Chapter 13

C hapter 13

Mrs. Denning began pressing me about my drawings, curious and kind, and our meal passed far more pleasantly than I could have imagined. The simple food filled my belly with warmth—or perhaps that was because my body flushed with heat every time I met Nathaniel’s eyes. It was a peculiar thing, being in this home with this man. He relaxed against the sofa beside me, one arm settled across the back, his hand only an inch or two from my shoulder. It was a closeness I was very aware of, though I made no effort to move away.

When I looked at the clock, I was shocked to see that two hours had passed. When was the last time anything had felt so effortless? Especially a conversation with strangers. But with the Dennings, it seemed not to matter. It was clear they would welcome anyone into their home and treat them as warmly as they’d treated me.

Mrs. Denning stood and began collecting our dishes, and I hurried to help.

“No, no,” she insisted. “Please sit. You are a guest.”

“I’ve never been good at sitting still,” I said as I took Nathaniel’s bowl.

“Or following instructions,” he muttered under his breath, though with a twitch of his lips.

I shot him a superior look and followed Mrs. Denning to the kitchen.

“Thank you, dear.” She took my dishes. “You really needn’t.”

“It is no hardship, Mrs. Denning.”

It was nice, truly. Not that I didn’t love my family or our time together. But there did not seem to be holes in this house, not like in ours. Jack. My father. Both absent, but for very different reasons.

Mrs. Denning chattered on as she washed the dishes, and I dried them with a rag, putting each piece where she instructed. How strange not to hear a commentary of a recent performance of The Fatal Marriage or a lecture on the proper way to rid oneself of warts—from Mama and Grandmama, respectively.

When she finished washing, Mrs. Denning shooed me away as she finished a few last things. I approached the sitting room, hearing the men’s voices.

No, just one voice. I paused in the doorway. Nathaniel had moved to sit beside his father, the ragged copy of Tom Jones in his hands. He tilted the pages toward the fire to catch the light as he read aloud, his deep voice filling the room.

“For I hope my friends will pardon me,” he read, “when I declare I know none of them without a fault; and I should be sorry if I could imagine I had any friend who could not see mine. Forgiveness of this kind we give and demand in turn.”

Mr. Denning laid his head back on his chair, eyes closed as he listened. The two looked so at ease together that I knew they’d done this many times before. I leaned against the doorframe and closed my eyes as well, letting Nathaniel’s voice fill my ears, allowing his words to settle in my chest.

“There is, perhaps, no surer mark of folly,” he went on, “than an attempt to correct the natural infirmities of those we love. The finest composition of human nature, as well as the finest china, may have a flaw in it; nevertheless, the pattern may remain of the highest value.”

There was a steadiness in Nathaniel’s voice—a surety in which he commanded the language I’d known all my life. It awakened a part of me I hadn’t realized existed. I knew about the oral traditions of some cultures, passing on knowledge and wisdom through stories before they’d had the tools to write them down. I could not help but think that speaking something aloud gave it a power it might otherwise lack as simple words on a page. As Nathaniel’s voice rose and fell, it wove emotions through every syllable, tugging at my heart and filling my mind.

He continued reading, and I listened for several minutes more, feeling no desire to make my presence known. But then his voice faded and fell silent, the room emptier for it.

I opened my eyes to see Nathaniel regarding his father, now softly snoring. Nathaniel set the book aside and stood. He saw me in the next instant and stilled.

My cheeks heated. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I did not mean to intrude.”

“You are not intruding, Miss Travers.” He moved quietly to join me. “I brought you here.”

He had. When he’d needed somewhere safe, he’d thought of the place he knew best, the people he loved most. And he’d brought me here without hesitation.

“Verity,” I said. “Please, call me Verity.”

I wasn’t sure where the request had come from. I only knew that tonight, after what we’d been through and what I’d learned of him, the formality of Miss Travers sounded false to my ears.

His dark eyes reflected the glowing embers of the fire as he regarded me, serious and curious all at once. He mirrored my crossed arms as he leaned against the wall beside me, our faces but a few inches away.

“I should like that,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Verity.”

I could not hold his gaze any longer. I looked away. “You seem to know the book well,” I said. “I imagine this is not the first time you’ve read it.”

“My father’s eyes are growing weak.” He cast a fond glance at the sleeping Mr. Denning. “I try to ease the strain as often as I can.”

It was strange how learning one small fact about a person could change an entire perception. And I’d learned so much about Nathaniel today. He read aloud to his aging father. He cared for his mother. He would cuff a man for touching an unwilling woman.

“Oh dear, has he fallen asleep again?”

We both jolted at Mrs. Denning’s voice behind us. Nathaniel coughed and shifted away.

Mrs. Denning seemed not to notice as she moved past us toward her husband. “My love,” she said, touching his shoulder. “I do believe it is time for bed.”

Mr. Denning slowly stirred, eyes blinking rapidly.

“Come on, then.” She reached around his chair and fetched a plain wooden cane.

“Let me, Mother,” Nathaniel offered, moving forward.

She waved him off. “I manage without you most nights. You stay with Miss Travers.”

Then she took the blanket from Mr. Denning’s lap, and I could not help but stare. Where his left leg ought to have been, there was only empty fabric pinned back above the knee to keep it out of the way.

I felt Nathaniel’s eyes on me, and I immediately looked away. I hadn’t meant to gawp. I just hadn’t expected to see it. Not once over the course of the evening had I wondered why Mr. Denning hadn’t moved from his chair.

Mrs. Denning helped her husband to stand, supporting him with one arm under his shoulders as he took the cane in his free hand.

“Good night, Miss Travers,” he said with a tired smile. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“You as well, Mr. Denning.”

They slowly made their way from the room, and when the tap of Mr. Denning’s cane had faded, I finally allowed myself to meet Nathaniel’s eyes.

“I ...” I shook my head. “I am sorry I stared. I hadn’t expected—”

He sat again on the sofa. “You did not know.”

“Might I ask what happened?” I sat beside him.

Nathaniel lifted a shoulder. “It was an accident. Father is—was—a carpenter. But two years ago, his apprentice lost control of his blade and cut Father’s leg. The wound became infected, and the surgeon had to ...” His voice fell away, tired. Defeated.

“How awful,” I whispered.

“And entirely preventable.” He sighed. “You see, the apprentice had been drinking before he came to work. Father didn’t know until it was too late.”

My lips parted. The selfishness and uncaring of some people.

Nathaniel looked at the fire as he rubbed his jaw. “I told you I don’t drink on the job,” he said quietly. “But it’s more than that. I haven’t had a drop of liquor since the accident. I never want to lose control. I never want to be the reason someone’s life is irrevocably altered.”

I tried not to feel it. I did not want to feel more for the man who sat beside me. But I could not help the admiration that rooted in my chest, the respect that held me in its grasp. I’d never met anyone like Nathaniel, for whom goodness seemed so natural.

He looked at me, eyes searching. I’d been silent too long.

“Is he all right now?” I asked.

“Well enough, although he never recovered his full strength.” He paused. “We were lucky he did not die. We know that.”

“But that does not lessen his challenges,” I said. “Or yours.”

He shook his head. “It is my mother who feels the strain the most. She cares for him day in and day out and never complains. She takes in laundry and mending, but ...” His face tightened. “Money is tight.”

“You support them,” I realized aloud. “Both of them.”

He shifted forward to rest his elbows on his knees, dropping his clasped hands between his legs. “I have an older sister and brother, and they send what they can. But they’ve families of their own. I am more than willing to share all I have, though it’s never enough with doctors’ bills still piling up.”

I bit my lip. “I imagine a fifty-pound reward would go a long way in helping.”

His eyes flicked to mine. “Yes.”

I looked down at my hands. “Did you think I pursued this case for the reward? That we competed against one another for it?”

“The thought did cross my mind,” he admitted. “It is no small amount.”

“No, it is not.” I straightened my skirts, and it took me all of a moment to decide. “But I have no need for it. I took this case as a favor to Elizabeth. When we find Higgs, the reward is yours.”

In truth, I had great need of fifty pounds. Independence beckoned to me like a siren on the waters. I’d so long dreamed of confronting my father and telling him I no longer needed his money. But what was my independence compared to the Dennings’ well-being?

Nathaniel did not speak for a long moment, and I knew he was looking at me. But we sat far too close on the sofa for me to dare meet his eyes.

“That is a kindness I never thought to expect,” he said finally. “Thank you.”

I nodded briskly, as if it were nothing. As if I were feeling nothing.

But I felt too much. The light inside me pulled at my seams and filled my lungs.

I changed the subject. “In truth, I should be thanking you. For coming to my defense earlier.”

He leaned back, amusement toying with the shape of his mouth. “Yes, I did wonder why it took you so long.”

Ha! Insufferable.

“Though,” I amended, “I did not need your help. Drunken cads are plentiful in all levels of Society. I’ve a range of experience.”

“Oh?” he said, arching a brow. “And how would you have extricated yourself from tonight’s situation?”

“A swift kick to the shin and a jab at his eyes,” I said without hesitation.

He stared, then let out a chuckle. “You cannot be serious.”

I crossed my arms. I fully realized that I looked like a petulant child, but sometimes, a situation called for petulance. “Quite serious.”

He straightened. “Show me.”

“Show you?” I looked around. “Here?”

“Certainly,” he said, his lips still holding a smile. “Perhaps you might teach me something.”

A challenge beckoned in his words. And I was never one to refuse a challenge.

“Very well.” I stood and moved to the open area before the fire. “Come, you shall play my unwanted admirer.”

He followed me over, anticipation written all over his face.

“Now,” I said, “take my arm like he did.”

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed as if he thought I was testing him, daring him. But he stepped forward and slowly wrapped his strong fingers around my raised forearm. His touch sent a spiral of sparks up through my chest.

“And my other hand?” he asked.

I gulped. I was just realizing that perhaps— perhaps —I hadn’t thought this through. “Around my waist,” I said, not sounding quite like myself.

He slid his right hand around my waist, his large palm flat against my back. He pulled me against him, and my skin lit like kindling.

“Like this?” His voice was low, deep.

I cleared my throat. “Yes,” I managed. “I believe that’s how it was.”

We stood so close, knees brushing, hearts pounding. Or at least, mine was. I couldn’t have heard his if I had tried, what with the rushing in my ears.

“And do you plan on escaping anytime soon?” he asked. I could feel the rough tumble of his voice through his chest.

“Only if you’re sure. I don’t wish to hurt you.” I meant to sound confident and assured but instead came across as girlishly breathless. Horrible.

“I think I can handle it.”

Indignation lit inside me. He thought me silly. So instead of following my previous plan of attack, I adapted.

Without any warning, I spun into him so my back was against his chest. I raised my right elbow and drove it toward his stomach—

He moved, dodging left to avoid my elbow. Before I could recover, he grasped my free arm and held it tight against my stomach, pressing my back firmly against him.

“Your move,” he said in my ear, his breath stirring my curls. I knew he was grinning.

He wouldn’t be grinning in a moment.

I stomped my foot down on the top of his boot, and he grunted, his grasp on me weakening just enough for me to slip one arm free. I whirled and aimed a fist at his jaw, hoping for a glancing blow. But he recovered and caught my wrist, holding it above my head as he pressed my other arm against my side.

I made the mistake of looking up at him. The firelight did favors to his features that he hardly needed—shadowing the planes of his sharp jaw and setting his auburn hair aglow.

But it was his eyes that undid me. They were inescapable, dark reflections of heat and desire that threatened to trap me and never let me go.

His chest rose and fell—mine did as well. But I knew it wasn’t the physical exertion. This was ... this was something else.

“A valiant effort.” His gaze raked across my face. “I am impressed.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And I am not finished.” I twisted my wrist so that I grasped his, then tried to swing his arm down and back. The intent was to force him to the ground, his arm bent behind him. But he was too quick. He moved with me, then broke away just before I had him trapped.

We paced apart, both of us still breathing hard. He eyed me with what I thought might be respect—or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

“I see yours are not only drawing-room talents, Miss Travers,” he said.

“Verity,” I reminded him with a saucy tip of my head.

“Verity.” One side of his lips curled up. “And where did you learn all that?”

“Jack,” I said. “He insisted on teaching me.”

“Why?” he asked curiously.

I hesitated a moment. “He was haunted by certain cases, ones that might have turned out differently if the victims could have defended themselves.”

Nathaniel was silent a long moment, and I knew he must have had similar cases. A Bow Street officer was no stranger to pain and suffering.

“He was smart to teach you,” he said finally. “Would that all brothers could be so concerned.”

“I am lucky in that regard, at least.”

“And in what ways are you unlucky?”

His question caught me off guard. No matter what had happened today, I wasn’t about to tell him everything about myself. “I’ve lived a very fortunate life,” I said instead.

He moved closer, crossing his arms as he inspected me. I held my ground with a stubborn jab of my chin.

“Always one step forward and two steps back,” he said in a soft voice. “But I am undeterred.”

Undeterred? What on earth did he mean?

His eyes dropped to my lips. It was only for a second, just the barest of flickers, yet all thought flew from my mind. My lungs ceased to function, my heart caught in a leap.

I’d been kissed before. I’d seen the look in a man’s eyes, felt the tempting lure of anticipation that strung between a couple. And I was quite certain that Nathaniel Denning wanted to kiss me.

My heart rebelled.

This could not happen.

Before I could pull away, footsteps met our ears. Nathaniel moved quickly to the fireplace, and I turned, pretending to inspect a framed embroidery nearby.

“Heavens,” Mrs. Denning exclaimed as she entered the sitting room, and for a moment, I thought she could sense the blazing energy that radiated between Nathaniel and me. “Look at the time. It’s nearly ten o’clock.”

I let out a sigh of relief as I faced her. She hadn’t noticed, or if she had, she was tactful enough not to mention it. I tried my best not to look at Nathaniel, who’d braced a hand on the mantel as if he’d been standing there all along instead of being a heartbeat away from kissing me a few seconds ago.

“Your parents must be worried, Miss Travers,” Mrs. Denning said.

“Just my mother, Mrs. Denning.” Though Mama had a performance tonight and would never know I’d been gone.

“Oh,” she said, a hand to her heart. “I am sorry for your loss.”

I stared at her, uncomprehending, then coughed. Blast, I’d almost forgotten—forgotten the lie I’d told since I was old enough to understand it. “Thank you,” I managed, my voice faint. “It was long ago, before I was born.”

I did not want to lie to Mrs. Denning, who had been so kind to me. I did not want to lie to Nathaniel, who eyed me with such intensity that I was certain he could see right through my words. That my father was not a dead navy captain but a very-much-alive earl who lived only a few miles from here. Though he might as well be dead, considering our relationship—or lack thereof.

“Even still,” she said, patting my hand. “Loss never leaves us, does it?”

I pushed away my guilt. The deception was necessary, I told myself. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, how right you are.”

“We must get you home to your mother,” she said firmly. “Surely the trouble outside has calmed by now. Come, let us gather your things while Nathaniel finds you a hackney. There are usually one or two near the tavern on the corner, dear.”

Nathaniel nodded and left, the front door closing behind him a few seconds later. The room felt smaller.

Mrs. Denning fetched my things, and I followed her to the tiny entryway.

“It was so lovely to have you with us tonight, Miss Travers,” Mrs. Denning said, handing me my gloves. “I—well, I don’t leave the house often these days, what with ...” Her voice drifted off. “In any case, I so enjoyed meeting you. I hope you’ll stop by if you ever find yourself in the neighborhood.”

I took her hand. “Of course I will, Mrs. Denning. Thank you.”

“And,” she said, clasping my hand, “if I am not too bold to ask, would you keep an eye on Nathaniel? He has the folly of the young—believing he is invincible. But a mother knows better.” Her eyes dimmed. “And a mother imagines the worst with a profession like his.”

“I will do my best,” I promised. “Though I had better not mention it to him.”

Mrs. Denning laughed. “Indeed not. How he would squawk if he knew I’d asked you.”

The front door opened then, Nathaniel half stepping back inside. His eyes met mine. “The coach is waiting.”

I bid Mrs. Denning good night, then followed Nathaniel outside. A hackney stood in the street, the mismatched team clopping anxiously as the driver held them in place.

Nathaniel opened the door but paused. “Tomorrow, I plan to watch the tavern again. From the outside, that is. We made too much of a ruckus tonight to continue that ruse.”

“I agree.” Where was he headed with this line of thought?

He still held the door, one thumb running over the edge. “If you are not otherwise occupied, your help would be most welcome.”

I appraised him. “Do you mean that? Or are you simply trying to keep me from—how did you say it—appearing when it least suits you?”

That quick smile again. “Does it matter?”

“No,” I said. “I suppose not.”

He held out his hand, large and masculine. It should have been foreign, considering I’d known him only a few days. But when my hand settled on his, they formed around each other with a familiarity that shot straight to my heart.

He helped me inside, releasing me when I was settled on the bench. Pulling back, he offered a slight bow. “Until tomorrow, Miss Travers.”

“Verity.” Why was I so insistent?

“Verity,” he agreed. He shut the door, and the coach started along the cobblestones, leaving my thoughts in just as much disarray as my heart.