A Scandal at Stonecliffe, page 20
“How was your meeting with the attorney?” Nathan asked.
“Boring,” Verity replied. “I want to know what you found out. Did Uncle Robert give you the name of the town? Was he suspicious?”
“He seemed surprised when I asked, but he didn’t appear suspicious or question my reason for asking. Gairmore is the name of the town. Here’s what I found interesting: Douglas said that Malcolm was not born at the Douglas estate, which is where their heirs are traditionally born, but in a remote village in the Highlands.”
“That is interesting.” Verity, who had been nestled against Nathan’s shoulder, sat up straight, her eyes gleaming.
“And right after he said the name, he got flustered. He said they just ‘happened’ to be there, that they were caught by surprise. He assured me that it was primitive and not the sort of location I’d want to summer at.”
“A remote village in the Highlands seems an unlikely place to visit when one is about to have a baby, don’t you think?” Verity mused.
Nathan nodded. “But a good place to hide an inconveniently early birth.”
“Exactly. And why was he born anywhere in Scotland, for that matter? Why not at your manor or here in London? That’s where they were married.”
“Yes, and why was it only Margaret and her mother who were there? Why was my father not there to see the birth of his son? Robert didn’t mention my father at all. Just quickly changed the subject and started telling me about the Douglas estate.”
“That indeed sounds smoky.”
“Do you think he’s part of it? That he knows what his nephew is doing?”
“If so, Robert’s a very good actor.”
“I wouldn’t say he’s that—he certainly didn’t hide it well when I asked him about the town where Malcolm was born.”
“Yes, it would seem that he knows he shouldn’t talk about Malcolm’s birth, but I’m not sure that he knows who the father was.” Verity frowned. “When we met him, I didn’t see any reaction to hearing your name, and one would think he would recognize it immediately.”
“I don’t see what we can do except follow the only lead we have.” Nathan grinned. “Care for a trip to the Highlands?”
*
THEY TOOK THE carriage along the Great North Road to Edinburgh, then turned northwest to climb into the Highlands.
It should have been a boring, even arduous trip, but instead it seemed an almost magical time. Each night was filled with desire as they explored each other’s bodies, learning what titillated, what pleased, what sent the other soaring into an explosion of passion.
They spent the long days talking. Little was said about Malcolm Douglas and his claim or the men who had attacked them, and Verity pushed her worries about Jonathan Stanhope to the back of her mind. Neither of them wished to spoil this time alone together. Nathan told amusing stories about Lady Lockwood and her dog Petunia. Verity taught Nathan how to mark cards and fuzz dice and gave him tips on breaking into houses.
“I knew it. You really are a criminal,” Nathan told her.
“I have to know how one cheats in order to catch those who do it,” she retorted. “I’ve been hired to catch thieves. And sharps at gambling clubs. To spot mountebanks and charlatans.”
“Such as someone pretending to be a wealthy widow?”
Verity laughed. “Just so. But only if they’re an adventuress intent on swindling. One learns all sorts of things in this business—once I was hired to catch a poisoner. He thought it was his wife who wanted to do away with him, but it turned out to be the cook who’d been paid by his nephew to put it in the man’s nightly posset. So I had to study all sorts of poisonous plants and chemicals.”
“You didn’t learn that when you were working for Asquith?”
“I was a spy, Nathan, not an assassin,” Verity retorted. “But yes, I learned a bit about arsenic and such back then just in case it became necessary to use it. But I was more likely to give a man something to put him to sleep. Much easier to steal secrets when he’s unconscious.”
“Mmm. And none of the messy aftermath,” he offered drily. “So you broke in and doctored a drink and then waited for him to fall asleep?”
“Usually I managed to get inside houses without breaking in.” She adopted a coquettish attitude, looking up at Nathan through her lashes. “A little of this. And a little of that...” She changed to a worshipful look, clasping her hands together at her breast. “Oh, my, you must be so important. And at such a young age—how very clever you are.” She grinned. “Flattery and flirting usually got me in the door. And if I brought a guard a warm grog on a cold night, who was going to turn that away?”
“Especially if you offered to chat with him while he drank it.”
“But of course. Sometimes I was the distraction, and Sloane or someone else got inside, and sometimes only I could work my way inside and take whatever it was Asquith wanted. That was a good bit more exciting.”
“You never got caught?”
“Of course I did. But luckily I always managed to get away. You’ll have to learn these things if you intend to be a detective.”
“To charm women or to break into a house?”
“I think you know how to do the former,” she retorted. “The rest you can learn.”
His eyebrows went up a little. “Are you serious?”
“Why, yes. Did you not mean it when you said you could work with me?”
“Yes, but I didn’t assume you did.”
“It makes sense. You would attract more wealthy clients—men who would never hire me would trust you. You’re one of them, no matter what comes out about your birth. You can go places I cannot—gentlemen’s clubs, for instance.” Verity hesitated. “But of course if you were only joking, I wouldn’t press you.”
“I wasn’t—I mean, yes, I was joking, but only because I didn’t think you would actually consider it. I would in fact very much like to work for you.”
“Good.” Verity slanted a glance at him, her eyes taking on a glint. “Though, I do have to warn you that I am a very demanding employer.”
“Are you?” Nathan settled back, looking a bit uncertain but ready to play along.
“Indeed.” Verity swung one leg over him, straddling his lap. She felt his flesh surge beneath her, and she smiled, moving a bit as if finding the exact position. “I like things done just the way I want.” She trailed her forefinger down the center of his chest.
A pulse leapt in his throat, sending heat through her. “I think I can follow orders.”
“Can you?” She cupped his face between his hands. “Then kiss me.”
He did, his mouth firm and hot on hers, seeking, coaxing, and a sweet ache formed between her legs. He cupped her breasts, caressing her through her dress, and she moved against him again, frustrated by the material between them.
It was absurd, but Verity felt as though she could not get enough of Nathan. They had made love only this morning, and it wasn’t as if they had been celibate any other night on this trip. But already she was hot and wet, eager to feel his length slide into her, filling her in the most delicious way.
Verity slipped off him, and he reached for her, but she scooted away and reached under her skirts to pull off her undergarments. Tossing them aside, she lifted her skirts and straddled his legs once more. She unbuttoned his breeches, freeing his pulsing erection; he was clearly as ready as she.
Going up on her knees, she slid down onto his shaft, closing her eyes at the exquisite satisfaction. She moved up and down, the vibration of the coach beneath them adding to the sensations. Nathan gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her, and as she rocked faster, he reached beneath her skirts, finding the slick nub between her nether lips, and stroked her.
Verity arched back, her body taut in that final moment where she hung at the edge, aching and eager, and then she went over it, her body shuddering as Nathan thrust into her, letting out a hoarse groan as he reached his own release.
She went limp against him, laying her head on his shoulder.
“Did I impress my future employer?” Nathan’s rumbly low tone tickled Verity’s ear and she shivered a bit.
“Oh, you are very impressive in this regard.” She added a feigned coolness to her voice. “But I’ll still have to see how you are at filing.”
“Cheeky.” Nathan grinned. “I like that.”
Verity could feel him getting hard again inside her. “You certainly seem to. And I must say, I enjoy your work ethic.” As the pulsing heat between them sped up again, words, cheeky or otherwise, flew from her mind and Verity’s sole thought was that she was happier than she’d ever been before.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EVENTUALLY THEY HAD to proceed on horseback, lest the carriage break an axle on the rough pathways the Scots termed roads. It took them over a week to reach the village of Gairmore, tucked away deep in the Scottish Highlands. Even on a summer day, washed in sunshine, the community was not a prepossessing sight. A few rutted narrow roads and squat dark cottages made up most of the place, with a very plain kirk at one end and the banks of a loch at the other.
Nathan and Verity looked at each other, pulling their horses to a halt. “This is where Margaret Douglas chose to have her lying in?”
“Perhaps Mr. Douglas was telling the truth, and they just got caught here.” Nathan looked around doubtfully.
A woman stood in the doorway of her house, staring at them, and within moments, two other women and a man emerged from the houses around, clustering in the lane. Verity glanced at Nathan, handed him her reins and dismounted, then walked over to the group.
Verity launched into her Scottish act, and within moments, the others were chatting away with her in accents even more difficult to understand than Verity’s. Nathan decided not to bother with dismounting; there was little chance he’d understand a fraction of the conversation.
There was much nodding, and now and then, the Scots glanced over at Nathan, and at one point, all of them laughed. Nathan had the distinct feeling that Verity had made him the butt of some jest, but he just smiled pleasantly. Verity had clearly won them over.
Soon followed pointing in several different directions, along with more chatter, and Verity went into a long round of thanks and farewells. She strode back to him, and Nathan swung down to join her. Verity took his arm, pulling him with her as she started down the street.
“How do you do that?” Nathan asked. “It’s not only that you can sound like them. You were immediately their friends. They didn’t so much as nod in my direction.”
“Och, weel, now, you’re a Sassenach, aren’t you?” Verity said lightly.
“How did they know that? I never opened my mouth,” Nathan protested.
Verity sent him an amused glance and changed to her usual voice. “Nathan, anyone could tell that just by looking at you. I didn’t sound just like them, it seems. They were sure I was from Glasgow.”
He grimaced. “Still, they were willing to talk to you. They wanted to talk to you. Somehow you manage to be one of them.”
“You can go into a gentlemen’s club or a gambling den and talk with ease to anyone there, which I cannot.”
“Yes, well, that’s because I am one of them.”
“And you grew up watching them, imitating them. You learned how to be like them. All one has to do is study one’s subjects and blend in. Make their gestures and expressions. I didn’t do it overnight. I had trouble not acting and talking like a gentleman’s daughter when we were living on the streets, but I watched everyone else and imitated them, and I discovered I had a talent for it. It’s become second nature to me now, I suppose. I adopt other people’s gestures and expressions. Though you have to be careful there, or they might assume you’re mocking them.” She shrugged. “It helps to give them something they want, as well. They were clearly dying of curiosity about us. There aren’t many visitors in Gairmore, apparently.”
“Imagine that.”
“So few, in fact that the older man recalled everyone who’s stopped here in the last forty years.”
“The Douglas women?” Nathan asked.
“He thought so. But he went to ask his sister, who was older than he and might recall it better. One of them went to talk to Mrs. McCready, who owns a ‘fine house’ beside the loch, where she lets out rooms to visitors.”
“That sounds promising.”
“I thought so. I would venture to guess it’s the only house that does. Unfortunately, the woman who had been midwife here for many years passed. Her daughter is carrying on her work, but she was probably too young at the time to remember. So we are going to visit the Reverend Mr. Gordon at the kirk to look at the records of births.”
“What did you tell them we are doing?”
“I told them you were actually a Scotsman, but your poor mother had died when you were young and you had been given to a couple in England. You grew up thinking they were your parents, but you’ve heard that you are not, and now you want to find your true Scottish parents. All you know is that you were born here.”
He raised his brows. “Why not tell them the truth?”
“What would be the fun in that?” Verity tossed back.
“Of course.” He grinned. “How silly of me.”
They continued to the plain church, but found no one inside. The parsonage beside it, however, opened to their knock, revealing a stern-looking man wearing a dark suit and a white collar with preaching bands.
Verity sent Nathan a sideways glance and nodded slightly. He took it to mean she had decided the man in front of them would react better to a gentleman’s questions, so Nathan said pleasantly, “Reverend Gordon?”
“Aye. And who are ye?” The man frowned, which did not seem promising.
But Nathan took heart in the fact that at least Gordon’s accent was not as thick as the earlier villagers. Nathan went on to politely explain that they were looking for the records of births in the village thirty to thirty-five years ago.
“Thirty-five years! To what purpose?”
Nathan launched into Verity’s story of his own supposed birth, which only made the man scowl more.
“There’s no English born in Gairmore,” the cleric said.
“That is my point,” Nathan said, struggling to keep the sharpness from his tone. “I believe it was a Scotswoman who was my mother.”
“Humph. No outsiders of any kind in Gairmore.”
Nathan drew himself up, assuming a haughty face, and there was an expectation of obedience in his voice as he said, “Still, I would like to examine them. I believe these are public records.”
The other man sent him a resentful look, but said only, “Aye, well, follow me.”
He led them back to the church. Verity squeezed Nathan’s arm. “Good work. You were terrifyingly lordlike.”
Mr. Gordon pulled out a leather-bound journal that looked as if it had been there for a century and began to thumb through the yellowed pages. “What is the name you’re searching for?”
“Douglas.” Nathan itched to grab the book from the man’s hands. One would have thought it contained vast secrets the way Gordon shielded it. “It would have been 1787 or 1788, probably.”
“Hmm.” The reverend gave him a suspicious look and returned to his slow perusal of the pages. “I don’t know of any Douglases. Ah.” His finger stopped its journey down the page. “Ah. Well. Here it is. ‘February twentieth in the year of our Lord 1787. Malcolm Andrew Ramsay Douglas.’ How peculiar.”
Nathan and Verity exchanged a glance. “That’s before—”
The rest of Verity’s sentence was cut short by the other man reading on, “‘Mother Flora Ramsay Douglas, father John James Douglas.’”
“What?” Nathan’s gaze snapped back, and he yanked the book from the cleric’s hands.
“Sir! That is church property.”
Nathan paid him no attention, just ran his eyes down the page to the name in question. Beside him, Verity leaned against him to peer at the book. “Well. That’s a bit of a twist.”
“What in the—I don’t understand.” Nathan recovered from his astonishment enough to hand back the book and gave the minister a coin for the church in thanks, then took Verity’s arm and swept her out the door.
“What is going on? Margaret’s mother had the baby? Margaret is Malcolm’s sister?”
“I have trouble believing that. Why would Malcolm pretend that he was your father’s son with Margaret? The truth would have been bound to come out at some point. He would have had to prove his birth in a court of law.”
“Perhaps he was just looking for a bit of blackmail and didn’t intend to go to court,” Nathan mused. “He knew my father had married Margaret, and he made up the rest of it just to get me to pay him off.”
“Or perhaps Malcolm didn’t lie about his parentage.” Verity stopped and turned to Nathan. “Maybe it is the record that’s false.”
“You think Reverend Gordon falsified the information?” Nathan’s brows soared. “Why would he do that?”
“Money,” Verity replied succinctly.
Nathan sighed. “I suppose you will think I’m terribly naive to be shocked at the idea of a clergyman lying.”
“I think most people would assume a clergyman would tell the truth. But there are churchmen who love money. And it might not necessarily have been for personal gain. New pews for the church or a bell tower repaired could have been the lure.”
“He was suspiciously reluctant to let us see the record of the birth.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid he’s not old enough to have been here at that time.”
