Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

D OUGLAS GAPED AT N ATHAN , then scowled and said flatly, "I don't have a brother."

"You are Malcolm Douglas, are you not? I am Nathan Dunbridge, George Dunbridge's son." Nathan felt a twinge of unease. Flora Douglas had sounded as though Malcolm knew about his parentage, but what if Nathan had just revealed a family secret?

However, Malcolm's next words reassured him that Malcolm was fully aware of the circumstances of his birth. His lip curled into a sneer. "Dunbridge. I might have known. Then it's you behind this."

Nathan sighed. Apparently every Douglas thought of his family as villains. "No, I am not the one who kidnapped you."

Verity moved forward pugnaciously, saying, "What is the matter with you people? Nathan is rescuing you, and in case you haven't noticed, with physical harm to himself." She gestured toward Nathan.

Douglas looked down at the small woman in some bemusement. "I...um..."

Verity crossed her arms and continued. "Now, would you like to be freed or stay here and nurse your stupid resentment of the Dunbridges?"

Douglas sighed and set down the bucket. "I, uh, apologize for my lack of courtesy. But I haven't the slightest notion what is going on, and I'm getting bloody well tired of it. Excuse my language, miss. I am very grateful for your rescue." He gave Nathan a pointed look. "But Flora Douglas is my mother, and I want nothing to do with George Dunbridge."

"Understood," Nathan replied equably and went over to examine the chain padlocked around one leg of the iron bedstead. "They certainly went to the extreme to keep you locked up."

Malcolm shrugged. "They chained me up after I tried to escape."

"One might think the bar on the door would have sufficed."

The other man shook his head. "They put that there after the second time I tried to escape, because I broke the lock. The third time, I knocked out the skinny one, but the short fellow was right outside the door with a gun, unfortunately."

"And the first time?" Verity asked, looking intrigued.

"That was when I woke up back at the beginning, right after they kidnapped me, and they knocked me on the head again. When I came to, they had bound and gagged me."

"Perhaps I like you after all," Verity said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Nathan squatted down beside the bed. "If both you and I lift the frame, Douglas, Verity can slip the chain from the bed. We can deal with the leg iron when we've gotten you to safety."

"No need to break your backs," Verity said cheerfully. The morning's events had obviously improved her spirits. She whisked two short metal rods from her upswept hair, and knelt, making short work of the lock on the leg iron. "Now, gentlemen, I suggest we leave before those two return."

"I wish they would," Douglas growled. "I'd like to get my hands on them."

"You wouldn't if they come back with guns," Verity told him. "Or comrades."

They walked quickly through the warehouse. Malcolm glanced at the smashed meat pie on the floor and said a little mournfully, "I suppose that was my breakfast."

"I beg your pardon," Verity said. "It was a casualty of the battle."

When they stepped outside, Malcolm pulled in a deep breath, looking all around, though he squinted and had to shade his eyes, unaccustomed to that much light. "How did you find me? Why were you looking for me?"

"We weren't at first. It wasn't until your parents told us you were missing that we began to search for you," Nathan replied.

"My parents?" Malcolm said in alarm. "I had hoped perhaps they might not know. Did they pay a ransom?"

"No. There was none asked."

"Then why—"

Nathan told him the whole story, beginning with the man arriving at Stonecliffe saying he was George Dunbridge's son. By the time Nathan reached the end of the tale, they had left the docks and found a hansom.

Malcolm looked from Verity to Nathan and back, a little more enlightened than he had been to start with. "But why? Why would he think he could escape notice? He couldn't have carried that off for years. My parents would have known it wasn't me. My uncle would have—" He turned toward Nathan. "Does Uncle Robert know about all this?"

"Not that I know of. Since we thought the imposter was you, we didn't want to discuss the blackmail with your uncle," Nathan explained. "Certainly your uncle said nothing about it to us. He put you not arriving down to a young man's desire not to be burdened with an uncle while he sowed his wild oats."

Douglas snorted. "I think I'm past the wild oats age."

"The imposter was the right height and had blond hair and blue eyes, but he wouldn't have been able to fool someone that knew you, even at a distance. He stayed well hidden and played a convincing Scotsman." Verity paused, then added, "Though now that I've met you, I have to say his accent was a bit too thick for someone raised as you were."

Malcolm looked at Verity, faintly puzzled. "And who are you now? Another Dunbridge?"

"No," Nathan said somewhat sourly.

Verity shot Nathan a repressive glance and replied, "I am a detective, and I am helping Nathan with his inquiries. Now to get back to the subject, this man obviously knew about at least some of the, um, circumstances of your birth. Who would know that?"

"No one." Malcolm shook his head. "It's certainly not common knowledge. It would be a terrible scandal. We are a very small family. I don't have any cousins, my sibling—well, Margaret—died when I was a baby, and Uncle Robert is my father's only brother. My parents' social circle is quite small, as well. They were always very private, especially after I was born."

"Obviously someone knew," Nathan pointed out.

"Most likely it came from the Dunbridge side."

"That's impossible. I'd never heard any of the story until this chap came along. And basically, I am the Dunbridge side. Our father is dead, and he didn't produce any children other than the two of us."

"I told you, I'm not a member of your family." Malcolm's scowl returned.

"That's clear. My family is actually pleasant," Nathan shot back.

Verity rolled her eyes. "That's more than enough of the fraternal squabbling. I want to ascertain who kidnapped you. You or your parents or a servant must have told someone ."

Douglas set his jaw stubbornly, but finally, as one tended to do under Verity's gaze, he went on, "I suppose it might have been that chap at the inn."

"What chap? What inn? The one where you were kidnapped?"

"Yes, the night before they knocked me over the head. I'm afraid I don't remember it all that well." His forehead knotted in thought.

"Getting hit on the head can affect your memory," Nathan said.

"Yes, and I do remember that we had a good bit to drink. He was an amiable fellow. He was blond and had light-colored eyes—I guess they were blue, as you said. About my age. We talked a great deal. He was very interested in Edinburgh and so on. I don't remember exactly what I said—we had more brandy than I am accustomed to drinking. I believe we talked about where I went to school and my parents and such." He sent Nathan and Verity a fierce look. "But I wouldn't have told him that . Not a casual stranger."

"Do you remember what his name was?" Verity asked.

"Um...Tidwell? No, that's not quite it. His first name was Will. Topper? Tolliver!" he exclaimed. "That's it."

"Of course, there's no assurance that was his real name," Verity added.

"Speaking of—" Nathan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the locket Flora had given him "—your mother didn't want to part with this, but did in the hopes that it would help us find you."

"Thanks." Malcolm looked at it a moment before tucking the locket away.

They arrived at Robert Douglas's house, and the servant who answered the door inspected them warily—not an unreasonable reaction, given the way the three of them appeared.

Nathan thought the man was about to send them on their way, but at that moment Malcolm's uncle came out of a nearby room. "Ridley, who—" He stopped and stared in astonishment.

"Hello, Uncle Robert."

Robert opened his mouth and closed it, then managed to say, "Malcolm? My heavens, lad, what happened to you? You look—" He floundered, apparently finding nothing adequate to express his nephew's condition.

"I was kidnapped before I got to London. These two found me and let me out," Malcolm summarized succinctly.

"I—I—don't know what to say. Goodness." Robert came forward. "Well...do come inside, Malcolm." He shook his nephew's hand, then Nathan's. "Thank you, Mr. Dunbridge, for returning our lad to the bosom of his family. And the lovely Mrs. Billingham." He nodded graciously at Verity, then returned to Malcolm. "I do hope that you will provide me with a somewhat more detailed story."

"Yes, of course. But I'd very much like to clean up first. And eat."

"Of course. I'll pour you a wee dram of whiskey, as well."

Malcolm turned to Verity and Nathan. "Thank you seems inadequate. But I am truly most grateful."

"Perhaps in a day or two, we could call on you. You might have remembered something about this Tolliver fellow to help us find him."

Malcolm frowned. "I don't want word of this getting out. The scandal would hurt my mother terribly."

"We won't say anything," Nathan replied. "I give you my word. I would prefer to avoid the scandal, as well."

"Thank you." Malcolm looked relieved. He paused, then said, looking a trifle abashed, "And I'm sorry for what I said, you know, about your family. It's just, well, I'll always be a Douglas."

A few minutes later, after they left the Douglas house, Verity said, "You don't seem to be destined for a warm relationship with your newfound brother."

"No, I fear you're right," Nathan replied. The lack of that possibility was too little to bother him with the weight of Verity leaving dragging him down. "I don't suppose I'll miss what I never had."

They rode back to Verity's house, silent most of the way. Nathan could think of nothing but the fact that with Malcolm back, their case really was over. Verity could leave now, her duty done. Nathan's stomach knotted at the prospect. He couldn't just let her go like this.

Verity was frowning as she looked out the window of the carriage, and Nathan wondered if she, too, was dreading the end of their time together. That hope was dashed when she said, "I hate that this Will Tolliver—if that's even his name—will get away with everything."

"So do I." Nathan hadn't been thinking about it, but he felt the same way. "Not to mention Shoemaker and Hill."

"Look at all the things they've done—attacked us, abducted Malcolm, tried to blackmail you—and we're going to let them just walk off?"

"I don't like it any better than you," Nathan said. "I'd like to go after them, too, but I don't see how we can charge them without bringing Malcolm and my father into it and setting off exactly the scandal we were trying to avoid."

"I know." Verity sighed. "Malcolm has suffered enough—though I must say, he was certainly ungracious to you, so I find it harder to care about his reputation. But I do care about yours."

Her words warmed Nathan. But there was that word again: care . He would like to think that she simply found it difficult to say the word love rather than believe she didn't feel it. Verity had learned in a hard school to keep her emotions buttoned up. But his doubts warred with that hope.

They reached her door, and she turned to him. Nathan thought of all the other times they had arrived here and he had entered as if he belonged. It hurt to stand here like a stranger and bid her good-bye. "I...um, well, I suppose you will be leaving soon now. Since we found Malcolm."

Verity nodded and looked away. Nathan might never see her again. He wanted to plead with her to stay, to tell her that he would go with her wherever she wanted, married or not. But if she didn't love him, he couldn't make her. He had to let her go.

He opened his mouth to say good-bye, but the words that came out were, "Lady Lockwood is expecting us at eight this evening. I'll be here to escort you fifteen minutes prior."

Before she could protest, he turned and strode off down the street. He expected her to come after him to argue or to call out a refusal after him, but she did not. He wasn't sure what that meant; he hoped it meant he had a chance. He was not going to lose Verity.