Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

V ERITY 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.

V ERITY ' S CHEERFUL MOOD continued the next morning as she went to work. Last night had been a success, made all the more enjoyable by the opportunity to banter with Nathan. Verity was always buoyed by giving a client a positive report, and she especially looked forward to returning Lady Bankwater's brooch to her. Verity liked Lady Bankwater, and the woman had been most agitated about her missing jewelry. Besides, Verity had taken a strong dislike to Lord Arden, and sneaking something away from him right under his nose added an extra fillip.

As was her usual practice, Verity disembarked from her carriage a street or two away from her detective agency and walked the rest of the way. Another old habit, she supposed; it was easier on foot to spot anyone following her or watching her from a building.

A discreet brass plaque beside the front door of her building read Cole she tried not to indulge in it too often. But she felt too good today to dampen her mood. Instead she returned to her office.

She thought about Lady Bankwater's words during the afternoon. Verity now saw Lord Arden as he was—a blackmailer. One who took pleasure in his victim's pain.

Verity wondered about the other things she and Nathan had seen in that hidden box. Perhaps they were all things Arden used to coerce money out of people. She wished she'd read the notes at the bottom of the box. Who else might he be targeting?

It wouldn't hurt to go to the gala Lady Bankwater had mentioned and see whom Arden talked to and how they responded. Besides, Lady Bankwater would be there and she might be glad of some protection from him.

The gala would be large. Perhaps Verity would see Nathan again. The thought made her smile a little. Not that she was going because Nathan might be there. She would be there because she liked Lady Bankwater—and despised men like Lord Arden.

Verity thought of what she might wear tonight. Since Mrs. Billingham had been in mourning for a year, she could wear her new peacock-blue dress. And perhaps a different hairstyle. It rankled that Nathan had first known her in her dowdiest state, in costume as a mousy lady's maid. Though, she had to admit, imagining his expression as he took in her new frock was further inducement. Verity wanted to look her best around Nathan, and the idea that she even cared what he thought stunned her.

M RS . B ILLIN GHAM HAD not received an invitation to the gala, but it was easy to get in, as she had thought it would be. There was a crush of guests and no checking of invitations. There wasn't even a need to find someone to chat with and slip in as one of her party, as she had done when she first set out as Mrs. Billingham.

Casually Verity strolled about, unobtrusively searching the area. It was second nature to note the doors and avenues of escape, even as she smiled and nodded at some admirers—but she was more interested in finding her quarry. She soon spotted Lady Bankwater chatting with several people, one of whom was clearly her husband. He was a short, balding and bespectacled man—no one could ever have mistaken him for handsome—but the way he beamed at his wife when she laughed made Verity extremely glad she had been able to help Lady Bankwater. A poor decision made in the heat of the moment should not cast a pall on one for the rest of one's days. A little while later, Verity caught sight of Lord Arden. His eyes were also fixed on Lady Bankwater, though there was none of the same warmth the woman's husband had in Arden's expression.

After more than an hour there had still been no sign of Nathan Dunbridge. It seemed unlikely he was attending after all. Verity sighed, the evening suddenly feeling flat. Her beautiful blue dress now felt uncomfortable and she wished she could go home and change into her night clothes. However, she had come here to make sure Lady Bankwater was safe, and while Verity had been gazing into the distance wondering about Nathan, Arden had cornered his prey. They were talking furtively, somewhat hidden by a potted plant. Lady Bankwater's face was pale, and she clutched her fan as if it were a lifeline.

Verity started in their direction, but before she could reach them, Lady Bankwater abruptly left. Arden turned. His gaze stopped at Verity. His eyes were flat, his face expressionless. Verity wondered what Lady Bankwater had said to him. Did he suspect Verity?

She felt a little rush of excitement. Verity hoped he would come after her; it would be a pleasure to put his arrogant arse on the pavement. He approached but kept his eyes averted. Verity was unsure if he was actually seeking her out or if she was merely in his path.

But as he passed by, he uttered in a harsh tone, "I'm not someone to be trifled with."

He strode away before she could respond. Verity picked up her skirts to follow him.

"Oh, Mrs. Billingham," a voice trilled behind her, and Verity turned, smiling a greeting.

The woman began to chat away as Verity wracked her brain to remember the woman's name. Verity was good with names usually and she'd met the woman only last night at Lady Arden's ball, but that had been right before Nathan was "introduced" to her, and the surprise had driven the woman's name right out of her head.

"You must come call on me one day," the woman was saying now.

"How very kind of you." Cathcart, that was the name. Verity's gaze went past the woman's shoulder. A tall man with cropped dark hair stood in the doorway, surveying the crowd with disdain.

Verity froze, unable to speak or even to think. It was him .

"Dear? Are you all right? You have gone quite pale," Mrs. Cathcart said anxiously.

No, it couldn't be him. He was dead.

Mrs. Cathcart turned to see what had so riveted Verity. "Ah, I see. Jonathan Stanhope. He's a very eligible young man. However, he lives at his country estate mostly. Well, ever since that tragedy with his father."

Of course it wasn't him. It was his son . It was just that he looked so much like his father now—that coldly handsome face, that haughty stance.

"Do you know him?"

"No," Verity managed to get out. She was acting like a terrified little girl. She had to pull herself together. "I just—suddenly I felt a trifle faint." She whipped open her fan and began to ply it. "I should sit down a moment."

Mrs. Cathcart took her arm, guiding her over to the nearest seat. She bent over Verity solicitously, suggesting smelling salts and a glass of wine. Verity just wanted the woman to leave her alone. But at least her incessant hovering blocked Verity from Stanhope's view.

She stole a look around Mrs. Cathcart's skirts. He was no longer by the door. Where was he now? Verity knew she had to get out of there. The only question was in which direction.

Verity took the other woman's hand and smiled at her. "You are so kind. But I am keeping you from the party. It's best if I just go home now."

After she managed to get rid of Mrs. Cathcart, she took an encompassing look around the room. Fortunately Stanhope was tall enough that she could see his head above most of the others. His back was to her, so she hurried out the door farthest from him. She didn't bother to retrieve her light evening wrap, but went down the stairs as quickly as she could without looking as if she was fleeing.

It wasn't until she was in her carriage that she felt safe. She took a steadying breath and leaned back, willing away her nerves. That initial bolt of fear had been natural and, of course, she'd remained shaken even after she'd realized her first impression was a mistake. But she wasn't the girl she'd been all those years ago. She wasn't about to run scared. Why, just a few minutes earlier she had been anticipating a confrontation with Arden with relish. She must regard the situation calmly, rationally, as she usually did.

She wondered if Stanhope had seen her. For a moment Verity would have been as visible to him as he had been to her. But even if he had noticed her, he might not have recognized her. Supposing Stanhope had though, she still didn't know what he would do. Was he like his father? Would he come seeking revenge? No, of course he would not. She was being foolish. He thought she was dead.

They all think I'm dead.