Page 17 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

N ate kept the French doors in his peripheral vision as he climbed the dais.

He needed to pay attention to his chat with his hostess Madame Joguet.

She hated boring conversations and valued him because he was entertaining.

But he couldn’t stop himself from watching for Becca’s return from her stroll.

He knew it wasn’t his business, but damn it, he couldn’t concentrate on Madame until he was sure Becca was safe.

And it was too hard to split his attention between Madame, her maid Heidi Frid, and both open exits to the back garden.

Fortunately, he was skilled in juggling social situations. He kept his expression warm as he greeted his hostess. His gaze flicked to Frid who was once again adjusting the wrap for her mistress’s cold shoulders.

The fabric was twitched this way and that by the woman’s right hand.

That was the signal that the stern-faced woman had information she wanted to discuss.

And that, of course, was the reason Nate was here when he’d much rather be reading in bed with his feet raised. Or outside making sure Becca was safe.

“Lord Nathaniel!” Madame Joguet cried. “I have heard such a tale of your attack. Are you recovered?”

He shrugged. “Not enough to dance, I’m afraid. Otherwise, I would whisk you onto the floor.”

“I think even you could not manage that,” she said as she squeezed her swollen knee. More than a year ago, the lady had fallen badly on winter ice, and her knee had never recovered. Indeed, that was how Nate and her maid had first met: at an apothecary shop that made healing salves for joints.

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek in the French way of greeting. “Perhaps an adjustment to your salve is in order. Shall I take Frid back to the apothecary shop to discuss it?”

Madame trilled a coquettish laugh. “Don’t be silly. Frid has other things to occupy her time, and there are some things that one must accept.”

He shook his head. “You are too young to live in pain. Come!” he said. “I insist. Besides, I need to visit them anyway for my ribs.” He pressed a hand to his side and winced in pain. It was an exaggerated movement, but not by much. It hadn’t been nearly long enough to heal his bones.

“Oh, you poor boy,” she said as she patted a stool next to her. “Sit. Tell me the tale in detail. Everyone is talking about it.”

“Everyone is saying nonsense,” he countered, refusing to move to the stool.

It would set his back to the French doors and he’d lose his ability to see Becca, if she returned.

“My tale is simple. I was winning at the tables. And drinking heavily.” He gave her a guilty shrug.

“Of course, I would be robbed on the way home.”

“So you were not skulking around the docks? Peering into places that you should not be?”

He rocked back on his heels—a painful move that served to sharpen his wits. “Minx!” he said. “Whatever have you heard?”

“Darling, do you think that I don’t know about French champagne? And I know you enjoy the brandy.” Both of which were smuggled goods. Goods he knew she brought in to England. But did she sell English guns out to the French?

“I do,” he said. But he did not value the drink above the war effort. “And I have a very big appetite. Can you help me gain…satisfaction?” He glanced to where her husband was enjoying a lively discussion with an infamous widow. “Or shall I apply to Monsieur—”

“You shall speak to me!” she snapped. There was little love between Madame and her husband, but they had a common mutual interest: that of finding income in England and not being beheaded in France.

That resulted in a kind of gamesmanship between the two of them, each seeking to find security in England in the crassest way possible.

Resale of smuggled goods was Madame’s favorite pastime.

Monsieur relied on bedding wealthy women for the jewels they gave him.

He was known to be an exceptional lover.

But had Madame resorted to selling rifles to France? And would she, since she hated Napoleon almost as much as she hated poverty?

“Who told you I was at the docks?” he pressed. “The brutes who attacked me smelled of fish, to be sure, but I was outside a gaming hell that I shall never frequent again.”

“Really,” Madame drawled. “Could Frid have been mistaken?”

He looked back at the dour woman. He knew for a fact that she could appear very pretty when she wanted to but chose this sour look when serving her mistress. “Frid, what did you see?”

“A man beaten and stripped of his shoes—”

“That was me all right—”

“One who survived by diving into the Thames.”

Oh! She had been there. Just how many people had been watching as he was nearly killed?

“That sounds like a very dashing escape,” he drawled.

“That’s why I thought immediately of you,” Madame said. She squeezed his arm. “Now sit down. Ease off your feet, and tell me everything—”

Nate wanted to do it. Besides the pain in his feet, he’d been angling for months to learn more about Madame’s smuggling network. This was the most open she’d been about her activities, and exactly the opportunity he’d been looking for.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Becca outside with the baron. They hadn’t come back in. That wasn’t unusual, of course. The musicians would be out for another twenty minutes. Many couples took the entire time to stroll outside.

But he didn’t like it. And Fletcher was nowhere to be seen. Good God, didn’t the man comprehend what was involved in the word “chaperone?”

“Nathaniel?” Madame said, a pout in her voice. “I begin to believe you think of another woman!”

“I do,” he said as his gaze slid to Frid. “Do you trust your handmaiden?”

Madame didn’t even look behind her at her maid. “She is paid well and knows the penalty for disappointing me.”

That sounded ominous. Especially since Frid was already betraying her by whispering secrets to Nate. “Then perhaps…” he said as he pressed a kiss into Madame’s palm, “I shall speak with her.”

“Her!” she gasped.

“After I do what I do best,” he said with a suggestive waggle of his brows.

Moving a footstool around, he settled too close to her legs for propriety. It was also a good position to block the view of what he was doing from most of the ballroom and yet still have a sideways view of the French doors.

And then, while he grinned mischievously at Madame, he began a technique that Becca had taught him to reduce swelling.

A series of squeezes on the leg, beginning high up and then slowly travelling downward, though still squeezing in an upward motion.

It wasn’t sexual, though it could certainly be made so.

This would move the body’s fluids up the leg, reducing the swelling in her knee.

And Madame’s eyes fluttered closed as she enjoyed the pressure.

“You have such marvelous hands,” she murmured.

“I shall meet Frid at the apothecary,” he said, his tone firm. “We shall get you a new salve and I shall—”

“You will bring it to me.” She opened her eyes. “Then you will teach Frid how to do this.”

He nodded in agreement. The woman was not lascivious, thank God, though he knew that many would assume so if he were seen going in and out of her chamber.

It didn’t matter to him so long as Monsieur didn’t come after him with a weapon.

And besides, it perfectly complimented his image as a ne’er-do-well.

“Then I shall meet Frid at the apothecary shop at…”

“Thursday, my lord. Nine of the clock,” the woman said.

He stifled a sigh. That would feel especially early, but he had to fit into her schedule.

“And then,” Madame said with a smile, “you shall come to me.”

He pursed his lips in a kiss, though his face was far from hers.

He had to finish the series of squeezes before he could leave her, but he resented every moment that prevented him from checking on Becca.

And, damn it, he needed to press his hostess for more information.

He’d been working on Madame for months, trying to earn her trust enough to let him in on her smuggling network.

He knew she smuggled goods in to England.

That was probably what Frid had been doing when she’d seen him beaten. But did Madame smuggle guns out?

“This knee must prevent you from carrying all that brandy,” he murmured so quietly that Madame’s eyes narrowed in on his mouth. She was reading his lips because she could not have clearly heard everything he said. “Mayhaps,” he said clearly, “I can help.”

She shook her head. “Mayhaps, I don’t need you.”

“Alas,” he sighed. “I am struck down.” She would not let him into her smuggling operations yet, but he was making progress. And a good spy knew when to push and when to be patient.

The lady chuckled as he finished the last of the squeezes. He’d rushed the sequence, but something was happening outside. He saw several people glance out there before oh-so-casually strolling out.

“I must go,” he said as he straightened to his full height. “Frid, a word, please. I must know exactly how you have been using the salve. Details are important.”

“Of course—”

“Damn, it’s too noisy in here,” he interrupted. “Come outside.” He patted his pocket. “I need to make notes to give to the apothecary.”

The maid waited until her mistress agreed and then followed a half step behind Nate. It wouldn’t be appropriate for the woman to walk by his side. But that also made it impossible for him to have a whispered conversation with her.

There were far too many people between him and the French doors. Rather than wade through them, he motioned to the back of the ballroom. If he remembered the layout of this house correctly, there should be a servants’ hallway just over…

“This way, my lord. Madame has paper and quill through there.”

“A pencil will do,” he quipped as he ducked into the back hall. But the moment he was through the doorway, he looked to the maid. “Heidi, does she export?”

The woman frowned, clearly not understanding.

“Buy goods, sell them in France?”

“Oh!” Frid kept her voice low. “No, but Monsieur might. He brags to her that he will make more money than her soon.”

“Soon? Not now?”

The maid shook her head. “No, not now.”

He wanted to ask more. Indeed, Lord Benedict would be furious if he knew that Nate had given up this chance. But the need to find Becca was eating at rational thought. And he’d just found the servants’ door to the back garden.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered. “Full details.” Then he rushed out the back.

There was quite the crush of bodies here.

Not so tight as he couldn’t get through, but whatever was happening had drawn a great deal of attention.

He had to skirt the wall, slipping behind some of the trees to get past. He constantly scanned for Becca’s face or—more likely—the baron.

Given Becca’s petite stature, the baron would be easier to spot.

But he didn’t see either of them. Fortunately, he didn’t need to. He could hear them.

“I am a god among men!”

That didn’t sound right. Well, the words were fine. Baron Courbis had an ego that befitted the words, but he was usually smart enough not to bellow it out loud.

“Yes, of course you are!” Becca said.

She sounded amused, and that immediately set his teeth on edge. She clearly had no idea that the baron had a vicious temper. He may be amusing right now, but that could change in a heartbeat.

Nate eased forward only to realize that Becca wasn’t the only one amused. Clusters of people stood around chuckling at the display—whatever it was—while they left Becca to handle the obviously unstable Baron.

He just had to slip around this last tree to see…

Well, hell. He did not expect that. The man was naked from the waist up, his clothing scattered onto nearby bushes and rocks. And Becca stood in front of him, her hands on her hips as she tried to reason with a crazy man.

“You will worship me!” the baron commanded.

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” she answered. “But about my question…”

“No questions!” he cried. “Kneel! Worship!”

This was getting out of hand fast. And none of the onlookers seemed inclined to interfere. It was just a show for them, and Becca had no understanding of the danger. Worse, Nate wasn’t at an angle to interfere, not to mention that he wasn’t exactly in fighting form.

Then Becca proved just how na?ve she was as she treated the inebriated baron just as she would a stubborn child.

“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?”

Oh bloody hell. No man liked being talked to as if he were a child, and the baron was pricklier than most. Nate guessed he was a second or so away from becoming violent. But how could he stop it from his position? There were people between him and the scene, and…

Wait a moment. He knew that shadow ahead of him. He knew the size and shape of the person skulking in the shadows just ahead. It was Fletcher! And he was watching!

Nate didn’t waste time. Any so-called chaperone who stood around while a man disrobed in front of his sister deserved what was coming.

He moved quickly, alarm flooding him when he heard the baron’s bellow.

“I own you!” That was quickly followed with an alarmed scream from Becca.

Nate couldn’t see what had happened. He was too busy ramming his shoulder straight into Fletcher’s back. The man surged forward. Indeed, he had no choice. And he landed exactly where Nate had aimed.

Right on top of the baron. Except that in his flailing, Fletcher also hit Becca. All three went down in a tumble of limbs.

That wasn’t exactly what Nate had planned, but either way, he was prepared. He quickly stepped forward and gathered Becca into his arms. God, it was good to touch her again. And then he bodily pulled her out of the pile.

Unfortunately, that made everything worse.