Chapter 17

C hapter 17

I arrived at Bow Street to find it bustling with officers and patrolmen. It seemed Nathaniel had called upon the vast resources of the magistrate’s court, all on behalf of Elizabeth. I stood there a moment in the thick of it, my eyes touched with tears. No matter that he was frustrated with me, he was doing everything he could to find Elizabeth.

I spotted him across the room, addressing a group of patrolmen. He spoke calmly but assuredly, his expression serious. There was such confidence in his every aspect. How easily he commanded their attention—and mine.

The group around him began breaking up, and I stepped toward him just as someone moved in front of me.

“Pardon me,” I said absently. Then I looked again at the man’s trimmed beard. “Mr. Allett?”

The portraitist stopped, surprised at my recognition. His blue eyes squinted at my face, trying to place me.

“Miss Travers,” I reminded him, bobbing a curtsy. “We met at Harwood House a few days ago.”

He nodded. “That’s right. The young lady with the sketch.”

“Yes.” I peered up at him curiously. “Might I ask what brought you to Bow Street today?”

He tightened his cravat with a soft sigh. “It’s this business with Miss Harwood, I’m afraid. I was asked to bring my sketches of the young lady, from the portrait I was painting of her. They would be the most recent likeness of her, and useful in a search.”

“Oh?” That was odd. Nathaniel certainly wouldn’t need mine if he had Allett’s sketches.

“Miss Travers.” Nathaniel appeared at my side.

Immediate awareness of him swept through my body, lighting up my spine. “Mr. Denning,” I managed.

“I see you’ve found Mr. Allett,” he said, giving the slightest raise of his eyebrow.

A suspicious raise of his eyebrow. My mouth parted slightly. Had he ... had he remembered what I’d told him about my hopes for working with Mr. Allett? Had he brought him here on purpose so I might see him again?

“Yes, indeed,” I said slowly.

“And did you bring your sketches?” Nathaniel asked.

“I did,” I said, though I held my portmanteau closer. I hadn’t imagined Mr. Allett would see these.

Nathaniel held out a hand for them, daring me to refuse him in front of Mr. Allett.

“I hardly see why you need mine,” I said, cheeks pricking. “You have Mr. Allett’s sketches, which are no doubt superior.”

“We have several search parties,” Nathaniel said evenly. “The more, the better.”

Mr. Allett waited expectantly, so I reached inside my portmanteau and extracted the sketches.

“Here you are,” I said quietly, handing them to Nathaniel.

He flipped through them, Mr. Allett glancing unobtrusively over his shoulder. Nathaniel nodded. “These will do nicely. One moment, please.” Without another word, he strode away.

“Miss Travers.”

I turned to look at Mr. Allett, swallowing hard. “Yes?”

He gave a gentle smile. “I know this is certainly not the right time, what with Miss Harwood’s plight. But I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?”

“Indeed. I asked you to bring your sketches to Lady Harwood’s party the other night, and then I fell ill. I am sorry if I disappointed you by not showing.”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “You needn’t apologize, sir. It was hardly your fault.”

“Be that as it may,” he said, “I likely dashed your hopes, and I am sorry for it. But based on what I’ve seen of your work, you have true talent. I should be interested to see more and to discuss a possible apprenticeship. You need only to send a note round, perhaps when things have ... calmed.”

It took me a few seconds to recover enough to speak. “Thank you, Mr. Allett. That is very kind.”

He tipped his hat. “I wish you the very best of luck in finding your friend, Miss Travers.”

I curtsied as he left, and when I rose, I could not help the tugging at my lips. I had an offer from Mr. Allett. What that offer entailed, exactly, I wasn’t sure. But it was something. A start.

Nathaniel appeared back at my side, his own large valise in hand. He had apparently finished distributing the sketches. “Are you ready?”

I did not beat around the bush. “Did you bring Allett here because of me?”

“I brought him here to help with the search,” he said briskly. “If you happened to speak to him, that is your affair.” He took my bag from my hand and started for the door.

I wasn’t sure which to protest, his casual appropriation of my bag or his unexpected meddling in my affairs. I decided upon the latter. “You do not owe me any favors,” I said, starting after him. “Why help me after I kept information from you?”

He stopped and turned to face me, head tilted. “Is that how you view the world, Verity? As favors owed and gained? Transactions rather than relationships?”

I was taken aback. “I—”

“I helped you,” he went on, “because it is entirely possible to care about someone even when they enjoy testing the limits of one’s self-restraint.”

I blinked.

“Now come,” he said, his eyes softening. “We have a coach to catch.”

I trailed after him, trying to decipher his words. Cared could mean a great many things. One could care about a horse, a favorite book, a family heirloom. But the way he’d said it almost made me think he meant more.

But it did not matter. I could not let it matter.

Besides, I had more important issues to discuss.

“Nathaniel,” I said, again hurrying to catch him before he stepped outside. “Considering I have the utmost respect for your patience”—he scoffed—“before we left, I thought to tell you something I just learned from an informant.”

“An informant?” Nathaniel faced me again. “And what did this informant say?”

I took a deep breath. “That Higgs had been hired to rob the Harwoods. That the man who hired him wanted none of the jewelry—only Elizabeth’s reticule.”

His expression shifted. “With the letter inside.”

“Yes,” I said. “I cannot help but think it’s all connected. It must be. Elizabeth didn’t want anyone to read the contents of that letter, but someone found it. Someone knew .”

Nathaniel frowned. “Things just grew infinitely more complicated.”

“More still,” I said. “My informant says Higgs is hiding in St. Giles.”

“Of course he is.” Nathaniel exhaled. “I need to pass this on to the officers searching for Elizabeth. I’ll only be a moment.”

He spoke quickly to another officer, then joined me again. We left Bow Street and walked together in silence. I sent him a sidelong glance, trying not to admire his profile. I should be trying to fight the fire in my stomach, not fan the flames.

I cast about for a topic. “I admit, I half expected you to leave for Bibury without me.”

“I gave you my word.” He sounded somewhat insulted that I would doubt him. “Besides, I am quite aware that you would follow on your own, and I could never abide that.”

“Because you’ve taken it upon yourself to become my protector?” I teased.

“If you’ll let me,” he said rather seriously.

I’d thought he would grin, make a joke, wave off my comment. But he hadn’t. And something strange happened. The fire inside me didn’t flare in a rush of sparks. It smoldered, flickering and safe, filling me with warmth.

“I know, I know,” he said with a sigh. “You can take care of yourself.”

I fiddled with my reticule. “Heaven forbid I refuse Sir Chivalry an opportunity to help a lady.”

Now he did grin, and it spread across his face like sunlight. “You do it often enough.”

We arrived a few minutes later at the Gloucester Coffee House on Piccadilly, from which our mail coach was set to depart. The equipage was waiting in the yard, its horses being readied while passengers prepared to board. I moved toward the coach office to purchase tickets, but Nathaniel shook his head.

“I’ve already secured tickets,” he said, leading us toward the coach.

My brows knit together. “I can pay my own way.” I knew very well that coach travel was expensive—too expensive for a Bow Street officer supporting his parents.

He only shrugged. “You can pay for the inn tonight.”

The inn?

Logically, I’d known that we would not be able to reach Bibury today. But I hadn’t realized what that might entail as to our sleeping arrangements.

Nathaniel handed our bags to a porter, who loaded them atop the coach, then he helped me up the step and inside. Two gentlemen had already taken the forward-facing bench, perfectly content to ignore me as I sat opposite them. Nathaniel settled on the bench beside me, his long leg brushing mine. I hitched a breath. Our journey to Bibury would take the better part of two days—two days of sitting beside Nathaniel, his arms and legs pressed against mine, his masculine scent filling my head.

The other passengers found their seats atop the coach, and we started off with the sound of a horn, winding through the London streets.

“I must say, I am astonished your mother gave her permission for this venture,” Nathaniel said quietly, bending toward my ear so as not to be overheard by our two companions. “Even if Elizabeth is a friend.”

I shifted my weight uneasily. He had insisted on this condition this morning as we’d made our plans, and I’d lied quite baldly when I’d agreed. “Ah, well.” I’d hoped to avoid this topic until we were out of London. “I did not ask her, precisely. I left her a note.”

“A note?” Nathaniel stared at me. “Blast it, Verity, you promised me.”

“I am one and twenty,” I said tightly. “I can make my own decisions.”

“Yes, but now she will think me an indecent rogue who whisked you away.”

Indecent was right. Everything about him was downright indecent—that deep voice, those flashing eyes, the way he consumed space.

“She’ll think nothing of the sort,” I managed. “I explained everything in my note.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’ll make a fellow go mad, Verity Travers.”

“Then it is a good thing I never intend to marry. I can hardly condemn a man to insanity.”

I wasn’t sure why I said it. Perhaps I meant to make light of the situation, draw his ire away.

But instead, he turned to look at me, his expression impossible to read. “You never wish to marry?” he asked. Curious. Careful.

Why had I said it? “Matrimony holds no appeal for me.”

His brow settled low over his eyes, and he looked as if he wished to press the point.

I shifted uneasily. “I—I should not have said anything. Please, forget you heard it.”

Nathaniel’s eyes raked over my face. He exhaled a long breath, shaking his head. “I find it quite impossible to forget anything about you.”

He was so close. I couldn’t escape his penetrating gaze, his mystifying interest in me. I knew I wasn’t imagining it. Nathaniel did not bother to hide his emotions, at least when he wasn’t working. What I saw in his eyes when he looked at me was enough to make any woman dizzy—and I wasn’t any woman. We’d grown closer this past week, and what I’d learned about him only made this pull between us stronger. More intoxicating.

I dragged my eyes from him, a physical pain. I tried to think of something—anything—to say, and I toyed with the pendant hanging from my neck.

Nathaniel glanced down at the pendant in my hands. “What is that?”

“Oh.” I looked down at it, my thoughts still fuzzy. Rational thought was rather elusive when seated beside Mr. Nathaniel Denning. “My grandmother gave it to me. It’s a bezoar.”

“A bezoar?”

I smiled at his baffled expression. “Grandmama is a great believer in superstition and folklore. Like her poultices, it’s meant to ward off bad fortune.”

“And does it work?” he asked, clearly amused.

“Well, you’ve yet to insist the coachman turn around and take me home, so I shall answer a tentative yes.”

His lips twitched. “It’s a mail coach. They would laugh in my face.”

“Thank heavens for the Royal Mail.”

One of the men across from us eyed us strangely. I wondered if he could hear our conversation above the noise of the coach. Apparently Nathaniel thought the same, because we fell into silence.

We spoke little for the rest of the morning. Nathaniel pulled out a book from his pocket while I contented myself with gazing out the window at the passing landscape. I did not often leave London, save for a visit every now and again to Wimborne, Jack’s new home. If the bumping of the coach wouldn’t have rendered my efforts disastrous, I might have attempted a sketch of the lovely countryside.

The distraction certainly would have been welcome. As it was, I could not stop myself from thinking constantly of Elizabeth. I hadn’t any idea what we might learn tomorrow. Perhaps she had committed some terrible crime and was hiding from the authorities. Or perhaps she had been kidnapped after all, and she wasn’t even in Bibury. If we did find her, would she speak to us, or would she refuse?

It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon when we stopped yet again to change horses in a small village. Dark clouds threatened as passengers piled from the coach—mail coaches only stopped for minutes at a time—and hurried to stretch their legs or see to their needs. Several people hawked their food for sale, and I purchased a few potato pasties for us to share.

We were walking back to the coach when the rain began to fall. It wasn’t torrential, by any account, but it was enough that Nathaniel put his hand to my back, hastening our steps. That was, until I brought us both to a halt.

A young mother stood beside the coach, a babe in her arms and two rosy-cheeked children clutching her skirts. They’d boarded with us in London and had traveled atop our carriage. It was a vastly inferior option, but the fare was much cheaper. And based on the worn state of her clothing and those of her children, it had likely taken all her funds.

Now she pulled the children around her, shielding them and the baby from the rain as best she could, her face tired and distraught.

I did not have children, but I knew a woman in distress. I went to her, touching her arm gently. She looked at me, startled. “Take our places inside,” I said, peeking at the baby in her arms. The child could not be more than a few weeks old and fussed with a scrunched-up face. “None of you should be in the rain.”

The woman stared at me. “I couldn’t, ma’am,” she stammered. “We didn’t pay for that. The coachman—”

“Never mind the coachman,” I said. “Now, hurry in before you all get wet.”

“I—” She shook her head in disbelief, her eyes shiny as she looked down at her little ones. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I wasn’t sure how I would manage.”

Nathaniel stepped forward. “Here, allow me.”

He helped her inside, then lifted both of the wide-eyed children to sit on the bench beside her. If he had any objections to my giving up our seats, he didn’t say.

“Thank you both,” the woman said sincerely. “Truly.”

I was taken aback by her gratitude. “It is nothing,” I said, my voice a bit raspy.

Nathaniel closed the door, then turned to face me, his eyes discerning. He gestured to the steps leading atop the coach. “Shall we?”

With Nathaniel’s help, I managed the high step up and settled on the bench behind the driver, barely wide enough for the two of us. It must have been miserable for that poor woman with three children hanging off her. I wished I’d thought to offer our seats sooner.

Nathaniel climbed up behind me, the shoulders of his coat already damp from the misting rain. It would be a long afternoon, no doubt, but I could not bring myself to regret my decision.

Especially not as Nathaniel settled beside me, the coach swaying beneath us with his movements. He was even closer now than inside the coach. There was positively no space between us, our sides pressed together, his warmth reaching to me.

I shivered, but it had little to do with the rain.

He noticed, of course. “I suppose you’ve nothing warmer than that pelisse?”

I shook my head. I’d not thought we’d spend much time exposed to the elements, and I’d packed so quickly.

The coach jolted forward, and nothing but Nathaniel’s firm arm behind me kept me from toppling right over the back of the bench.

“Hold on,” he said and waited until I grasped the railing before reaching for his bag, which the porter had fortuitously stowed on the roof of the coach behind us. Unbuckling the top, he searched around before pulling out a gray wool scarf, thick and dry. He held it out to me.

“No,” I said, pulling back slightly. Very slightly—I truly had nowhere to go on this tiny bench. “That is yours.”

He sighed. “Obviously. I am offering it to you.”

“I was the one who gave up our seats.”

“And it should have been me,” he said gruffly. “Here, take the blasted scarf.”

When I hesitated, he began wrapping it around my neck himself. I opened my mouth to protest yet again, but then his hands grazed the delicate skin of my neck, and my stomach tumbled like a leaf on the wind. I lost all ability to speak.

His eyes met mine as he coiled the scarf once again. His breath caressed my cheek, which was no doubt red and flushed. He finished, his hands pausing briefly to adjust the scarf before dropping to his lap.

“Thank you.” My voice did not belong to me. It belonged to some breathless, lovesick girl.

Nathaniel nodded. The hair peeking from the bottom of his hat was damp, curling around his ears rather boyishly. It was altogether charming and attractive—alarmingly so.

A brisk wind picked up as we left the shelter of the little town where we’d stopped. Nathaniel again rifled through his bag.

“Here we are,” he said as he pulled out a folded lump of fabric. “One never regrets being prepared.” He unfolded a blanket, small and worn but quite cozy looking. “May I?”

He draped it around both of our backs, offering me one side to hold while he took the other.

“Do you always travel with your own bedding?” I asked.

“Let us simply say that I’ve learned not to trust the supposed comforts a roadside inn provides,” he said.

We pulled the blanket up over our heads, creating a canopy of sorts.

“That should keep off the worst of it,” he said. “Though I hope you haven’t any plans to attend a ball tonight.”

I laughed, and it was a relieving sound, breaking the strange tension that had crept between us since he’d so gently brushed my neck. “Are you insinuating that limp curls and sodden skirts are not the height of fashion these days?”

“A pity, if not so,” he said, looking straight ahead even as his cheeks colored slightly. “You do wear them well.”

Pleasure slipped through every inch of me. He meant his words, even as bedraggled as I knew I looked. He always meant his words.

Nathaniel shifted his weight. “We ought to establish a story for ourselves. Why we are traveling together.”

I’d thought the same thing earlier, inside the coach, but hadn’t dared broach the subject within earshot of those two gentlemen. “Can we not simply be brother and sister again?”

“I am not entirely sure such a ruse would be convincing.”

He had a point. Just the way he looked at me—boldly, burning—was enough to set off anyone’s suspicions.

“What, then?” I curled my fingers around my edge of the blanket, peeking out into the dreary rain. “You could be my cousin.”

“I thought perhaps husband.”

I nearly choked, whipping my head to look at him. He grinned.

“No,” I sputtered immediately. “We cannot do that.”

“And why is that?” he said, somehow—impossibly—leaning closer, teasing in his every feature. “Of course, someone will wonder what a lout like me is doing with a woman like you, but perhaps you can tell them I am incredibly clever or fabulously rich.”

“No,” I said again, heat spreading across my neck and cheeks. “I only meant ...” I paused. “We certainly could not convince anyone we are married. We hardly know each other.”

“ That is not true,” he said. “I know you are picky about your food and enjoy boxing with drunkards in your spare time.”

“Only ones with ill intent,” I said, hiding a grin. “Besides, those are hardly the things anyone will expect a husband to know.”

“And what might those things be?”

“How I take my tea, for example,” I replied. “My habits. My likes and dislikes.”

“True enough.” He nodded knowingly. “There is an obvious solution, you know. I shall simply learn everything about you in the next few hours.”

I laughed. I could not help it. The stress of the last few days had worn my nerves to their breaking point, and his lightness, his teasing, was precisely what I needed to escape—if only for a short while. “Very well,” I said, shifting under the blanket to look at him more closely. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, you made your tea preferences sound like a critical bit of information.”

My lips seemed stuck in an upward turn. “You mustn’t judge me too harshly.”

“Meaning?”

“The more sugar, the better,” I said. “And drowned in cream.”

“I see.” His mouth twitched. “You prefer not to taste the tea.”

I wrinkled my nose. “If at all possible.”

Now he laughed, and the sound bounded through my chest, filling me and forming me. I did not think I could ever tire of his laugh. It was a kite lifting through the clouds, a glimpse of brighter and better days.

“Very well,” he said, still grinning. “A little tea to go with your sugar. That is a start.”

“What else do you wish to know?”

He paused, thinking. “Your favorite flower?”

“You shall be disappointed,” I said. “I haven’t one.”

“You haven’t a favorite flower?” He widened his eyes as if positively perplexed. “But every lady loves flowers. I think you all must be born with a natural adoration.”

“I don’t dislike flowers,” I said, nudging him playfully with my elbow. “It is only that none stand above the others in my estimation. Can’t a girl like roses and marigolds equally?”

“Not when our pretend marriage is on the line, I’m afraid,” he said quite seriously.

I sighed. “Very well. For the sake of our ruse, I shall say daisies.”

“Daisies?”

I fought the urge to cross my arms. “Why not daisies? I think they are rather underestimated.”

He arched a brow as if unconvinced.

“They are simple and steadfast,” I insisted, not entirely sure why I felt so defensive, “but still beautiful in their own way.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Telling.”

The meaning behind his words was clear. “Are you calling me simple?”

He laughed. “I would never accuse you of simplicity. But the rest ... Yes, I think they do nicely.”

The back of my neck warmed. He thought me beautiful?

“Another question,” he said, not letting me dwell. “Do you prefer to burn the midnight oil or rise with the sun?”

I made a face. “That is a question designed to make a person appear lazy.”

Nathaniel looked amused. “How so?”

“If I admit to preferring both a late night and a late morning, you shall think me rather unambitious.”

“I would think no such thing. But I would ask why.”

I lifted one shoulder, an awkward movement considering the blanket draped over us and the fact that my shoulder still pressed firmly against his. “I love the quiet of night. I do my best work then.”

“Your drawing?”

I nodded. “When I’m not so distracted, I can focus easier. I’ve always had a mind for faces. I draw other things, of course, and I do enjoy a variety, but nothing sharpens my skills more than a portrait.” I paused. “I think it is the eyes. One can tell a great deal from a person’s eyes. The sort of life they’ve lived. The good and the bad. It is a very difficult thing to capture, but when I do ...” I sighed. “The feeling is unparalleled.”

Nathaniel was quiet a moment. “The sketch you did of me,” he said slowly. “The one I saw at the Harwoods’ party.”

I did not move. “Yes?”

He glanced at me, then away. “The rest was yet unfinished, but my eyes were ... well, it was like staring at myself. Rather disconcerting, really.”

I said nothing, biting my lip. What was he getting at?

“I only wondered,” he said, “how you did that. How you captured me so well when I was little more than a stranger.”

I looked again at the rainy countryside, my insides a fluttering mess.

“I—” I paused. “It does not happen often. Never, really. But from our first meeting, I was drawn to you. I wanted to know more of you. Your story.”

I could see from the edge of my vision that he watched me, fully focused on my words. And suddenly, I felt ridiculous. He was going to think I was like those other ladies who followed after him, charmed by his manners and good looks.

“It is silly,” I said quickly. “I am rambling. That is what happens when I spend too much time on the road, I’m afraid.”

He allowed me my retreat. “It could be a great deal worse. I generally spend my time with men who seem to abhor bathing. You are a pleasant change, to be sure.”

“Because I smell better?”

He smiled. “I don’t ask for much in a traveling companion, but that is high on my list.”

It was easy, being with him. He made our conversation a living thing, coaxing out answers from me like crocuses popping up from a snowy bank in the springtime. I should not want to talk with him like this. I should be thinking about Elizabeth, not enjoying the sound of his voice in my ear, the pressure of his body against my side.

But I did.

Very much.

I peeked at Nathaniel. He gazed forward, a trace of a smile still on his lips. A shadow was just beginning to appear against his jaw, disappearing beneath his cravat, and the wind toyed with a lock of his hair. I had to resist the urge to smooth it back.

Blast.

Oh, Verity , I groaned to myself. What have you gotten yourself into ?