Page 90 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

Verity seized the reins of the conversation, saying bluntly, “Nathan’s afraid your uncle is going to kill you. He is just too polite to say so in your uncle’s presence. I am not.” As Malcolm gaped at her, she went on, “Robert Douglas is behind everything that happened to you. He hired the two men who kidnapped you. He hired Will Tolliver to pretend to be you. It was all his scheme.”

“Have you run mad?” Malcolm stared. “Nathan, what—I don’t understand.”

“We found Will Tolliver’s body this afternoon,” Nathan replied. “We believe he was killed to keep him from revealing who paid him.”

“I—why—”

“The story Tolliver told us would never have stood up in court,” Nathan said. “It would have resulted in nothing except to prove that you are illegitimate, that Flora is really your grandmother.”

“What does that have to do with Uncle Robert?”

“For pity’s sake, Malcolm,” Verity snapped. “Think. If your illegitimate birth came out, who is the one person who would benefit?”

“Is there nothing a Dunbridge won’t do!” Robert thundered, his face reddening. He turned to his nephew. “Malcolm, don’t listen to him. He’s trying to cause trouble, just as his father did.”

“Stop.” Malcolm held up his hands. “Stop. All of you. I don’t know what you’re doing, Dunbridge—if you believe this nonsense or you’re playing some bizarre prank. But this is ridiculous. I’m going inside.” He started away.

“Malcolm, wait.” Nathan took a step after him.

Malcolm turned, his eyes flashing. “No. Go away. Leave me alone.”

Sending a triumphant glance at Nathan, Robert Douglas turned and sauntered after his nephew. Nathan let out a curse, watching his half brother walk away.

“Blast it. How do I convince him?” Nathan said.

“Well, now that you’ve accused him of it, Robert may decide he can’t kill his nephew after all without looking incredibly suspicious.”

“Only if we spread it around. And even then, we’ll have no proof of his scheme, with Tolliver dead.”

“Rumor is a powerful thing,” Verity said. “One doesn’t have to prove anything. If we tell Lady Lockwood, it would be all over town within days.”

“Yes, but the scandal would hurt all of them, not just Robert.”

“I suspect Malcolm would rather be the topic of scandal than dead. And if he’s too stubborn and foolish to—Nathan!” She broke off midsentence and pointed, but before he could turn to look in that direction, Verity had broken into a run.

A team of horses charged down the street toward them. They were moving at far too great a clip for both the busy thoroughfare and the large wagon they pulled. A man crossing the street dodged out of the way, and the driver of another carriage shook his fist and shouted as they sped past him.

Nathan knew at once what Verity was thinking. He sprinted after her, calling out to Malcolm, who was walking near the edge of the pavement, his head down. Robert, trailing some distance behind his nephew, stayed suspiciously close to the row of houses.

Nathan hadn’t quite caught up to Verity when the wagon suddenly veered across the street, heading straight at Malcolm. Nathan yelled his brother’s name again, and Verity called, “Watch out!” but their cries were drowned out by the shrieks of the party guests.

For the first time Malcolm raised his head and saw the horses bearing down upon him. Nathan was still too far away; he knew he wouldn’t reach Malcolm in time. Then he saw Verity jump, and the two of them went flying.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“VERITY!” NATHAN’S HEART was in his throat and he ran toward her.

The horses swerved back onto the street, and Verity popped back up from the shrubbery into which she and Malcolm had jumped. She brushed debris off her fake padded belly, and Nathan was swamped with relief. Whirling, he ran after the wagon and leapt up to grab the back side of it. He dangled precariously in midair for a moment, but his toes found purchase on the wood, and he pushed off, swinging up and into the empty wagon.

Nathan planted his feet wide, bending his knees so he was partially crouched to better accommodate the rocking of the vehicle. Two men—one tall, one short, just as he expected—sat on the driver’s bench. With all the commotion, neither one of them seemed to have noticed him yet. The man not driving, whom Nathan recognized as Shoemaker, clutched the bench with both hands, screaming at the top of his lungs, as the wagon rocketed on. Hill, obviously inexperienced at driving, was shouting at the horses as he sawed at the reins, trying to steer the team.

As Nathan carefully made his way forward, holding onto the side of the wagon, the back end slid sideways and clipped a lamppost, then ricocheted back. Nathan, losing his grip, bounced from one side to the other but managed to stay upright. Regaining his footing, Nathan lunged forward and hooked one arm around the driver’s neck, jerking Hill back tightly so that the man was immobilized against him.

With the other hand, Nathan wrenched the reins from Hill and hauled back on them. It would have been better to use both hands on the reins—better still to reach the braking lever—but Hill was struggling so much Nathan couldn’t release him. He only hoped that all the other drivers on the road had the good sense to pull out of the way.

Finally, Nathan felt Hill grow heavy as if he was losing consciousness. Nathan dropped the arm around Hill’s neck and shoved him over against Shoemaker, then lunged, reaching over the dividing wall, and pulling back hard on the brake. The combination of the brake and a firm hand on the reins slowed the horses, but Hill sucked in a large gulp of air, which revived him and he whirled around, swinging at Nathan.

Hill’s fist collided with Nathan’s cheek, snapping his head to the side and sending him staggering back a step, releasing the brake. The horses, however, apparently had enough and simply came to a stop, lathered and tossing their heads, blowing out air.