Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

V ERITY WHIRLED AROUND and ran up the rest of the stairs. She didn't want to see the look on Nathan's face. Nathan would be far too polite to follow her upstairs. She hurried into her room and closed the door. She wanted to burst into tears, but she refused to do that. Damn him for pressing her on this.

She stripped off her clothes and threw them on the floor and started over to the wash basin to clean off her disguise. Behind her there was the sound of hurried steps in the hallway, then a pounding on her door. "Verity!"

Obviously he's not as gentlemanly as I thought.

"Don't you dare come in here," she called to him, and for good measure, she slipped over to the door and turned the key in the lock.

"Damn it, Verity, you don't have to lock the door. I wouldn't come into your bedchamber without permission," Nathan said gruffly.

She didn't answer, pouring water out into the basin and setting to washing her face and hands. Verity wondered why he hadn't left the house after that confession from her like any other gentleman concerned for his reputation. Nathan is simply the most annoying of men.

"You can't expect me to just depart after an announcement like that," Nathan went on.

"Anyone with any sense would have," she snapped back.

Ripping out the hairpins, she let her braid fall down her back and then pulled on an old morning dress that was easy to wrap around herself and tie on her own. She glanced at herself in the mirror and grimaced. She looked her worst. But what did it matter? She couldn't get away without telling Nathan the whole story, and surely after she did that, no trace of their little flirtations would be left. But at least he would leave after that.

Verity unlocked the door and opened it, gesturing for him to enter. He stepped inside, glancing around the room a trifle uneasily. "Um, Verity, perhaps we should go to another room."

"Oh, what does it matter? The story won't sound any better." Her voice was bitter, which she regretted. She didn't want him to know how much it hurt to tell him. She gestured toward the comfortable chair beside the fireplace. "You might as well sit down."

"I can't sit down while you're still standing," he protested.

"Oh, for pity's sake, Nathan, can you not abandon courtesy this once?"

He sat down. "Verity, you were a spy, and I understand that you might have done things in the name of the Crown that—"

"I'm not talking about that," she said impatiently. She linked her hands in front of her, like a schoolgirl about to recite a poem. "My mother was French. Her parents were émigrés when the Revolution happened. She married my father, who was handsome and penniless—she had an unfortunate romantic streak. I was their first child and several years later, my sister, Poppy, was born. Mama grew tired of being dunned by creditors and having to sneak out of our lodgings in the dead of night to avoid paying the rent, so when our father died, she chose her next husband for his wealth."

"Understandable."

"Yes. I have no quarrel with her pragmatism. It was the man she chose. He was a rigid man who brooked no opposition. He was at best unkind and cold. At worst, he was given to punishments."

"Verity, no." Nathan rose and went to her, taking her hands in his. "I am so sorry."

His sympathy put her perilously close to tears, and she pulled away. "It wasn't just with us, but also with his own son."

"Did he...hurt you?"

"At first he was inclined only to break our spirit. He was given to furious lectures or locking us in our rooms for the day or denying us supper for our transgressions. Standing in the corner. That sort of thing." She wasn't about to recount to Nathan the pain of standing motionless for hours until her back tensed and her knees ached or she fainted. "The worst thing was having to apologize to my stepfather and ask his forgiveness. You can imagine how well I liked that." She cast Nathan a little smile.

"He should have been taken out and thrashed." His eyes were dark and glittering, his voice clipped.

Verity warmed a little inside at Nathan's outrage. "He didn't strike Poppy or me. He was harsher with his son, but the boy spent most of his time away at school. It was my mother who took the brunt of his wrath." Verity's eyes flashed, the familiar cold iron of anger forming at her core. "We had always lived in the city—that is where he courted my mother, where we first went to live with him. But soon we were spending more and more time at his country house, and before long that is where we lived. I missed the city, but it was more than that. In the country we were completely under my stepfather's control. We had no friends. He used to say to my mother, in a lover-like way, that he wanted her all to himself. But it wasn't that. He wanted her alone and unable to rely on anyone else. I hated him with all my being. Then my mother died."

"He killed her?" Nathan exclaimed.

"No. A fever took her. But my stepfather had killed her soul first—she had no will to live, and she went easily."

"I'm so sorry." Nathan again reached out to Verity.

She took a step back with a sharp shake of her head. She could not bear the kindness in his eyes. It threatened the steel box she'd locked up this part of her life in. "Naturally, he was named our guardian after mother died. And we had nowhere to go, in any case. My mother's parents had returned to France, and my father's family had not acknowledged us after he eloped with Mama. We were solely dependent on our stepfather, with no one to turn to."

"What happened?" Nathan asked grimly.

"Once, I went into his private office for paper and an envelope. He found me writing a letter to our grandparents in France about how scared I was for Poppy. He ripped it out of my hands and tried to hit me, but I dodged the blow and ran into the adjoining sitting room." The memory flooded through Verity now, more charged and immediate than it had any right to be after so many years. "My defiance would flip this switch in him and his eyes would turn dark and deadly, like there was no person behind them—just pure rage. He started after me and I threw his porcelain snuff box at him. It shattered and he charged at me, furious, so I grabbed a fireplace poker and swung it across a table, sending everything crashing to the floor. He yelled that I was crazed, and I said I was—and vengeful, as well. And if he touched me or Poppy, it would be last thing he'd ever do. After that he left us alone. I believe he was a little frightened of me."

"Can't imagine why." The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Nathan's mouth.

Verity answered with a tiny smile of her own. It was going better than she'd expected. But she hadn't reached the worst part. "I was careful to always be with Poppy. She was only seven years old and more sensitive than I ever was. I was helped by the servants, who loved her and knew our stepfather for what he was. But then one day the headmistress of a school came to our house, and I was told he was sending me to finishing school. I refused. At one point I believe I kicked the woman in the shins."

"A natural reaction."

Verity nodded faintly. "Needless to say, she refused to take me. But I suspected that was not the last of his tricks to get rid of me, and I was afraid one of them might work and Poppy would be left alone. So I told the vicar in town." Verity's sour expression did not go unnoticed.

"What? Did he not believe you?" Nathan asked.

"I'm not sure. Either way, he was beholden to my stepfather—his job depended on keeping him happy. The vicar told me I should honor my father, as the Bible instructed. I said he wasn't my father. It went downhill from there. I thought about running away, but we had nowhere to go. I didn't know how we'd survive. And then..."

Verity paused to take a breath, the years-old fear tugging at her chest again.

"Verity, if this is too much..." Nathan looked regretful. With anyone else, Verity would have assumed it was because he wished he never asked, but Nathan just seemed sad she had gone through all this.

"I want to finish." Verity's eyebrows knitted together. "I want you to know...me. Our stepfather took us back to the London house. I was glad until I realized why. He had decided to put me in a madhouse."

"My God."

"They didn't get me. I saw them and their wagon, and I knew what he planned. I had to escape, but I couldn't take Poppy with me. But I wasn't about to leave her alone with him, either—I knew what would happen. So I opened a window and made it look as if I'd gone out that way, and I went up to the attic and hid. They took the bait and went running out after me. That evening, I crept down, intending to gather Poppy and a few belongings and run. He was already there in our room."

Verity's hand started to tremble and before she could even think to pull away, Nathan was holding it. His palm was warm and comforting so she let it be.

"Poppy looked so small and pitiful, quaking with fear and crying, as he thundered at her. He told her that he would make sure she didn't grow up like me, that she would learn obedience. But she stood there like a little soldier and told him she was just like me." Verity's voice thickened with unshed tears at the memory. "He raised his hand to hit her, but I got there in time, and I whacked him over the head with the closest thing at hand. It was, ironically enough, a Bible. He was so startled by my attack that it sent him stumbling back. He fell and hit his head on the marble top of a dresser. I remember the awful crack it made. The blood soaking into the rug. I grabbed Poppy, and we ran."

"But that wasn't murder," Nathan protested. "You were a child. And you were defending your sister from a monster."

"Oh, Nathan," Verity said sadly, shaking her head. "Spoken like a gentleman who has rights. Poppy and I were his wards. He had complete control over us, and we had nothing. We had no defender. Just like my mother. A wife and children are completely in a father's power, he can beat them bloody if he wishes. You must know that."

Nathan flushed and said quietly, "Yes, I know. I'm sorry. It's wrong. But, still, it wasn't as if you meant to do it."

"It's true that cracking his skull on the marble was an accident. My blow wasn't hard enough to kill him. But I wanted to kill him. I would have struck him the same if I'd had that fireplace poker in my hand instead of a book. I was glad he was dead." She looked straight into Nathan's eyes. "I'm not like you, Nathan. I can be savage inside. Perhaps I am a bit crazed."

"You're not," Nathan told her flatly. "And everyone can be savage inside sometimes. If he were here right now, I'd beat him to a bloody pulp."

"Yes, but you wouldn't kill him."

"I would if it was to protect someone I love."

To protect Annabeth. But she didn't echo her thought aloud. Nathan was still being so kind to her, so understanding. And Verity knew the pain that would twist his expression if she mentioned his former love. Nathan didn't deserve that. "Even so, it would haunt you."

"It has haunted you."

"No. I was hunted , not haunted. I've never felt remorse over it. I was scared afterward, but I didn't regret what I'd done. I searched his desk for money and took my mother's jewels with us. I knew they'd be after me. No one would have believed I was innocent of cold-blooded murder. After all, I'd told him I would end him if he touched Poppy. I have little doubt he told others of my threat when he was constructing an excuse to put me in an asylum. My kicking that headmistress wouldn't have helped my case, either. The vicar's opinion probably would have weighed against me, too."

"How did you live?"

"Very poorly. We managed to lose ourselves in the East End. That's where I picked up the accent. I was always good at imitating voices. The money ran out and I couldn't get much for my mother's jewelry—everyone assumed I'd stolen it. After that I stole food and anything I could pawn. Poppy caught cold, and I wasn't that good at thievery—nor with defending us. I was having to pick all that up as I went. I was close to despair. And that's when Asquith showed up."

"Asquith? The spymaster?"

She nodded. "Yes, Spider himself. I told you that he had a finger on every pulse, spies all around. He had noticed me, and he had decided I was trainable. I spoke French like a native because I learned from my mother, which was also useful. He offered me a job."

"Spying? You were a child!"

"I was fourteen. And killing a man and surviving in the stews of London makes one grow up quickly. To me Asquith was a gift from heaven. The chance to flee England, to have my tracks covered by a man with power. Training, food, a roof over my head, security. It was work I was suited for. I was angry and I wanted the danger. But, of course, I couldn't take Poppy. I didn't think about it at first, but as I went along, that became clear to me. Asquith said he knew a couple—good people with money and education and kind hearts. They were unable to have children and wanted to adopt a child. It was a perfect situation for both them and Poppy."

"But not for you." Nathan watched her.

"No. Not for me. But I knew I could not take care of her. Obviously I couldn't take her with me to France, and without Asquith's offer, I'd have no money. How was I to raise her? I dreamed for a while that I could let her live with them and still stay in her life—come back to see her from time to time, maybe get enough money to create a home for the two of us someday. But Asquith made me see that was folly. A spy cannot afford attachments."

"Asquith is another man with a great deal to answer for," Nathan said grimly.

"Yes. But he was right—about that, at least. It would have been unkind to both Poppy and her new parents if I had popped back into her life now and then, keeping alive her old memories. Not to mention the fact that I might have led my enemies to their doorstep. Spying was not a position with a long life. I figured it was better for Poppy to grieve me while she was still so young. I thought maybe, in time, she would forget about our childhood—even if that meant also forgetting me. So I handed her over to the couple and told her I loved her but I could not stay. A few months later Asquith spread the rumor that I had been killed in France. I don't know exactly what Poppy learned, but the Bow Street Runners stopped searching for me. I haven't seen Poppy since the day I left. Except from a distance."

Nathan wrapped his arms around Verity, holding her close. The embrace was warm and comforting, and she leaned against him for a moment, soothed by the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear and the encircling protection of his arms. It would be so nice, so easy to give in to this feeling. To depend on him.

Easy and wrong. Nathan was staunchly loyal and his sympathy so easily aroused. She could not entangle him further; she had to give him the chance to free himself of her past.

Verity put her hands against his chest and stepped back, gently but firmly pulling out of his arms. "There. That is my tale. Poppy is the woman you saw me spying on. No doubt that is reprehensible."

"No. It's tragic."

Verity shrugged. "As I said, I realized that you have a right to know that the woman you are pretending to woo is a murderer. If someone were to recognize me and discover what I've done, you would be embroiled in the scandal. At the very least, you would be made a laughingstock for being duped by me."

"I will be embroiled in a scandal if Malcolm Douglas tells his tale, and I suspect I was laughed at often enough before," he said lightly. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. Perhaps I should offer you the chance to avoid being connected to me ."

Unexpected tears caught in her throat. Verity wanted to return to his arms, but that, she knew, would be a bad idea. Their former embrace might have been mere friendship, but Verity knew that right now she wanted to kiss him, and this was the worst place to indulge herself.

She shook her head. "Really, Nathan, you all but ask others to take advantage of you." She turned and started for the door. "Come. I think a spot of tea is in order. Or perhaps something stronger."

As they went down the stairs, she went on, "You really should take better care. Your kind heart will get you into trouble one day."

"I shouldn't like to be the sort of man who measures his friendship by whether it is an advantage or detriment to himself."

"That's a very ‘Nathan' way of looking at things."

"Unfortunately, I don't really know any other way." He grinned.

"No. I don't suppose you do. And the world is a better place for it."