Page 49 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

Verity lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I didn’t exactly turn him down. I told him I don’t want to lose his friendship. Which is true—once you start, the friendship is gone. While you’re in the affair, it’s so much more than friendship, and after the affair ends, it’s so much less. But now I worry that last night already damaged what we have. Nathan was a perfect gentleman, just as one would expect of him. He didn’t argue or try to persuade me, he agreed to continue as friends. But after that, it was awkward between us. Neither one of us quite knew how to act. What if that is how it will continue to be? What if I’ve ruined it? I shouldn’t have kissed him.”

“It would have happened sometime,” Mrs. Malloy said flatly. “The feelings were there whether you kissed him or not. And you weren’t the only participant. I warrant Mr. Dunbridge encouraged you along the way.”

A faint smile touched Verity’s lips. “Yes. He was rather good at it, too.”

Mrs. Malloy reached over and patted Verity’s arm, her voice comforting. “I have the feeling this will all work itself out. Mr. Dunbridge doesn’t sound to me like he’s going anywhere. You need to trust your instincts. I’ve never seen you so discombobulated.”

“That’s because it’s never been real before.”

“I know, dear. And that’s why this is a good thing.”

“A good thing to be at all sixes and sevens?” Verity frowned.

“Of course.” Mrs. Malloy smiled. “That’s the way love is, dear. And now you know.”

Verity had tried to concentrate on reports for her cases the remainder of the morning, but she could think of nothing but Nathan. It was thoroughly irritating. How romance-obsessed ladies in the ton ever got a single thing accomplished was beyond her understanding. Of course, most ladies of breeding had few things they needed to get done, and the things they did were probably all in service of landing that dashing beau they thought of constantly. Well, she wasn’t going to join their ranks. Standing up from her desk, she told Mrs. Malloy she was going for a walk. Busying her body often freed Verity’s mind and brought her clarity on a case.

Before she knew it, she was walking to a place she’d been just recently. And though Verity told herself it had nothing to do with Nathan, deep down she knew if she was not considering some sort of entanglement with him, she would not be so fixated on checking on the home where she had killed the late Lord Stanhope.

Verity knew she shouldn’t be here again; she wasn’t even in disguise this time. But perhaps she could use that to her advantage. The young girl she’d talked to originally had seemed loose-tongued—it was only her superior that had kept her from saying too much about Stanhope. And the girl had been working outside the house last time. Maybe if Verity waited around for a while she would come back out. She’d probably be even more willing to give information to someone who was dressed as Verity was now—in a proper day dress and not tattered rags like the last time—and could offer her a few shillings for her trouble.

But she couldn’t just stand on the sidewalk for however long it might take for the girl’s chores to take her outside. Surely then Verity would draw the attention of the older woman and ruin her chance at getting more information. Verity discreetly studied the house as she walked past, continuing around to the street that formed the back border of the park. There was no entrance on this side—the pleasant bit of greenery in the middle of the city was intended for only the residents of the crescent row—but the wrought iron fence was little impediment to Verity.

Several of the trees in the park branched outside it, and after a quick glance around her, Verity made a running jump and swung up onto an overhanging tree limb and shimmied along it to the trunk and down on the other side of the fence.

Shrubbery grew along the fence, shielding the park and its occupants from the view of passersby. Verity crossed the grass to the other side and sat down on a bench where she could see the house without being seen herself.

Nothing of any note happened for the next hour, and Verity felt herself growing drowsy. But she came alert in an instant when a man opened the gate and stepped inside the park. Her pulse quickened and for a moment she thought it was Lord Stanhope, back from the country estate. Verity quickly slipped off the bench and ducked into a cluster of greenery that bordered a large tree nearby.

On closer inspection of the man, she could see that not only was he shorter and heavier than Jonathan, he had the beginnings of a bald patch—he certainly did not possess her stepbrother’s thick hair. She was more on edge than she had realized if she’d thought this man could be Lord Stanhope.

Verity was well hidden on two sides by the shrubbery and sprawling tree—not that the man would have noticed her anyway. He didn’t glance around the park, keeping his eyes on the gate, only looking away to check his watch occasionally. It was obvious he was waiting for someone, and Verity cursed her bad luck. She’d hoped to catch the attention of the girl if she came out of the house, but Verity could hardly pop out from her hiding place like some sort of deranged jack-in-the-box with this man here.

Her mind was busily working through scenarios—perhaps she could feign that she had dropped a piece of jewelry and been searching for it all this time—when the person the man had been waiting for walked through the gate. This time it was Jonathan Stanhope. Verity’s eyes widened. She melted further into the shrubbery behind the tree and peered out through the branches.

Stanhope’s face was stony, and he greeted the other man shortly—Milsap. One of the most renowned Bow Street Runners. Stanhope had some serious business if he had hired Milsap. Verity could not hear what the two were saying from this distance, only the tone of their voices. Stanhope was clearly angry, and the other man looked taken aback.

Verity cast about for a way to draw nearer while remaining concealed, but at that moment, Stanhope swung around and began to pace, his words reaching Verity in snatches as he walked back and forth. “...what I paid you for...excuses...you swore to me that she was dead.”

Though her name was not mentioned, Verity felt a deep certainty that Stanhope was talking about her. Had he recognized her at the party last week after all?

Milsap followed him, saying, “Sir, she was. She is.”

“Don’t lie to me, Milsap,” Stanhope snapped, his voice as cold as his expression. “I will not brook deception.”

Verity’s stomach tightened. I will not brook this behavior, young lady.

The other man stiffened, his voice turning frosty. “Sir. I do not lie. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“I don’t give a damn about your reputation.” Stanhope swung around. “I want you to do the job you didn’t do sixteen years ago.”

He strode toward the gate, the other man at his side, talking in a cajoling tone. They stopped at the gate, and Stanhope made a curt remark, then strode off. Milsap turned sharply and walked in the other direction.

Verity didn’t move from her hiding place, her heart racing. Milsap walked straight past her, muttering, “Just like them, blaming me ’cause he’s seeing things. Bloody aristocrat.”

Verity waited several minutes to emerge from behind the tree to make sure neither of the men returned—and to let her rapid pulse slow. There was no mistaking Jonathan Stanhope’s anger at the prospect that Verity might not be dead, and he was just as obviously determined to find her if she was alive.

A craven impulse to run bloomed within her, followed by a desire to find Nathan and...and what? Tell him she was afraid? Not strong enough to fight her enemies? A fragile flower who needed his protection?