Page 43 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

“Since we are the ones currently saving your hides—” Verity knelt beside the hole again “—you might try addressing your prayers to us for the time being.”

Sloane glared at her. “I can’t believe you dragged Annabeth into this with you. You should have stopped to think.”

“I’ll remind you that I wasn’t the one who decided to go charging through Cheapside and follow a man down into a tunnel,” Verity retorted.

This remark served to shut Sloane up, and Verity tossed one end of a knotted rope down to them. “The ladder’s too short to reach you, and in any case, it’s attached to the entry. You’re going to have to climb this rope.”

Nathan eyed the rope. There was no way Annabeth and Verity could counter either his or Sloane’s weight. “But how—”

“My coachman Russell is here with us,” Verity answered his unspoken question. “And we’ve wrapped the rope around the ladder for leverage. But perhaps you should come up first, Nathan.” When Nathan took a step toward the rope, she added drily, “You might want to bring the rest of your clothes. Not that we don’t admire the view.”

“Good Gad.” In the excitement of the moment, he’d forgotten his state of undress. He was certain he was blushing from his chest to his hairline as he retreated, retying his shirt as he went. Well, at least he was more clothed than Sloane, who had shed his shirt entirely—not, of course, that Sloane would care.

Sloane laughed, proving Nathan’s point. Nathan haphazardly pulled on his waistcoat and jacket and stuffed his neckcloth in his pocket. He went back to the rope and looked up. “Ready?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices from farther back in the tunnel.

He couldn’t quite dismiss the image of Verity being pulled down here with him. “Well, if you start to slide, let go.”

“Nathan, would you just climb the rope?”

Nathan stepped up onto the foundation he and Sloane had laid—at least it was worth something—and began to climb. It had been years since he had done this, but it turned out he was still able to pull himself up, even though he was a good bit heavier than his twelve-year-old self.

He reached the top and crawled onto the tunnel floor, Verity rushing forward to help. Flopping onto his back, Nathan simply lay there for a moment, soaking in the relief of being out of the ruins.

“Are you injured?” Verity knelt beside him, peering down at him with an expression he’d never seen on her face before. She brushed the dust from his face and ran her hands over his chest and arms. Well, this was rather pleasant, actually.

“I’m fine,” he said somewhat reluctantly and rolled to his feet. That look on Verity’s face had been anxiety. Verity had been worried about him, which both surprised and warmed him. He would have liked to take her in his arms and just hold her. But of course he couldn’t with Russell and Annabeth watching and Sloane waiting to be rescued.

Nathan took his place along the rope with the others and called Sloane to climb up. After Sloane reached the top, there was a great deal of him and Annabeth hugging and kissing in between bickering, while the others rolled up the rope and carried it and the lantern up the ladder. Sloane and Annabeth followed more slowly.

Verity’s coach had been guarded by a group of street urchins, whom she rewarded with coins. There was no hack in view, so they squeezed into Verity’s town coach, with Annabeth sitting on Sloane’s lap and Nathan choosing to join the driver on his high seat rather than folding himself into the small space in front of the other passengers’ feet. Verity suggested that she sit there, being smaller, but Nathan sent her a fulminating look and climbed up onto the coachman’s seat. A man had to have some pride, after all, and he wasn’t about to let Verity sit on the floor after he had already had to be rescued by her.

There was some compensation to the choice, anyway, as the breeze blew away some of the dust that had settled on him. It also cheered him a little to remind himself that Sloane, the former spy extraordinaire himself, was also nursing his damaged pride after their failed attempt to question, or even catch, the man they’d fallen into a pit chasing.

When they reached Verity’s house, Nathan and Verity disembarked, and the carriage rolled off to take the other couple home. As they walked to the front door, Nathan tried futilely to rub away the streaks of dirt on his face and neck where his sweat had mingled with the dust.

“Oh, stop that,” Verity said in an exasperated tone. “Come in and wash up. You and I need to talk.”

That sounded faintly ominous, Nathan thought, but he had a few questions to ask Verity, as well.

Verity turned him over to her housekeeper, who, after an appalled exclamation, showed him upstairs to a wash basin and pitcher and ordered him to give her his jacket and waistcoat to clean. Nathan washed his hands and face, as well as his neck and lower arms, and finally wound up pouring the rest of the pitcher over his head.

The result was less than perfect—he could only finger-comb his wet hair into some order and his shirt was still somewhat dirty, and now wet around the neck and the end of his sleeves. But he felt a great deal better. He would have liked to have his jacket, but, really, what did it matter at this point? Verity was hardly one to insist on proper attire, and she had already seen him in only his shirt, anyway. Had she meant what she said about admiring the view? He couldn’t quite stifle the little rush of pleasure that thought brought.

He left the upstairs chamber and ventured down to the parlor, where he found Verity eating cakes and drinking tea. “Sit down. You must be hungry.”

Nathan’s stomach agreed. His questions could wait. He joined her, polishing off the rest of the food and drinking two cups of tea.

Verity waited until he’d drained the second cup before she crossed her arms and said, “Why were you two running around Cheapside, falling into holes?”

“We didn’t actually intend to fall into a hole,” he shot back, nettled by her description of his efforts. “We were chasing one of those men who attacked us last night so I could find out who hired them.”

“So of course you turned to Sloane.”

Nathan wasn’t sure why, but there was a distinct tone of resentment in Verity’s voice. “He’s the only person I know who is familiar with the criminal underworld.” When Verity raised one eyebrow he added, “Besides you, I mean. And I was trying to keep you out of it.”

“Keep me out of it?” She stared. “I was well in it last night.”