Page 23

Nate let his head drop. “Just leave me alone.” There was a plaintive note in his voice, so different than his usual irrepressible humor. It suggested more than physical pain. There was despair.

Ras squatted down until he was eye to swollen eye with his friend. “What. Happened?”

The man wasn’t going to answer. He set his jaw and looked away, but Ras wasn’t going to let him hide so easily. He gestured Tillman to take Nate’s things down to the carriage and he glared at Hopfer until the nosy butler shut the door. That left Ras and miserable Nate in the room.

“Tell me,” Ras ordered.

Nate sighed. “Becky’s here.”

Becky? As in Lady Rebecca, the heiress? Nate’s first kiss and the woman he’d pined for ever since?

“She can’t be husband hunting. I haven’t seen her, and I’ve been everywhere.”

“She’s hunting. Her father has decreed it.”

Well, it was time. The girl was old enough to be on the shelf. In fact, if she weren’t so rich, people would have given her the label a long time ago. “Well, I’m sorry for that, Nate, but what has that got to do with—”

“I was gambling.” The man straightened up as best he could. “I was winning. I thought if I had enough blunt, I could approach her father.”

Oh hell. “Her father won’t see you.”

“He might. If I were rich enough.”

“You could be a nabob, and it wouldn’t be enough.”

Nate shot him an angry glare. “My blood is just as blue as hers.”

True, but he was a third son. And whereas that might be overcome, Nate had a much bigger problem. “Your grandfather swindled her grandfather.”

“I know,” Nate said with a sigh.

“And your father wasn’t exactly honest with her father.”

“I know.”

“And Lady Rebecca thinks you are a fortune hunting scoundrel.” She’d said it straight to Nate’s face last Season.

“I know!”

Right. So he’d tried to win enough money to prove that he wasn’t courting her for her dowry. “How much did you win?”

“Plenty.”

“And it was stolen from you last night?”

Nate’s head dropped in a miserable nod. “Every single penny,” he moaned. “Gone.”

Then, before Ras could ask more, Tillman tapped a discrete knock on the door.

“Right then,” Ras said with a sigh. “Come on. Let’s get you to my house.”

It was hard work getting Nate into the carriage.

The man had cracked ribs for sure, but it was his feet that were the biggest problem.

Every step had him cringing in pain. They got him into the carriage and laid him down on the squabs.

But even the best sprung carriage bounced when travelling through London.

It would be a rough passage to the ducal home.

Ras was just about to climb into the carriage beside his friend when he noticed someone watching him intently. It was a man he recognized, leaning against the building. He wore his usual smirk, but this one was especially dark. And, he noted, the butler Hopfer was standing cozily close.

Ras straightened, closing the carriage door as he crossed to the now grinning man.

“Fletcher,” Ras said slowly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Is he dying?”

“What?”

Lord Fletcher, the arrogant, awful brother to Lady Rebecca, jerked his chin at the carriage. “Is he finally dying?”

“And what do you know about it?”

“Nothing. Just saw you carrying him out like a sack of meal.” Fletcher snorted. “Seems you haven’t learned the truth about him yet. Still falling for every ‘poor me’ lie from the bastard.”

Ras stiffened, his thoughts whirling as he watched the butler greedily listening to every word. “Actually, Fletch, you’re the only one I’ve ever caught in a lie—”

“He lies with every breath by not telling the whole truth! Printing shit about lecherous barons and spendthrift suitors. What about embezzlement? Murder? Does he ever print that?”

Ras shook his head. This was old ground between Nate’s family and Fletcher’s. He was not going to debate who stole what from whom and who died as a result. Especially since the so-called murder was a heart attack. “What do you mean he was printing things?”

Fletcher pushed off the wall, his disdain clear.

“God, you don’t know anything about your so-called friend, do you?

When will you wake up? You’re the only friend he has left, the only one keeping him from drowning like that rat he is.

” Then his expression turned gleeful. “But even you can’t save him now, can you? ”

“It is amazing to me that you and your sister could come from the same family.” Damn it, he wanted to punch the idiot in the face, but he needed information, not the satisfaction of beating Fletcher bloody. “Did you do that to him? Did you hire—”

“I did nothing but watch. Did you ask him what he was doing by the docks? Nothing good, that’s for sure.”

Fury burned in his gut. “You watched? And you didn’t do a damned thing to stop it?” Or help Nate get home afterwards? “You bloody arse—”

“Just deserts, if you ask me. I wasn’t going to stop it. Why would I risk my life for his?”

Rather than give into violence, Ras turned to Hopfer. “You and he together changed the columns, didn’t you? Why? What did Miss Petrelli ever do to deserve that?”

Hopfer looked uncomfortable, but it was Fletcher who answered. “I did it,” he said, pride in his tone. “The truth needs to get out and everyone knew the truth about her. Even you!”

“But why—”

“So you’d finally open your eyes! Damn it, don’t you see how blind he’s made you? You don’t see his faults, you can’t see hers. Wake up! Throw him aside. Leave him to die and let this damn feud end!”

There was too much to understand here, too much that was too crazy. And he needed to get Nate to a doctor. So rather than fight with Fletcher, he turned back to the carriage, but Fletcher jumped forward and grabbed his arm.

“Damn it, Ras, we were friends once!”

Distantly.

“You, me, my sister. We should all be together. This feud has poisoned everyone, and he’s the cause of it!”

“Nate wasn’t even born when your feud began. Neither were you! God, Fletch, have you gone mad?”

“No!” he said, jerking Ras’s arm away from the carriage. “You have to see the truth! He’s the problem!”

Never had he seen madness so clearly in a man’s eyes. Madness coupled with the absolute certainty that only he saw the truth. It was frightening. And it was also not something he was going to indulge.

“Nothing you’ve said makes sense. Nate is not a villain,” he said, firmly prying Fletcher’s fingers off his arm. Then Fletch abruptly jerked his hand back.

“Blind. You’re all so damned blind!” he screamed. Then he took a breath and moderated his tone. “Do you know what he does?” he pressed, jerking his hand at the carriage. “I’ve been watching him. It’s nothing like you think.”

And that was the first thing that rang true in everything Fletcher had said. He knew Nate did some strange things. He’d known it for a long time. But he had absolute faith in his friend. Whatever it was that Nate did, it wasn’t nefarious.

“He lies,” Fletcher said. “And like a blind fool, you believe him.”

Ras didn’t have an answer to that. Up until this moment, he would have said that Nate had never, ever lied to him.

Except hadn’t Nate said he’d been gambling?

And yet Fletcher had claimed he’d been beaten up at the docks.

If it weren’t the fish smell he’d scented in Nate’s room, he’d be inclined to dismiss it.

But he had smelled it. He had wondered about it.

Which gave him enough pause to stop arguing.

“Get some rest, Fletcher. And some healthy food. You look awful.”

The man wasn’t completely stupid. His expression brightened. “You’re waking up now, aren’t you? You see it?”

Ras wanted to punch the idiot. Instead, he glared at the man. “Say one word against Miss Petrelli again, and I will put a bullet through your brain.” He made sure there was no wavering in his tone.

“I don’t care about her. I was trying to get you to see the truth about him!”

The illogic of that was clear. Worse, Fletcher didn’t stop with that.

There were more words, more angry curses, and a host of chaotic paranoid babble.

But Ras didn’t stay to listen to them. He swung himself into the carriage and banged the roof as soon as the door shut.

A moment later, the carriage was moving.

He’d been right about the difficult, jostling ride. Nate moaned during the worst ruts. Ras hoped the man would lose consciousness, but halfway to the house, he spoke.

“How did you know?” Nate asked.

Ras jerked his gaze to Nate’s one open eye. “What?”

“How did you know to come find me?”

“I didn’t know. I wanted to discuss something else with you.”

Nate groaned as the carriage jolted again. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, but a moment later, he spoke again.

“Well come on. What did you want?”

Ras shook his head, though Nate couldn’t see it. He was not one to kick a man when he was down. “We’ll discuss it later.”

“Now. You came to my rooms. Never done that before.”

“I didn’t want to wait until our usual time at the club.”

Silence reigned in the carriage for a bit.

Nate’s eyes were still closed, and his face was slick with sweat.

A few minutes later, Nate kicked out with his foot, connecting hard with Ras’ knee.

It had been a common thing when they were children.

They were boys kicking each other for one ridiculous reason or another.

But this time, Nate had clearly forgotten that his feet were hurt.

“Ow! Bloody hell,” he groaned.

“Why would you do that?” Ras demanded. His knee wasn’t hurt, but he was sure the move made Nate’s pain worse.

“Out with it!”

“I’m not—”

“I cannot abide a tease,” Nate rasped. “What was so bloody important?”

No way to dissuade him now. Nate could be like a dog with a bone when his curiosity was piqued. “It was about your column.”

“Mr. Pickleherring? Whatever did he say to upset you?”

Ras held onto his temper. “What exactly did you write about Miss Petrelli?”

The man groaned. “Everyone was talking about your dance. I had to mention it.”

“Did you call her a Jezebel who needs to be hung?” His voice was hard with fury.

“I did not!” Nate’s head came off the squabs. His torso, too, as he gripped the handhold and pulled himself upright. It must have hurt dreadfully, but he was determined. “I said she was a good sport to forgive your valet for dressing you in a shoddy spat. I praised her.”

Ras set his hand gently on his friend’s shoulder, pushing him down. “Fletcher changed it. With the help, I think, of your butler.”

“The devil you say.” Nate held out his hand for the column, but another bump in the road had his arm flying wide. “Read it to me,” he ordered. “Every damned word.”

Ras obliged, though his voice shook when he came to the offending paragraph. The whole thing was not Miss Petrelli’s fault, but thanks to this damned column, she would be drummed out of society for good. And that was something he could not allow.

He finished reading, his tone cold and hard.

Nate’s voice was equally furious. “I did not write that.”

“I know. Fletcher changed it.” He leaned forward.

“What has happened between you? He seems intent on destroying you.” Ras frowned.

That wasn’t right. All he’d need to destroy Fletcher would be to expose him as Mr. Pickleherring.

Instead, he was trying to poison the friendship between Ras and Nate. And perhaps take over the column.

“I don’t know,” Nate said, his voice quiet. “Nothing but that old feud between our families.”

“And your affection for his sister.”

Nate grimaced. “One and the same.”

It wasn’t one and the same. Especially since it was now affecting Miss Petrelli.

“Where were you last night? And before you answer, Fletcher said he watched your attackers try to kill you. At the docks.”

Nate was quiet long enough for Ras to think he might have finally passed out. But in the end, he spoke. “Fletch is a bloody liar.”

Yes, that was certainly true. But that didn’t answer the question as to what exactly Nate had been doing last night.

“He’s not the only one,” Ras said. And when Nate’s eyes opened, he met them with a hard stare of his own.

In the end, Nate sighed as he closed his eyes. “I can’t tell you. I want to, but I can’t.”

And that was the end of it as they finally arrived at the ducal home—the end of that conversation, but not the end of the discussion. Because Ras would have the truth if he had to throttle his best friend to get it.

But first, the man had to be healthy enough to put up a good fight.