Page 25 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

Annabeth tried to speak, but was drowned out by the loud voices of the others. Judy put two fingers to her mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. Everyone in the room jumped and whirled, suddenly silent.

“Annabeth...” Sloane’s face cleared, his whole body sagging in relief, and he took a few steps toward her, then drew up short as Nathan rushed over.

“Annabeth, darling, are you all right?” Nathan pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “Thank God, I was beside myself with worry.”

Lady Lockwood issued a loud “harrumph” and said, “Really, Dunbridge, contain yourself.”

Nathan released Annabeth and stepped back, holding her hand for a moment longer before letting go, his eyes anxiously looking her over. He drew in a breath. “Your face.” His hand went to her reddened cheek and hovered. “What happened? Did someone hit you?”

“I’m fine, Nathan, really.” Her gaze went past him to Sloane. “What are you doing here, Sloane?”

“Where else would I be? You were missing.”

“Yes. Just where have you been, young lady?” Lady Lockwood scolded.

“I don’t know, honestly. They threw us in a carriage and I woke up in this locked room, but we escaped. That’s the sum of my knowledge.”

Lady Lockwood frowned. “This is most irregular. I don’t know what the city is coming to—thieves and kidnappers running all about.” She swung and pointed her cane at Judy. “And what were you about, letting her be grabbed like that?”

For the first time, the two men looked over at Judy, who had remained quietly in the doorway.

Sloane stared in shock, then said, “Verity?”

CHAPTER NINE

ANNABETH STARED AT him in confusion. Verity? Truth? What was Sloane talking about?

Judy sighed and came farther into the room. “Yes, Sloane, it’s me.” There was no trace of her Yorkshire voice.

Nathan’s jaw dropped. “Devil take it. Who are you?”

The maid turned to Nathan. She put a fist on her hip, her sauciness returning in full force. “Bonjour, monsieur,” she said in a French accent. “In Paris, I am Angelique.” Her voice changed again. “And in Bahston, Massachusetts, I am Mercy. But in South Carolina, why, I’m just little ole Clara Ann. Right ’ere and now, me name is Judy.” She reverted to her familiar Yorkshire accent, then straightened and, in the pristine tone of an English lady, continued, “But my mother named me Verity.”

Everyone remained gaping at her in silence for a moment. Nathan snorted. “That was certainly a misnomer.”

“To you, I’m Miss Cole,” Judy shot back.

Annabeth’s head was whirling. Judy wasn’t a thief who’d become a maid. She was...what was she? Annabeth could only stare, unable to come up with any coherent thought. Sloane, however, didn’t seem to have that problem. He strode toward the other woman, his eyes flashing.

“So this is why your office has been closed. You were spying on Annabeth? What the devil is going on? Who are you working for?”

“You were spying on me?” Annabeth knew it was foolish to feel so betrayed. It wasn’t as if Judy were an age-old friend; Annabeth had known her for only a little more than a fortnight.

“No!” Judy turned to Annabeth. “You must believe me. I was not spying on you. I was just...”

Sloane took the maid by the arm, his face a study in fury. Anyone else would have stepped back from him, but she just lifted her chin and returned his glare. “Take your hand off me if you want to keep it.”

“I want some answers,” he said, dropping her arm and stepping back. “After all the time we were together, I think I deserve a little honesty from you.”

Together? Annabeth put her hand on her stomach, suddenly sick. Judy and Sloane had been—what? Married? Lovers? Of course, she’d known that Sloane must have been with other women. Loved other women. It had been twelve years, after all. But to have it thrust in her face like this was another thing entirely.

“Who are you working for? Why does he want to hurt Annabeth?” Sloane’s mouth twisted. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible you would agree to do this to an innocent woman.”

“I haven’t done anything to her except pin up her hair.” Judy—no, Verity planted her fists on her hips pugnaciously.

Nathan joined the argument. “We’re supposed to believe that you just happened to be pretending to be Annabeth’s maid at the very same time someone attacked her? You were working with those scoundrels, telling them when and where—”

“Oh, yes!” Verity swung on Nathan, her voice dripping scorn. “Of course I was working with the men who punched me in the face and knocked me in the head and cut my arm.” She gestured toward the torn and bloodied sleeve of her dress, where a thin red line ran down her arm. “I never did anything to hurt Miss Winfield. I’m the one who fought to help her. I’m the one who got her away from them while you lot were sitting here, waiting and talking to your neighbors.”