Page 25 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

After all, he doubtless still yearned after Annabeth. What if he had imagined it was her, the great love of his life, that he’d been kissing? That was a thoroughly depressing thought.

It wouldn’t happen again, she was sure. Nathan was too gentlemanly to run about kissing ladies willy-nilly. Of course, he didn’t consider her a lady, but still, she was too connected to his inner circle for him to think she was someone he could trifle with. That was why he had apologized; he considered kissing her a social breach.

Which meant he would be careful not to indulge in that again. She might not be a woman to be trifled with, but neither was she a woman whom he would court. Verity let out a little sigh. Nathan had denied that she was unacceptable, but they’d both known that that was a lie of kindness. No gentleman of his status would offer her marriage.

Not that she even wanted marriage. She was an independent woman and meant to remain one. Verity would never submit to being ruled by a husband—not even a charming one who gave her magical kisses.

Tomorrow, they would go back to the way they were, this episode forgotten, and that would be for the best...but tonight she was going to luxuriate in the memory of that kiss.

NATHAN AROSE EARLY the following morning—though he had spent very little time sleeping. He had left Verity’s house in a sensual haze that even the brisk walk back to his flat had not dispelled.

He was shocked that he had wanted Verity so much. She wasn’t traditionally beautiful—though God knew her sly smile beckoned a man and one could get lost in those golden eyes, not to mention that her form was deliciously curved and for days his fingers had itched to pull the pins from her rich red hair and let it cascade across his hands.

Well, perhaps it wasn’t such a shock, after all. He’d been suppressing his hunger from the first moment he saw her at Lady Arden’s ball.

Still, she was not the sort of woman he usually desired. He had been in love with Annabeth, but he hadn’t been a monk, and the women he’d admired and the lovers he had taken were mostly tall, willowy, ladylike and...well, much like Annabeth.

Verity was none of those things. Rather than serenely beautiful, Verity’s good looks were vibrant and unavoidable. She was flamboyant, one might even say brassy. He never knew what was going to come out of her mouth or what she might do. She annoyed him; indeed, she seemed to enjoy annoying him.

Yet, still, he had abandoned all reason and kissed her as if he wanted to consume her. It had been the merest wisp of rationality that had pulled him back before he did something irredeemably foolish.

It wasn’t that he had thought Verity wasn’t willing. She had returned his kiss with equal heat. Nathan smiled to himself, thinking of her response. The little shiver that he’d felt run through her as he caressed the tender skin at the back of her neck. He could still feel the wisps of hair that escaped her chignon softly teasing his fingers. Her mouth hot and seeking. Her body pliant beneath his hands as they moved down her back.

With a little growl, he pulled his mind back from the seductive memory. It was no help to dwell on it. It wasn’t her response to his kisses that was the problem. It was what would happen after them.

Neither of them would ever fit in the other’s life. They had nothing in common; Malcolm Douglas was the only reason they were together right now, and that would soon be resolved. There could never be anything between them but a tempestuous affair. And, appealing as that sounded at the moment, it would be bound to end badly, and Nathan didn’t want that. He didn’t know what to make of the relationship he had with Verity, but he was sure that he wanted to hold on to it.

Nathan dressed and ate his breakfast, then walked over to Verity’s. It wasn’t until he got there that he realized that it was far too early to make a call. And he hadn’t thought of anything to say; their first meeting after last night’s kiss was bound to be awkward. He turned aside and started to leave, but halted on the pavement and walked back, trying out a few phrases under his breath.

Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door swung open and Verity frowned at him. “What on earth are you doing, whirling around out there? Come inside.”

He gaped at her, any phrase of apology or greeting flown from his mind. Verity’s abundant hair was braided and wound into a tight flat knot atop her head. But that was the least of it. She had on a rough grayish shirt of the type workmen wore, and below that she was wearing breeches, the ends loose and rather ragged, as if a pair of men’s breeches had been cut off. Below that, her feet and a good portion of her calves were bare.

To put a final touch on the ensemble, she had wrapped a slender rope around the waistband of the trousers, which were clearly too large. It was all astonishing, but it was her bare feet and shins that captured his gaze. He had never before realized how tantalizing the sight of a woman’s bare feet could be.

Letting out a little growl of irritation, Verity grasped him by the arm and pulled him inside. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

“What—how—why are you wearing that?” Nathan couldn’t quite pull his thoughts together. Why was she dressed as whatever she was—a man? A street urchin? Perhaps an escapee from an asylum?

Verity let out a little laugh and answered his tangled question in order. “They’re boy’s clothes. I had them tucked away in a trunk. I am going to pose as a beggar in order to spy on Malcolm Douglas.”

She turned and walked back to the stairs, where she sat down on a step and began to pull on a pair of small battered brogans. “I had to purchase the cap and shoes from the chimneysweep’s boy. I think he found me suspicious.”

“Imagine that,” Nathan retorted acidly. He had found his tongue again. “What the devil do you think you’re doing? No one will believe you’re a lad.”

“Yes, they will.” Verity shrugged. “People see what they expect to see.” She stood up and pulled a too-large waistcoat over her shirt.

He was sorry to say, it did serve to conceal her breasts. “They aren’t your only curves.” He looked pointedly at her shapely bottom, which even the loose trousers could not hide.

“Hmm.” Verity twisted to look down at her backside. “Perhaps you’re right.” She pulled her shirt out from the breeches, so that it hung down over her hips. “There. That’ll do.”

“Verity...”

“Have you ever noticed how long you can stretch out my name?”

He ignored her remark. “Why in the name of all that’s holy do you need to dress up as a street urchin for us to keep watch on Douglas’s movements?”

“We can’t very well just hang about on the street waiting for him to come out, can we? Even if we sat in the carriage, people would find it odd. He might notice us. But nobody notices a lad sweeping the crossings or begging.”