Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

V ERITY ' S COMMENTS ABOUT trust had stirred such feelings in Nathan that even after he was home for the evening and enjoying a brandy, he couldn't seem to fully pull his mind away from their conversation. He had thought he'd put that whole issue with Carlisle to rest. But had he really? Ignored it, perhaps, but he'd never acknowledged what had happened. Talking to Verity about it made Nathan wonder—had he done his relationship with Carlisle a disservice by not speaking with him about it? It had felt like the polite thing to do at the time; the easy thing, the gentlemanly thing. Verity may have had issues with gentlemen that Nathan still didn't fully understand, but he was beginning to think there was some validity to the way she saw things. Perhaps polite and easy wasn't always best.

What am I thinking? He pulled himself up short. There was nothing to be gained from telling Carlisle how he had felt. It was over and done with, and bringing it up again would just be uncomfortable for both of them. It was a little frightening the way Verity crept into Nathan's mind and made his thoughts branch off in directions they had never gone before. Her effect on him was confounding—and who she was as a person was even more so.

Nathan had no understanding of Verity; she fit into no neat category. She was always verbally poking at him, and he was usually clueless about whether she was teasing or serious. She had an unerring ability to get under his skin, and yet he enjoyed her company. She was bold and outspoken, but somehow wrapped in secrecy.

Worse, Nathan had no understanding of himself when he was with her. He would have said he was a fairly sophisticated man, someone who talked smoothly; there were women who even said he was charming. Yet with Verity he immediately became a bumbling, incoherent fool—blushing like a schoolboy and falling into every verbal trap she laid.

He wasn't the sort of man to run about stealing jewels. He had told himself he had joined her in order to keep her out of trouble. But that would be an impossible task, and anyway, Verity could protect herself—probably better than he could. Nathan knew, deep down, that he had wanted to be part of her adventure, that as uneasy as he'd been during the whole process, he had also found it exciting.

Formerly Nathan would have said that Verity was the last person he would turn to for help, yet he had run back to London to involve her in his problem. He could have hired a Bow Street Runner, but instead he had chosen this unorthodox woman who thought he was naive and foolish.

Of course, she would think that of him. Verity was a woman accustomed to men who were privateers and spies, daring men who risked their lives on a daily basis, not caring whether they operated within or outside the law. She would scarcely be impressed with a man whose skills were dancing, good manners, and affability. Even Nathan's love for Annabeth had been a slow and patient thing.

Verity was no more the sort of woman for him than he was her sort of man. But somehow he couldn't stop thinking about her. Those golden-brown eyes. That thick auburn hair. He kept remembering those moments in the Ardens' corridor when he had been so tantalizingly close to her and wondering what it would have been like if his lips had actually touched her skin, if he'd kissed her neck and worked his way up to her mouth. Would she have kissed him back? And if she had, would she have been Verity, or some character that suited her purpose?

Verity could play dozens of roles—how did one know the real her? Was there a real her? Perhaps there was no essential Verity, just a compilation of pretenses. Nathan didn't know if it was wishful thinking, but he thought that he had seen the real her several times. When they were alone together there was an ease, a calm, a comfortableness. It had not felt as if she was trying to do or be anything but what she was. It had felt as if they were old friends...but also somehow more. Like they had met in many lifetimes in the past. Drawn together again and again. A silly, impossible thought that never would have entered Nathan's mind if he hadn't been spending so much time with Verity.

It would be wise not to go with her on the search tomorrow. Give himself a chance to recover from this momentary madness, to return to his usual equilibrium. But once again he could not force himself to be wise.

T HE FOLLOWING DAY he was on her doorstep at ten o'clock. And just as it had the day before, his pulse sped up at the sight of Verity. And thundered even more when they sat down together in the close confines of her town carriage.

"I still don't understand why your father and Margaret Douglas married in London," Verity said as the carriage made its way through the traffic of London. "Couples usually elope from England to Scotland, not the other way around." Verity paused. "But that is assuming that Malcolm's story is true and there is a record of their marriage at Saint Agatha's. If he is lying, then why did he choose that church?"

"You're right. Father could have brought Margaret home and had the wedding at the manor. Or chosen any church in the country—one in Newcastle or York or some obscure village. A place where it would be more trouble for us to check the records." Nathan was intrigued by the puzzle for a moment before his spirits fell. "But that makes it more likely his story is true, doesn't it? Knowing how easy it would be for us to check."

"Perhaps." Verity shrugged. "I still don't trust him."

"What if he isn't lying? I don't know if I could face Mother."

"In that case I suppose I'll simply have to make him disappear," Verity responded lightly.

"Verity!" Nathan gaped at her.

"Well, I can't let him turn you out of your home, can I?"

"What is wrong with you? You can't go about killing people willy-nilly."

"It wouldn't be willy-nilly. It would be quite specific. But I wouldn't have to kill the man. I can ‘persuade' him to go away." Her mouth curved up in a wicked smile, and her hand slipped under her long sleeve, showing the hilt of the knife in a sheath strapped to her arm.

"Verity!" Nathan's voice rose in alarm. "No. No persuading, either."

"Very well." She heaved a sigh. "You take all the fun out of things." Her eyes twinkled merrily.

"You were joking!" Hopefully. "Good Gad, Verity. You realize, I presume, that you are absolutely mad."

"I thought you were in need of cheering up."

"So of course your thoughts went to murder." Nathan grinned.

"It distracted you, didn't it?"

Nathan thought how very much he would like to pull her to him and kiss her. Instead he said grumpily, "Do you always go about carrying a knife?"

"Usually."

"You had one the other night? At Arden's party?"

She nodded. "Though I had to strap it to my calf. The dress didn't allow for much concealment."

"That's the truth." His blood flooded with heat at the memory of her low-cut gown and bare arms. He scrambled to distract his thoughts. "Are you always in danger?"

"No. I very rarely have to use it. But I find it's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it."

Nathan had not been involved in Verity's world long enough to fully understand it, yet he had to admit what she said made a certain sense.

When they reached Clerkenwell Green, the driver stopped to ask a passerby for the directions to the church. The man looked back at him in surprise. "Saint Agatha's?"

"Yes. Saint Agatha's, the church," Verity leaned out the window and added.

This caused the man to turn his head toward her and then whip off his cap and begin to stutter. Nathan sympathized.

Finally the man burst out, "It's down the road past that alehouse and turn to the right. At the end of the lane. But you'll not have any luck there. The church burned down, oh, two or three months ago."

"Thank you," Verity almost purred. She settled back in her seat, turning to Nathan with a satisfied smile. "I think we've discovered why Malcolm Douglas chose this church."

The blackened stones still stood, but the inside had been gutted by fire. There was a cemetery beside the rubble, and a man with the collar of an Anglican priest was occupied with pulling up weeds from around the graves. He straightened and smiled when they approached.

"I am sorry to hear about your church," Nathan began.

"Ah, yes, it was a terrible thing. They had to pull down the manse to keep it from spreading to the other houses." He gestured toward a ruin beyond the church. "It will be a good while until it's rebuilt."

"Did anything inside escape the blaze?" Verity asked. "Were you able to save the church's records?"

"No." The man sighed deeply. "It happened in the middle of the night, and by the time I realized it was on fire, it was too late. Everything in the vestry and the office—the chalices, the candles, the vestments—all burned. They can be replaced but the records cannot. All that history lost."

"What started the fire?" Verity asked. "Was it set?"

"On purpose, you mean?" The priest stared at her, shocked. "No, of course not. I mean, well, we're not sure what caused it. But why would anyone set a church afire?"

"No doubt you're right," Nathan said soothingly. "Thank you. We won't bother you any further." They left the man frowning at the building.

"I knew it!" Verity declared triumphantly as they climbed back into the carriage. "Douglas made sure we couldn't disprove his story."

"Burning down the church seems a bit extreme." But Nathan couldn't help but smile at Verity. He felt elated, too. Surely this meant Malcolm's story wasn't true.

"Perhaps he had nothing to do with the fire, he just looked for a church that suited his needs."

"I still don't understand what he hopes to do. He has no proof," Nathan said. "Even if his story were true, if my father really had married his mother, the record of it is gone."

"He could still sue. His mother could testify. Perhaps they could bring in a false witness to the ceremony."

"But the vicar who performed the ceremony..."

"It was almost thirty-six years ago." Verity raised her eyebrows. "What clergyman would remember a ceremony he performed that long ago, much less the names of the witnesses?"

"So what are you saying? You think one witness would be enough to sway a judge?"

"I think that would be enough to have a big messy public case about it. With all the gossip that would entail. That's the leverage he's going to use against you." She went on in a deeper voice with a thick Scottish burr, "This would be so terrible, so public, I dinnae want to do that to ye, lad. So if ye'd just give me a few thousand pounds, I'll give up my claim. Ye can avoid all that."

Nathan's mouth twitched up at her imitation. "Well, I'm not going to do that. So what can we do to thwart him?"

"We need to investigate Malcolm Douglas. Find out where he's from, who knows him. Who his real father is. And who he's working with. He's bound to know we would go to the church, so he would have made preparations for false witnesses. He must have accomplices somewhere. We can follow him and find out who they are. Talk to them..."

"Are we back to bashing people about?" Nathan grinned to show he was teasing.

"Nah. Money always loosens lips, I've found." She winked, and something turned in his chest.

Verity was so different, he thought. So unorthodox. So tempting. "I think we should go to a party," Nathan said.

"What?" Verity stared at him.

"Well, we are supposed to be in the midst of a courtship, aren't we?"

"You have been a little light on the gifts for one of my suitors, but yes..." A sly smile spread across her face.

"I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Billingham," Nathan replied in the same teasing tone. "I fear that's one of the drawbacks of being wooed by a genteelly impoverished aristocrat. However, I do have an invitation to a party tomorrow evening. I hadn't planned on going. But it just occurred to me that the host has family in Edinburgh. Alan might know something about the Douglas family."

"Oh. I see. Yes, you're right." Verity dropped her teasing tone and became all business. "That would be productive. Will it be a large party? Elegant? I must decide the appropriate attire, you see."

"No, it won't be a grand ball. I am sure there will be dancing, but Alan Grant and his wife are younger and less formal than Lord and Lady Arden, and their house is smaller. It will be mostly friends and family, probably a number of Scotsmen."

"Very well." The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Verity's house, and she and Nathan climbed down. Turning, she held out her hand in farewell and said briskly, "I'll see you tomorrow evening, then."

"Yes. Of course. Till tomorrow." Nathan tipped his hat to her and walked away. He knew that he'd made a mistake, though he wasn't sure what it had been. Had he stepped outside the boundaries of their relationship by suggesting they attend the party? Did she feel that his case was taking up too much of her time—time she could have spent working on other cases that actually brought in money? Indeed, was he taking advantage of her?

There hadn't really been a need to ask her; Nathan could have gone to Grant's party on his own—it might have been wiser to do so. Verity was more experienced than he in questioning people, but she was also likely to say something outrageous or make up some fiction that Nathan would have to then go along with. One never felt quite easy when Verity was around.

He had to admit that he simply wanted to have her with him. He wanted more time with her. He wanted to waltz with her—to hold her close, her hand in his, as they glided across the floor.

He felt that he was getting himself into a different sort of trouble, one much riskier than keeping his inheritance.

Nathan was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the man standing near his flat until the man stepped into his path. Nathan pulled up short. "Mr. Douglas." Well, this is interesting .

"Mr. Dunbridge." Malcolm nodded in greeting. "I apologize for calling on you again, but I thought...well, charming as Mrs. Billingham is, there are certain matters that are too indelicate for feminine ears."

Nathan almost smiled at the idea of offending Verity's "delicate" ears. "Indeed? I would have thought the subject of philandering fathers and illegitimate sons was indelicate enough."

"Yes, of course." The other man gave him a rueful smile. "It was rather difficult for me to discuss such things in front of a lady. I thought that we could talk more easily, just the two of us, gentleman to gentleman."

Just as Verity had predicted. Nathan looked at him coolly. "What more is there to be said? Unless, of course, you'd like to talk about the matter of the church you named having burned to the ground, along with all its records."

"Did it?" Malcolm carried off a good show of surprise, Nathan thought. He suspected Malcolm was well prepared for the news. "I say, I am sorry to hear that."

"No doubt," Nathan replied drily.

"I assure you, I had no idea that it was gone," Malcolm replied. "But it does not change the facts of the case."

"You don't have much of a case without the records," Nathan pointed out.

"There are other ways to prove the marriage."

"How?"

"I would hope we will not have to go so far. I have no desire to cause you—or your mother—any pain. We both know that she is the one who will suffer most from the scandal."

Nathan itched to plant a hard fist into the man's jaw, but he maintained his poise, crossing his arms to make sure he didn't do exactly that. "I assume you have some proposal to make—out of the goodness of your heart, of course—to save my mother from suffering."

Malcolm's eyes hardened. "Aye, scoff if you like. But I've no desire to have my name dragged through the mud in the courts, either. I am willing to settle this thing between us."

"Gentleman to gentleman," Nathan echoed, his voice acidic. He dropped his arms and took a step forward. "Mrs. Billingham was right—you're nothing but a swindler. And I have no intention of becoming your next victim. I will not pay you blackmail. I have a counter proposal to make—you go away, and I won't report you to a magistrate."

"Blackmail? I am the party who has been wronged in this matter, not you. Clearly I should not have come to you—a man who can't even speak for himself, but lets a woman do it for him. I should have dealt with your mother instead."

With a snarl, Nathan grabbed Malcolm by the lapels and shoved him back against the side of the building. "Don't you dare go near my mother. You take your tale to her, cause her any distress, and I will hunt you down." He gave Malcolm a shake for emphasis. "Do you understand me?"

Malcolm tore out of Nathan's grasp. "I understand that you're a bloody fool. You think I'm scared of a man who hides behind a woman's skirts? You understand this , Dunbridge." He jabbed his forefinger in the air at Nathan. "You consider my offer very carefully. Think how much your mother's tears are worth to you." He turned and started away, then swung back and added, "And how much you want to keep Mrs. Billingham. If news of this gets out, she won't stay around to let your scandal taint her, as well. You'll lose her as surely as you will your good name."

F OR A MOMENT Verity had thought that Nathan simply wanted to take her to a party, that he wanted her company. But of course there had been a practical reason for it. It was in aid of what was truly important to him. It was irritating, even maddening—to know that she wished he had had no such motive in mind.

Still, she couldn't help but feel eager for tomorrow. She had attended parties before, usually in one guise or another, but she had never enjoyed them in the same way she had the other evening at the Ardens' ball. Men had flirted and danced with her, done their best to charm her. But they had been doing those things to an illusion. Nathan had been bantering with her . And that made all the difference.

However, much as the thought of a party appealed, Verity could not ignore the difficulties. Not that she thought she and Nathan couldn't carry off the roles—she had no doubt of that. But there was the worrisome issue of Jonathan Stanhope.

She had come to decide that her fears of Stanhope recognizing her were groundless. He had glanced in her direction for only an instant, and it was as likely as not that he hadn't even noticed her to begin with. Verity had not recognized him , really; it was just that he looked enough like his father to make her blood run cold.

It had been many years since they'd seen each other, and the sophisticated Mrs. Billingham did not look the same as Verity had sixteen years ago. Her form was more curvaceous, and the soft girlish face had been honed by time and experience. Her hair had been red then too, of course, but even it had turned a darker shade as she had grown older.

But Verity could not simply dismiss the possibility, either. She had to be practical, had to consider the risks. However impulsive and incautious someone like Nathan might think she was, she had not stayed alive all those years as a spy in an enemy country without considering the dangers and making plans to circumvent them.

Right now she needed to consider that she might be pressing her luck to continue to attend ton parties. She could not let her desire to go to a ball with Nathan overrule her common sense. The more often she appeared in London Society, the more likely she was to run into Stanhope again.

On the other hand, it seemed most unlikely that the grand Lord Stanhope would be attending a party that Nathan had termed small and consisting primarily of friends and family and Scots. Besides, Verity would know to watch out for him now; she would not be taken by surprise as she had been the other night. She would make sure to attract no notice until she had made a survey of the guests at the party, and she would keep an eye out for his arrival all during the party, ready to slip away at a moment's notice—on the off chance he even showed up.

There was no reason to deny herself a dance—maybe two—with Nathan.

*

V ERITY SLEPT POORLY and awoke early the next morning doubting her decision. Not one to waffle usually, she also wasn't one to distrust her instincts. She was still contemplating whether she was being wise, and felt she needed to investigate further.

Throughout the past few years that she had spent in London, Verity had not seen or heard any mention of Stanhope, even in the cases she had taken that involved members of the ton , which had reinforced her opinion that, like his father, Jonathan preferred to live at the family's country house. The fact that he had been at one party did not mean that he would continue to remain in London.

With this thought in mind, Verity went to the flower market, where she astonished a flower girl by purchasing her flowers, basket and all, as well as the girl's discolored and fraying straw hat. Returning home, Verity darkened her eyebrows, brushed a yellowish powder over her face to make it appear sallow, and pulled on a drab worn gown and old scuffed half boots. She tucked her hair under the ragged straw hat and finished off the transformation by scrubbing her hands with dirt and adding a smudge to her jaw.

Then she set out for the Stanhopes' townhome. She considered it a testament to the accuracy of her disguise that a gentleman stopped her to buy a posy for an afternoon call. As she neared the house, Verity's steps became slower, and when she reached the end of its block, she stopped.

It had been many years since she last saw the place, but still it set the nerves jittering in her stomach. She realized with a touch of surprise that for the last few years, as she built her life in London, she had avoided any route that would take her past the Stanhope home.

It was an ordinary enough dwelling for a wealthy man, one among a row of houses the color of pale butter, lying in a crescent across the street from a quiet green park that completed the half-moon shape. On the back side of the park lay a busier thoroughfare, but here everything was peaceful and pristine. Except for her memories.

Verity drew in a little breath. She was no coward. She didn't balk at doing things just because they were hard. Don't be a ninny, girl. Move.

She started forward, her eyes scanning the area. A lady, carrying a parasol and followed by her maid, turned into the little park. A footman at the end of the curve came out of the house to water the pots of flowers that bracketed the front door. Verity slowed her pace. There was no sign of anyone at the Stanhope house.

She crossed the street, reminding herself that it was unlikely the same servants would still be there, and even if they were, no one would recognize her as a Cockney flower girl. Before she reached the steps down to the servants' door, a maid emerged from it, carrying a bucket of water and a scrub brush.

"'Scuse me, miss," Verity called. "Buy a flower?"

The girl goggled at her. "What would the likes of me do with a flower?"

"Brighten up the 'ouse, they do," Verity said. "Go on, 'elp a poor girl out."

The maid laughed. "I don't buy the flowers."

The door opened and an older woman emerged, frowning. "Em, quit dawdling and get to work." She looked up and saw Verity. "Here! Who are you? What are you doing peddling flowers here?"

Verity did her best to look abashed, ducking her head. "Truth is... I come to see...is Lord Stanhope still here?"

"Lord Stanhope!" Em exclaimed. "'Course not. He went back, soon as the doc—"

"Hush, Em," the older woman interrupted sharply. "How many times have I told you not to talk about your betters?" She moved in front of Em to face Verity. "As for you, you impertinent girl, it's no business of yours where his lordship is. Now be on your way."

"I was 'oping, I mean, I'd like to get out of the city, I would," Verity said. "I thought I could 'ire on to work in the country."

"What for?" Em asked in a stunned voice, and the other woman looked equally astonished.

Verity shrugged. "I don't know. I 'eard as it was an easy job."

"Well, it's not," the older woman, whom Verity had privately labeled the housekeeper, said flatly. Her expression softened a little. "I promise you. You don't want to work for his lordship."

Behind her, Em nodded her head in emphatic agreement.

"Now, go on home, girl," the housekeeper told Verity, crossing her arms in a manner that said the conversation was over. She turned and went back down the stairs with Em following.

Verity was happy to comply. She whipped around and walked away, barely able to keep the bounce out of her step. He was gone. It was safe for her to stay in London. The pair of servants had confirmed that Jonathan was like his father with the warning that she wouldn't want to work for him. And while that was anything but good news, the fact that he had left the city most definitely was.

After she had returned home and washed the flower girl disguise from her face and hands, Verity went through her clothes. She pulled out a dress of shimmering bronze moire. It was a simple style, a slender column falling from the fitted bodice, without fussy ruffles and only a bit of blond lace at the neckline, but the color emphasized her eyes, and it was a gown she had chosen for herself, not for Mrs. Billingham.

Verity wanted to feel like herself tonight. She wanted one evening where she could enjoy dancing with Nathan and not think of playing a role. And she wanted Nathan to think twice about the validity of their courtship. Even if it meant running the risk of Verity forgetting the pretense herself.

The way Nathan's eyes widened when he saw her was proof that her dress had succeeded. As he laid her gossamer wrap around her shoulders, his fingers grazed her skin. They were hot and a little unsteady.

They left the house and Verity took her usual look around at their surroundings, but her gaze did not linger. She wasn't worried about anyone attacking her here, and she felt much more relaxed now that she knew Jonathan Stanhope had gone back to the countryside.

As soon as they walked in, Verity and Nathan greeted their host and his wife, but it would be awkward to start asking about the Douglases immediately.

Nathan offered Verity his hand, and they joined the dancers on the floor. Nathan was as adept at waltzing as Verity had thought he would be, but she had not envisioned how breathless she would feel this close to him, only inches from touching, or how lost the rest of the world would be to her.

She gazed up into his face, contemplating the color of his eyes. Were they green or hazel? Mostly green , she thought, but with a ring of gold around the pupil that changed their color . This close, she could see the little curved scar on his cheek and she wondered how it had happened. A childhood accident, she imagined; it was merely a thin white line now.

The music stopped, and they came to a halt, but for a moment, they still faced each other, her hand in his. Then Verity stepped back, and he released her hand. They walked from the dance floor and made a wide promenade around the room. Nathan paused to speak to a friend, and within moments, there were three men around Verity, vying for her attention. One offered to get her a refreshment, another asked for a dance, and the third assured her that she was even more lovely than usual tonight.

Nathan deftly moved into the group, scowling at the men and offering Verity his arm. "Mrs. Billingham, I believe you wished to speak to Lady Hornsby."

Verity looked up at him, her eyes dancing, but she said only, "Yes, I did. Please excuse me, gentlemen." She nodded at the other men and took Nathan's arm. They walked away, and Verity said with a grin, "Are you trying to scare away all my beaux, Mr. Dunbridge?"

"Upstart puppies," Nathan grumbled.

Verity laughed. "You sounded just like Lady Lockwood."

"Egad." Nathan glanced around the large room. "Ah, there are Alan and Charlotte. Let's see what we can discover."

He threaded his way through the guests to where the Grants stood talking to another couple. There were greetings all around and introductions to the other man and woman, followed by a good deal of chatting about nothing. Nathan took the lead; Verity was happy to simply listen and store away bits of information for any future forays into the ton .

Finally, when there was lull in the conversation, Nathan said casually, "I was hoping I might see Malcolm Douglas here. Do you know him?"

Alan shook his head. "Douglases are pretty thick on the ground in Scotland. Which family does he belong to?"

"I've no idea," Nathan told him. "I've only met him once, and we talked briefly. He's a little shorter than I and blond. Blue eyes. About my age."

"That, too, fits a very large number of Scotsmen. Or Englishmen, for that matter." Grant shrugged his shoulders and looked over at the other couple.

"I'm always in London," Grant's friend replied. "I don't know any Malcolm. I know a Robert Douglas, but he is a good bit older than that. I saw him here just a moment ago, if you would like to meet him."

"Why, yes, that would be nice," Nathan told him.

Verity glanced at Nathan as they followed the man through the room. Though his air remained nonchalant, she could see the same light in his eyes that she knew burned in hers—the same eagerness for the hunt.

Robert Douglas turned out to be a large, jovial man, his hair mostly gray, but with blond strands mingled in. His eyes were light-colored. Verity's hopes rose at the similarity of coloring to their quarry, but they were immediately dashed when the older man greeted them in a voice utterly devoid of any trace of Scotland.

Grant's friend introduced them, then said, "My friend Nathan was asking about a fellow named Douglas. I told him you were the man to see."

Douglas chuckled. "Well, there are a number of us around, but I'll be happy to help if I can."

"I'm trying to find a man named Malcolm Douglas."

Nathan started to describe him, but Douglas burst into a grin, exclaiming, "Malcolm! You know my nephew?"

"I believe I may," Nathan replied, his voice admirably calm and casual. "I met him the other day."

"He's in London?" Robert said in surprise. Then he chuckled. "That young rascal. I invited him for a visit, you know. He said he would come, but then he never did. Ah, well, young men...no doubt he didn't want a stodgy old uncle hanging about."

Or he didn't want his uncle to know he was working a blackmailing scheme.

"Perhaps it was not the same man," Nathan hedged. "He sounded much more Scottish than you."

"Ha! That's Malcolm for you. I imagine he does his best not to sound like an Englishman. It's a point of honor for the Douglases—I am something of an outcast in my family, you see. They're all living in the past, don't you know—dead set against the British."

"Not so set against British money," Verity whispered out of the corner of her mouth and was rewarded with a smile that Nathan tried to hide from Robert.

"I am sorry I can't be of more help," Robert went on. "If you do find the boy, I hope you will let me know—don't worry, I don't plan to check up on him. He gets enough of that from his mother. But I would love to see him again. He could visit me at my club—I can always be found at White's." He chuckled, then hastily added, "Of course, you are quite welcome by yourself, as well."

"That's very kind of you, sir. If I see him again, I will let him know."

They stayed for a few minutes longer, then bade Douglas a polite good-bye.

"I think we've accomplished all we can here," Nathan said as they walked away.

"Yes, it sounds unlikely that anyone else here would know Malcolm if he and his family are that reclusive."

One of Verity's more persistent suitors intercepted them. "Mrs. Billingham, would you honor me with a dance?"

"Mrs. Billingham and I were just leaving," Nathan told him, giving him a hard stare.

The other man took a step back, looking at Nathan with surprise. "Yes, of course. Your servant, ma'am. Dunbridge." He walked off.

"Well, that was a bit peremptory, wasn't it?" Verity said mildly but made no effort to resist as they headed toward the front door. Frankly, she found Nathan's unaccustomed rudeness rather appealing.

Nathan merely gave a noncommittal grunt, but as they left the house and started toward Verity's home, he said, "None of them are worth your time. They're all penniless youngsters. Viscount Sperle has a title, but his lands are in terrible shape—he's not done a thing to improve them. Westerbridge is a wastrel."

Verity let out a little laugh. "Nathan, you do realize that I am not actually in the market for a husband."

He assumed a haughty look. "I was merely supporting your story."

"Well, you may want to stop. You'll have everyone thinking you're jealous. There will be gossip all over London tomorrow."

"Isn't that what we want?" Nathan gave her a reckless grin. It was a look that suited him. Had he changed or had she never had an accurate view of Nathan?

"You wouldn't want to carry it too far," Verity told him.

"How far is too far?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

A little ball of heat gathered in her abdomen. Nathan was flirting with her without anyone there to witness it. Had that even occurred to him? And am I actually blushing? She turned her head away, and they walked on in silence for a moment.

Nathan must have realized that he was being unlike himself, for after a moment he said a little stiffly, "I only meant that you shouldn't become too...um, attached."

Verity stopped, gaping at him. "Attached? To one of them ?"

Nathan let out a laugh, and he seemed to relax. "You know what I mean."

"Not really. Perhaps you should explain."

He started to speak, then shook his head and sighed. "Yes, well, I don't know what I mean, either."

They started walking again. Verity mulled over his words. "Nathan, if you are thinking that I believe any of these men would actually marry me, you needn't worry. I am well aware that none of them would court me if they knew, as you do, how unacceptable I am."

"I never said you were unacceptable," Nathan protested.

"You didn't have to say it. We both know it."

"I don't," he said stubbornly.

Verity looked at him. The mulish look on his face was somehow endearing. "Nathan...you don't have to be polite with me. You cannot deny that a man like Viscount Sperle would never marry a former spy with no name or family."

She could see Nathan struggle to come up with a reply that was neither a lie nor a hurtful truth. Finally he said, "Well, Sperle certainly wouldn't marry you if he knew how well you can handle a knife."

They had reached her house, and Verity unlocked the door and went inside. Nathan followed her. A lamp burned with a low light on the hall table. The rest of the house loomed dark and silent around them. Verity turned to face Nathan, acutely aware of how alone they were. She wished for an instant that she and Nathan were not so different, that they had no pasts. But, of course, that was silly and naive.

"Thank you." She smiled at him. "I shall see you tomorrow then? We'll put a watch on Malcolm Douglas?"

"Yes. Of course." Nathan paused, then said in a rush, "Verity, I don't think you're unacceptable. Any man should be proud to marry you."

Verity melted inside. "You are such an honorable man, Nathan. Probably too much for your own good." She reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand. "But I'm very glad you are."

Nathan gazed at her for a moment, his eyes dark. Verity found herself stretching up toward him. And then he kissed her.