Page 5 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

They were so close he could see each individual eyelash, the smooth texture of her skin, the curve of her lips. He had a mad urge to trace that curve with his finger. Her supple body was molded to him all the way down, and he had the embarrassed certainty that Verity could feel his body move in response to her. There was a little glimmer in her eyes that he knew was amusement.

To avoid her gaze, Nathan pressed his cheek to the side of her head. Her hair was soft, a few fine stray hairs tickling his nose. He slid his head down and found that her cheek was as soft and smooth as it looked. He stopped short of her shoulder so that he would appear to be nuzzling her neck. He resisted the temptation to actually press his lips to her skin.

The voices had been growing louder, but now they stopped abruptly. There was the distinct sound of a snicker and someone cleared his throat, followed by a low murmur of voices.

“Are they coming this way?” Nathan whispered.

“Hmm? Oh.” Verity shifted so that she could see around his arm. “They’re just standing there grinning.”

He let out a little huff of exasperation. “How long are we going to have to keep this up?”

“I know it must be a trial to be this close to me,” she told him tartly. “Perhaps I should end the scene by slapping you for making improper advances.”

“I’d rather you not.” Nathan managed not to add that the only trial was not acting on his impulses. Continuing the pretense but removing himself somewhat from danger, he straightened and cupped her face in his hands, gazing down at her. Her eyes were fascinating, somewhere between amber and whiskey and always alight, whether it was with amusement or anger or curiosity.

“Or maybe we should slip off the other direction and go into a bedroom,” Verity suggested.

“Verity...” Nathan sighed. “They may have recognized you. Your reputation would be in tatters.”

“No. Mrs. Billingham’s reputation would be in tatters.” Her eyes sparkled. “Ah. There they go.” An instant later, she added, “We’re safe.”

Nathan relaxed, realizing only now how taut his entire body had been. He moved away, tugging at his lapels as if he could pull himself back in order as long as his clothes were straight. “I’d hardly say we’re safe.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Verity seemed—as usual—irritated with him. She started away. “You needn’t stay, you know.”

“Ah, but then who would you have to play your wicked seducer?”

Verity made a show of rolling her eyes, but the corner of her mouth deepened into a dimple. And her dimple was lethal. She set off down the hall and Nathan fell into step beside her. “I suppose I must keep you in that case.” She continued looking into rooms, then stopped at a doorway and peered more closely. “I think this is it.”

“You must have the eyes of a cat if you can see anything in that darkness.”

“Didn’t you know? That’s what I am.” Verity cast him one of her sly sideways glances. Nathan had to admit that she did look a bit like a cat, golden-eyed and complacently mysterious, as if she knew things you could never possibly guess, but she would tolerate you anyway. She certainly moved as silently as a cat. He suspected her claws were equally sharp.

She picked up a candlestick from the hall table and led him into the room. It was a spacious chamber with a massive bed of black walnut, obviously inhabited by a man. Verity began the same sort of search she had downstairs, though here she added opening drawers and going through their contents, careful not to disturb them.

This time Nathan joined her without having to be asked, looking behind pictures and under the thick rug. He was not expert enough to riffle through the drawers without leaving any trace of a search, but he opened the doors of the large armoire to peer inside. One side was lined with widely spaced shelves holding hat boxes. In the other half, shirts hung from pegs.

There was something odd about the cabinet. Nathan frowned, studying it for a moment. Then it struck him that the floor of the side where clothes were hung was several inches higher than the floor of the shelved half. His mind went to the secret drawers and puzzle boxes where Annabeth’s father had hidden things.

Nathan went down on one knee and ran his hand across the floor of the armoire. There was a joinder line near the back of the floor. Farther back, in the corner, he found a slight depression, and he pressed against it. Nothing happened. He tried pushing it to the side, and there was a faint click, and the front portion of the raised floor tilted up slightly.

Sliding his fingers under it, he pulled and the section opened easily. Beneath the floor lay a metal box. “Verity.”

“What?” She must have heard the tone of barely repressed excitement in his voice, for she was at his side immediately. “Oooh. Clever lad.”

Nathan was annoyed by the gratification he felt at her approval. He lifted the box from its hiding place. It was locked, but Verity made short work of the lock and opened the lid. Inside was a jumble of objects—folded pieces of paper, a monogrammed handkerchief, a pair of spectacles, and several bits of jewelry. Verity pounced on an emerald brooch, but Nathan was more intrigued by a silver disc, engraved with something that resembled a family crest, but which, on closer inspection, proved to be a graphic phallic symbol emerging from flames. Nathan hastily closed his fist over the token, his cheeks reddening, and cast a sideways glance at Verity.

She was watching him, a frown starting to form between her brows. “What’s that? What are you hiding?”

Nathan sighed. Of course she had seen it. Indeed, it was probably his attempt to conceal it that had drawn her attention. “It’s, um, well a sort of coin. A kind of badge, as it were. A token...though it’s usually called a key because it gains one entrance.”

“Entrance to what? Nathan, you’re babbling,” Verity said crisply. “And you’re blushing. What is it?” She reached over, trying to pry his fingers apart, and, with another sigh, Nathan opened his fist. Verity plucked it from his hand and looked at it. The other side of the coin was facing upward. “Lord Arden’s initials—did you notice that the monogram on the handkerchief was not his? But wha—”

She turned over the disc and sucked in a small breath, her eyebrows vaulting up. Her reaction gave Nathan some satisfaction. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had said, “Oh, that,” and tossed it back. And, though the light was dim, he was almost sure that was a hint of red staining her cheeks.

“The Devil’s Den. It’s, um, a certain sort of club where men and women engage in certain—” Nathan began. Good Lord, how was he supposed to explain this to a lady—even one as lacking in delicacy as Verity?

“You mean it’s like the old Hellfire Club? The Marquis de Sade? That sort of thing?”