Page 16 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

R ebecca saw Nate arrive. She wasn’t surprised that he arrived late and then stood at the doorway, like a king surveying his kingdom.

It wasn’t that he appeared confident or even dominant.

He wasn’t that kind of king. Instead, he held himself as if fondly amused by everything he saw.

Everyone here was his subject whom he loved and had pledged his life to protect.

So perhaps not a king, but a knight errant, aware of all he risked and for whom.

It tugged at her romantic heart. She’d never been impressed by power, and she daily endured the petty exercise of it while she served her mother and brothers. So she had special fondness for the souls who worked, who served, and who did so out of love not obligation.

If only Nate served something other than his own amusement. If that were true, then she’d tumble straight back into love with him. But he was working for his own amusement, and so she had to communicate clearly that she was uninterested in furthering their acquaintance.

She gave him the cut direct, softening it by using the movements of the dance to turn away from him.

Mentally, she gave her back to what he represented: privilege without responsibility.

She knew he didn’t have the wealth that her family did, but he’d been educated.

His family had some money and even more connections.

He could have become anything he wanted—a barrister, a politician in the House of Commons, a scholar.

Any of the many respectable professions available to younger sons.

Instead of using his brain to do something worthwhile, he’d become a social fribble, a lazy, self-indulgent waste. So she cut him—socially—but inside, she ached. It hurt to see him so small.

Then she pushed him out of her mind. She was on a husband hunt and addressed herself to that task. She smiled, she danced, and she tried to learn more about her partners than their taste in attire and favorite hobby. And she waited for one to fire her imagination, if not her heart.

The dancing ended without anyone sparking her interest. So when the baron made his way to her, she happily took his arm.

She could tell, if others could not, that he wasn’t steady on his feet.

The truth serum was affecting him, and she was interested to see what answers he would give to her questions.

“I am ready for your inquisition!” the baron rasped into her ear.

She smiled and allowed him to escort her.

There were too many people around to begin her inquisition, so she remained silent as they passed through the ballroom to the back garden.

She was startled as he took deep breaths, not just outside in the fetid London air, but inside as they passed through the various perfumes and body odors that occurred during any crush.

“Do you smell that?” he asked. “So many scents. So strong!” His head kept swiveling as he picked up one scent after another. Then they stepped outside, and he flinched. “Coal dust. We need a good wind to blow it all way. Plus rain. The rain will clear it up.”

“For a time,” she agreed, though wishing for a strong spring storm wasn’t a typical thought. “Sir, now that we’re outside—”

“The wind,” he said as he lifted his face to the sky. “Where is the wind?” He looked at her. “Let me have your fan.”

He didn’t wait for her to offer it to him but took hold of the delicate wood and pulled it up toward his face.

Unfortunately, it was still attached to her wrist. He didn’t seem to care as he flicked it open to wave in front of his face.

So she was left standing there with her arm extended while people looked at them in amusement.

“Balls, that feels good,” he said as he closed his eyes and stretched his chin into the wind he created. “Aren’t you feeling the heat?”

Obviously, this was a side effect of the serum, so she smiled and gestured to a back corner of the garden. “I believe there is a better breeze over there. Shall we—ouch!”

The baron was jerking her arm this way and that, trying to free the fan from her wrist.

“Blasted thing,” he grumbled.

“If you would let me—”

Crack!

To her shock, he broke the fan, then cursed it before throwing it aside.

Then he stripped off his gloves, tossing them aside as well while she tugged at the ribbon on her wrist. It took her a moment to pull it off because he’d jerked the ribbon so tight, but she finally accomplished it.

And when she looked up, he’d wandered away from her, deeper into the shadows.

“Do you see the lights here? Such colors? It’s like they’re dancing.” He was waving his hands in front of his face. “Do you think they’re fairies?”

“Baron?” she asked. “Perhaps you ought to sit down.”

“Sit down?” He turned to her, and true to her fear, he wobbled on his feet. But then he steadied himself with a hand on the nearest tree trunk, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Do you feel that?” he asked as he ran his hand up and down the bark. “That’s incredible! Come, come!”

He grabbed her wrist and bodily dragged her forward.

She started to resist, but he insisted, and she had no desire to create a larger scene.

They had already attracted the attention of another strolling pair.

More would wander near soon. Better to simply give in and let him press her hand to the tree trunk, then rub it up and down the bark.

It was a London plane tree with smooth and coarse patches, depending on where the bark had flaked off. He seemed particularly fascinated by a nub, running her fingers over and around the peak.

“Do you feel it?” he asked. “Like a nipple only better. Firmer. Makes me want to suck on it.”

“What?” she gasped.

“And your glove,” he said. “My God, it feels so soft.” He drew her hand up to his cheek while his fingers stroked her glove all the way up to her elbow.

“Baron, please. Let’s sit down. I have an important question to ask you.”

“Take it off!” he demanded, as he began to tug and her glove. “I have to see if it’s different. Your glove or your skin. Good God, that feels so good.” He was rubbing his face on her glove, using his larger size to muscle her into moving where he wanted her.

This was getting alarming, and she tried to twist away. “Baron, please. We were going to have a discussion,” she said, trying to return to a normal conversation with him.

It didn’t work. He pushed her against the tree trunk, then set his attention to pulling off her glove. She allowed it only because the more he focused on her glove, the more she could maneuver her body out from between him and the tree.

“Certainly,” she said, her voice tight as she unbuttoned the clasp on her glove. “Here, let me help you.” Once unfastened, she pulled away, letting him keep hold of her glove.

He tugged it off her, then rubbed his cheek against it. “So soft,” he murmured. Then he started tugging at his cravat. “I feel so hot,” he said as he let her glove drift to the ground.

“Baron. Please, I think you should sit—”

“Oh, do shut up!” he snapped. “Always talking. Never listening.” He stopped with his cravat and glared at her. “Fletcher never said you’d talk so much!”

“What?”

Once his cravat was off, he began stripping out of his coat. “You have the breasts of a goddess,” he said, “but damn your mouth!”

“What?”

“Questions, conversations. Just like Melanie. Only good when it’s stuffed with my cock.”

Melanie was his first wife, the woman he’d claimed he’d adored. The woman he had praised as a sweet goddess who had gifted him with her heart.

Rebecca took a step back. “Do tell me more about Melanie, please. Did you love her?”

“Love her?” he scoffed. “Such tiny tits. Couldn’t believe she could nurse a baby.” He grinned at her. “Nothing like yours.”

She fought the urge to cover her breasts with her arms. “Is that why you want to marry me? Because of my breasts?” She was shaking as he looked at her. He was a big man who could easily overpower her, but she stood her ground.

“So tight,” he murmured as he pulled off his waistcoat. Good lord, the man was stripping right in front of her!

She backed away another step.

“Don’t go,” he said, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Then he closed them as he threw aside his waistcoat. “There’s so much I want to say but nobody listens!”

Really? Well, she was all ears now.

Except, as a proper girl, she ought to take this chance to run back to the ballroom. He was a large and unpredictable man. But she hadn’t given him the truth serum to turn tail when it finally took effect.

So she stood her ground, in part because of a sense of responsibility. After all, she’d dosed him. She couldn’t abandon him in a dark garden without anyone to care for him. What if he collapsed?

Mentally, she catalogued the serum’s effects. The baron was overheating, and his skin seemed sensitized to the breeze. As she watched, he stripped out of his shirt and lifted his chest to the sky. Then he raised his arms, his hands clenched into fists.

“I feel so powerful!” he exclaimed.

Oh dear. That was loud enough to attract many people. The first couple who had followed them had wandered away in their own pursuits. But there were others around. Which meant she had little time to ask her most important question.

“Baron, why do you want to marry me?”

“I am a god among men!” he exclaimed as he thrust his hands to the sky.

“Yes, of course you are,” she said. How else could she respond?

In truth, the whole display was rather cute. He kept moving, flexing his muscles, arching in a way that emphasized his size. His legs were planted wide, and his head was thrown back which exposed his chest to the moonlight. It was clear he adored his own body, and she found herself smiling.

He was like a little boy who had leapt upon the tallest rock and was declaring to one and all that he was king.

He looked at her. “You will worship me!”

She chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be fun?” she quipped. “But about my question,” she began. She had little hope that he would answer, but she had to try.

“No questions!” he cried. “Kneel!” Then, to her shock, he ran his hand down his cock before dropping his hands onto his hips and thrusting his groin forward. “Worship!”

She gaped at him. He could not have just done that. But then, she knew enough little boys to know how proud they were of their cocks. But rather than argue with him, she did what she did with all little boys who were being inappropriate.

She folded her arms, arched her brow, and smiled at him, even though her tone was stern. “That’s wonderful, Baron. You are a good boy. Now let’s put on your shirt and we’ll find you a cherry tart, hmm?” At least she thought there were tarts planned for the supper buffet.

She picked up his shirt and held it out for him. She was smiling the whole time, cajoling him into obeying as she would any child. But he wasn’t a child. And the moment she stepped close, the entire situation changed.

His face contorted as he knocked her hand aside. She gasped, but that was all the reaction she managed as he grabbed her hair and hauled her forward.

“I own you!” he declared.