whom Verity assumed to be her husband.

"Shh," he said gently, taking her hand. "Dinnae fash yourself. We must remain calm. They want to negotiate or they wouldn't be here." He looked toward Nathan, and his voice turned hard and cold. "What do you want? How much will it cost?"

"I assure you we did not kidnap your son," Verity said sharply.

"Mrs. Douglas, Mr. Douglas," Nathan said in a soothing tone. "Please believe me when I say that I have no desire to disturb you. Why do you think Malcolm has been kidnapped?"

"Because his valet told us," John Dunbridge snapped. "He saw Malcolm abducted on the way to London."

"Then you should question his valet again," Verity retorted. "Because we saw Malcolm in London—when he came to Nathan to tell him that he was the son of your daughter Margaret and George Dunbridge."

"Malcolm would never have said that," Flora protested. "He despises your father. I am his mother, and he would never—" She broke off, tears again spilling out of her eyes, and looked over at a portrait on the wall. "Malcolm is the most loyal of men."

Verity's gaze followed the other woman's to a large painting of a young man dressed in a tartan. His hair was a reddish blond, and his features were attractive, though his jaw was set in a stern, even defiant, look akin to the expression on Flora Douglas's face. Verity's insides turned cold. "Is that—"

"Malcolm. My son." Mrs. Douglas's voice rang with pride.

Nathan stared at the portrait with the same dumbfounded expression Verity felt on her own face. "My God. That's not—"

He and Verity looked at each other. She nodded. "He was an imposter."