Page 24 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

Nathan must have realized that he was being unlike himself, for after a moment he said a little stiffly, “I only meant that you shouldn’t become too...um, attached.”

Verity stopped, gaping at him. “Attached? To one of them?”

Nathan let out a laugh, and he seemed to relax. “You know what I mean.”

“Not really. Perhaps you should explain.”

He started to speak, then shook his head and sighed. “Yes, well, I don’t know what I mean, either.”

They started walking again. Verity mulled over his words. “Nathan, if you are thinking that I believe any of these men would actually marry me, you needn’t worry. I am well aware that none of them would court me if they knew, as you do, how unacceptable I am.”

“I never said you were unacceptable,” Nathan protested.

“You didn’t have to say it. We both know it.”

“I don’t,” he said stubbornly.

Verity looked at him. The mulish look on his face was somehow endearing. “Nathan...you don’t have to be polite with me. You cannot deny that a man like Viscount Sperle would never marry a former spy with no name or family.”

She could see Nathan struggle to come up with a reply that was neither a lie nor a hurtful truth. Finally he said, “Well, Sperle certainly wouldn’t marry you if he knew how well you can handle a knife.”

They had reached her house, and Verity unlocked the door and went inside. Nathan followed her. A lamp burned with a low light on the hall table. The rest of the house loomed dark and silent around them. Verity turned to face Nathan, acutely aware of how alone they were. She wished for an instant that she and Nathan were not so different, that they had no pasts. But, of course, that was silly and naive.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him. “I shall see you tomorrow then? We’ll put a watch on Malcolm Douglas?”

“Yes. Of course.” Nathan paused, then said in a rush, “Verity, I don’t think you’re unacceptable. Any man should be proud to marry you.”

Verity melted inside. “You are such an honorable man, Nathan. Probably too much for your own good.” She reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand. “But I’m very glad you are.”

Nathan gazed at her for a moment, his eyes dark. Verity found herself stretching up toward him. And then he kissed her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

NATHAN’S LIPS WERE warm and soft, and Verity gave herself up to pleasure. A faint voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was a bad idea, but it was easy to ignore that warning when Nathan curved his hand around the nape of her neck, his fingers stroking across her skin. Desire rippled through her, and she pressed herself up against him, reveling in the pressure of his firm chest against her breasts.

At her response, his kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with hers in a delightful dance, and heat bloomed between her legs. His hands slid down her sides, thumbs brushing the edges of her breasts, and rounded over her hips. She was all heat and hunger as his fingertips trailed over her, and she ached to have the barrier of clothes between them gone, to feel his skin on hers.

He lifted his head, sucking in a breath, and gazed down at her, his eyes wide and dark. They remained in that position for a moment, as if the heat inside them had melded them together. Then Nathan jerked away.

“Oh, God. Verity—I—I—forgive me.”

Verity stared at him, for once unable to toss back a saucy retort—or, indeed, any response at all. Nathan turned and rushed out of the house.

Shocked, Verity shut the front door after him and leaned back against it, sliding down to sit on the ground. Dear heaven, what had just happened?

Nathan Dunbridge—polite, proper Nathan Dunbridge—had just lit a fire inside her. And not some small fire dancing on the hearth, but a great blazing Guy Fawkes Day bonfire, flames leaping toward the sky. Forgiveness was the last thing she wanted to give him, she thought. What she wanted was to chase after him and wrap herself around him and—She stopped herself thinking too far ahead. The fantasies tumbling about in her head shocked even her.

Verity was not without experience—she had kissed a number of men, some in deception and some in passion—but none of those kisses had ever shaken her like this one. She felt suddenly as naive as any young lass, her body a storm of sensations.

How could she feel this way about Nathan? She didn’t even like him. Well, that wasn’t true, she admitted in her mind. She did have a certain liking for Nathan and always had, even in the beginning when she’d been caustic with him. She enjoyed teasing him and flirting with him. She liked to ruffle his feathers, to shock him until he exclaimed “Verity!” in that way of his.

But this! This was a thing altogether different. This was a feeling very close to need. And Verity did not need. Anyone. Ever.

She rose to her feet and shook her skirts into place, bending down to pick up the gauzy shoulder wrap that had fallen to the floor in the storm of that kiss. She started up the stairs and was almost to the landing before she remembered that she had not gone through her nightly security check.

Irritated, she trotted back down the stairs. Telling her heated body to cool down and her buzzing brain to turn off, she went through the checks of doors and windows with exaggerated care. Unfortunately neither her brain nor body complied.

She wondered what Nathan thought. It had been obvious that he’d felt the same passion—her lips curved with satisfaction as she remembered just how that desire had evidenced itself. But what did he feel now? What did he think about what had happened between them? Verity had the lowering suspicion that he regretted it.