Page 15 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe (Stonecliffe #3)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
O F COURSE HE would return tomorrow, Nathan thought as he walked home—and every day after that if the way he felt right now was any indication. His thinking was muddled, his emotions every which way, and he churned with desire for Verity.
He was well aware that he had no idea what he was doing. The only things he was certain of were: first, he very much wanted to make love to Verity, and second, he was doubtlessly acting like a fool. The latter concern was easily overcome; he had acted the fool around Verity so many times that he was beyond embarrassment.
Much more worrisome was his desire for her. Though Verity didn’t seem bothered by what people might think of her, Nathan cared about her reputation. No doubt she would laugh at that concern and tell him that no one would either know or care what they did. But Nathan had been on the social scene far longer than Verity, and he knew exactly how much the ton delighted in the slightest bit of titillating gossip.
He liked Verity too much to make her his mistress, but the only other course was marriage. Nathan had grown content with the idea of living as a bachelor during his months abroad. And, given his financial state, the only marital options he had were to marry an heiress as his aunt wanted or drag a woman with him into a life of genteel penny-pinching. He didn’t wish to do either. Even when he had been eager to marry Annabeth, he’d felt guilty, knowing that all he could give her was a chance to leave Lady Lockwood’s house.
Verity, he was sure, had no interest in becoming anyone’s wife. Any romance with her was destined to be blazing but brief. The desire that had flamed in him tonight was too fierce to last. And whatever had made Verity respond to his kisses would quickly fade as she came to realize that he was no more interesting than she had judged him to be when they first met.
In any case, they were completely unsuited for each other. Verity was prickly and suspicious and held her secrets close to her, whereas Nathan was practically an open book. Her idea of a pleasant evening wouldn’t be sitting by the fireside, reading. Well, that wasn’t really appealing to him, either, when he thought of it.
Nathan wasn’t sure what Verity’s idea of a perfect evening would be—breaking into someone’s house, perhaps, or fighting a ruffian in a dark alley. Whatever it was, it probably was not making the social rounds—that got boring even for him. And there was that little matter of her killing Lord Stanhope years ago. However much the snake had deserved to die, murder was illegal, and it could be dangerous for her to be seen moving in aristocratic circles without a disguise. Someone would be bound to identify her at some point. And then what would she do? Flee to the Continent?
Which only went to confirm that spending a lifetime with Verity would be downright dangerous.
The right thing, the smart thing, was to do as Verity had suggested: carry on as they had been doing, working together but not falling into bed together. Nathan would be friendly but contained. Not stand too close or touch her. The only problem was that the prospect of doing all those things was distinctly unappealing.
Despite his turmoil, Nathan was too tired not to fall asleep as soon as he fell into bed. However, his night was filled with long, lascivious dreams, and he awakened the next morning in a sorry state, as confused and torn between lust and reason as he had been the night before.
As he shaved and dressed, his mind continued to churn, so much so that he had to retie his neckcloth three times before he got it right. To distract himself from such fruitless thoughts, he turned his mind to the events of the day before.
Admittedly, his venture yesterday had not ended well. Even if Nathan ignored the fact that he and Sloane had fallen into the ruins, they still had lost the man they’d been chasing and alerted him to their pursuit. The man wouldn’t be going back to his home or other old haunts anytime soon. Instead he and his partner had doubtlessly gone to ground in the stews of London or left the city altogether.
Still, the fiasco had not been a total loss. The barkeep hadn’t seen Lord Arden talking to the men who had attacked Nathan and Verity, but he had said that Arden came to that tavern to hire ruffians for his misdeeds. In comparison, the man had shown no recognition of Malcolm Douglas’s name or description or of Stanhope’s, which made Arden the much more likely person to have hired the men. The pair might move around from tavern to tavern, but people were generally creatures of habit.
As Nathan and Verity had discussed, there seemed little that Malcolm Douglas would gain by incapacitating them. Nor did it seem likely that Stanhope had recognized Verity from a brief glimpse at a party. She had been only a girl of fourteen at that time. And after sixteen years, would the man’s blood have run so hot for revenge that he would have Verity killed? It seemed far more likely to Nathan that Lord Stanhope would have turned her in to the authorities.
Not to mention the undeniable fact that the men were asking about something they thought Verity and Nathan had or knew. This pointed strongly to Lord Arden as the culprit: he must have learned Verity’s identity from the guard she had fought, and now he wanted back the brooch Verity and Nathan had taken from his house.
And Lord Arden was a problem Nathan could take care of. In fact, he rather looked forward to it. He went first to the man’s house, where the butler informed him that Arden had gone to his gentlemen’s club. Given the early hour, Nathan presumed it was the more ordinary club Arden was visiting rather than the scandalous one, the badge to which Nathan had seen in Arden’s little box of treasures.
The hushed club, with its heavy dark furniture, plush carpets, and hovering butler was a milieu as familiar to Nathan as the docks were to Sloane. Nathan’s father had introduced him to White’s when he reached adulthood. Nathan had chosen a club more frequented by the younger set, but in essence they were all the same—a retreat from home and families for men of the higher classes, and Nathan was easily recognized as a person who belonged .
The place was half-empty at this hour: a couple of old men snoozing in their chairs, a few others talking in hushed tones, and various men perusing one of the newspapers. In truth, it hardly seemed the sort of place Arden would like, but perhaps it was good for picking up gossip to use for blackmail.
Nathan found Lord Arden sitting near one of the windows, sipping a cup of tea. Arden’s brows rose a little when he saw Nathan heading toward him. They had never been anything but the merest of acquaintances.
“Dunbridge.” Arden rose to greet Nathan, his expression guarded, and gestured toward the chair across from him. “Sit down. Shall I ring for tea?”
“No. This isn’t a pleasant little chat.”
“Indeed? How interesting. Do go on.”
“I know about Lady Bankwater and the brooch. Your profitable little business.”
“I’m afraid you know more than I, then.” Arden gazed at him coolly.
“That is probably true in general, but you know this particular subject quite well. I was in the Blue Swan yesterday.”
“That rat hole? Hardly seems the place for you.”
“True, but it is apparently a place for you,” Nathan replied. “I believe you’re familiar with two men named Hill and Shoemaker?”
Nathan watched Arden carefully, and he was sure he saw a flicker of recognition in Arden’s eyes, a second’s hesitation before his languid reply. “Who?”
“You know, the men you hire from time to time to ensure payments by the people you blackmail.”
Arden rose to his feet, eyes flashing. “That is an insult, sir. I should call you out.”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Nathan said calmly, rising to face the other man. “I will not brook someone threatening those close to me. And surely you know my reputation is that of a marksman. I could make my point without shooting you through the heart. I believe there are other parts of your anatomy that matter to you more.” Nathan gave a careless shrug of one shoulder. “Besides, the subject of my insult to you would inevitably get out, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“I don’t know what you’re on about. You must already be in your cups,” Arden said. “It’s time you left.”
“What I’m on about is that you hired those two men to attack Mrs. Billingham. And I cannot allow that to stand.”
“What?” Arden’s eyes widened a fraction. “I did not hire anyone to attack your little paramour.”
Nathan grabbed a handful of Arden’s shirt and shoved him back into the corner formed by the wall and a bookcase. They were partially shielded from the view of the rest of the club, but at this moment Nathan didn’t care if everyone could see them.
“Do not insult Mrs. Billingham,” Nathan said, his voice hard as granite. “Don’t come near her. Don’t send anyone after her. If you do, I will ruin you.”
Arden had paled, but he attempted a sneer. “As if you could do that.”
“Don’t tempt me. Look around you.” Nathan nodded toward the rest of the room. “This place, these men—you enjoy being a part of that, don’t you? Are you willing to risk being banished from your club, unwelcome at any gathering, all for the sake of some petty revenge? Because that’s what will happen if I tell everyone about your blackmail schemes and the sexual perversions you engage in at your other club. I told you: I know about you. I saw your membership token to the Devil’s Den.”
Arden’s jaw dropped in surprise. “It was you who took—”
“Yes, it was I.” Nathan let go of the other man’s shirt and took a half step back, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “Lady Lockwood would be the first person I’d tell about your secret activities. That should ensure that all the ton would know.”
Arden narrowed his eyes. “You have no proof of any of this.”
Nathan smiled. “I don’t need proof. You know that. All I have to do is say it.”
Nathan saw frustrated acknowledgement flare in Lord Arden’s eyes. Arden might be of higher rank, but he hadn’t the liking or reputation in the ton that Nathan had.
“I won’t do anything to your—Mrs. Billingham,” Arden growled.
Nathan turned to leave, and Arden sent a last parting shot after him, “I never did in the first place.”
Nathan didn’t give the other man the satisfaction of pausing or turning back to question him. It was pointless; the man would only lie. And Nathan couldn’t prove Arden had hired the men any more than Arden could prove he hadn’t.
He continued out of the club, frowning in thought. Arden was the most likely culprit. Nathan didn’t trust him, but on the other hand, Arden’s eyes had shown the faintest flicker of surprise when Nathan had accused him of sending his men to attack Verity. His reaction was slight; Arden was good at hiding his true self. But had Nathan been mistaken?
If he had just warned off the wrong person then all he had done was put “Mrs. Billingham” in Arden’s sights. And Verity was still in danger.