Page 18 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

R ebecca hadn’t any breath to scream when a heavy weight landed on her. Had the baron toppled? Was it something else? She hadn’t the time to process it as strong arms grabbed hold of her.

Thank God! Someone was helping her escape this terrible pile. She latched onto whomever’s arms, using his strength—she thought it was a man—to twist and kick her way free. But there was a complication. The baron still had her hair gripped hard in his fist.

“Damn it, let go!” she cried.

“Get off me!” bellowed someone else.

Fletcher? Was he the newcomer to this scene? Whomever it was, he was equally anxious to escape. And the sounds he made confirmed his identity. She would recognize Fletcher’s gasps of outrage anywhere. And the telltale sound of her gown ripping.

What a disaster!

But she couldn’t deal with her dress until the baron released his grip on her hair.

Then she saw a gloved hand reached around her to grip the baron’s hand, forcing it downward at the wrist until his fist opened. He released her hair!

Fantastic. She’d managed to get her feet under her and so was able to pull her head back, though she lost several strands of hair in the process. Either way, she could stand tall and deal with this social disaster. Assuming, of course, her dress was partially intact.

Meanwhile, Fletcher also gained his feet and was spouting the usual outrage.

She heard, “How dare you!” Then “I cannot believe…” something she didn’t understand. And the ever annoying, “I demand an explanation!”

She ignored Fletcher, her attention split in two different directions.

The first was on the baron, who had flopped onto his back, chest exposed to the moon.

He was roaring like a stuck bear. Except he didn’t seem unhappy.

He sounded like he was enjoying the sound.

And who wouldn’t prefer such a thing over Fletcher’s indignation?

The other part of her attention—the larger part—centered on the man behind her.

The one who had pulled her from the pile and had forced the baron to release her.

She felt the strength in his body as he cradled her, the heat from his chest on her back, and the angry huff of air as Fletcher pointed at him.

“You!” Fletcher hissed. “What have you done?”

He’d saved her from something a great deal worse than a torn dress.

And he was Lord Nathaniel. His hands were larger than she remembered, and his body had more heft than when they were teenagers.

But there was no change in the way he surrounded her, near enough to support her without restraining her.

He was the only man who’d ever made her feel protected without making her feel caged. And she turned to smile up at him in thanks.

“Are you all right?” Nate asked her.

“Yes,” she said in the pause between roars as the baron drew breath.

“Your dress—”

“Not so bad.” Not so great either. The skirt had ripped at the seam right under her bodice, so now there was a gaping hole that revealed her shift underneath her left breast. She grabbed the loose fabric and did her best to tuck it underneath the ribbon, but it was useless.

She would have to stand there and hold it up.

Meanwhile Fletcher was being Fletcher. “Get your hands off of her!” he cried as he tried to grab hold of her arm. He would have caught her too if Nathaniel hadn’t blocked her brother.

Meanwhile, the baron had stopped roaring. Instead, he lay on the ground chuckling to himself.

“Stop it, Fletcher,” she said, her voice weary. “I’m fine.”

“Yes,” the baron said as he pushed himself into a seated position on the ground. “It’s good, Fletcher. She will make me an excellent wife. Just as you promised.”

“Of course she will!” Fletcher huffed. “And this would have been done in the proper way if Lord Nathaniel hadn’t embarrassed himself and everyone—”

“Enough Fletcher,” she said, fully irritated by the entire situation. Of everyone here, Nate was the least guilty. She, of course, was the most culpable, given that she’d dosed the baron with the truth serum.

“Be quiet!” her brother growled. “I’m trying to recover the situation for you.”

The baren let his head drop back as he if appreciating the breeze on his half naked body. “There is no recovery,” he said. “We will be married as soon as the banns are read.” Then he turned to grin at her. “I am excited by the thought.”

She folded her arms. “My brother cannot give away my hand without my consent—”

“What a happy situation!” Fletcher cried over her. He leaned down to help the baron gain his feet. “Especially since you have clearly been celebrating a bit too soon. But there are people here, Baron. Best put your shirt on.”

“Bah,” the man said as he gained his feet. “She likes the sight of me.”

“She does not,” Rebecca corrected, but it didn’t penetrate the baron’s self-absorption.

“Feel this soil,” the baron said as he grabbed a fistful of it and squeezed. “Good English dirt. Gritty. Smelly.”

The man was still enthralled by feeling things. As if smelling dirt was a fine thing to do in the middle of a ball.

“Never fear,” Fletcher continued, his voice growing louder. “I shall have the marriage contract drawn up tomorrow. This is a happy day!”

“Stop it!” Rebecca said. “I’ll not—”

“Look around you. You’re ruined!” her brother snarled in an undertone. “Take your medicine and be happy that your reputation can be saved by marriage.”

“Not to—”

“If a marriage is needed,” Nate said, his voice dominating everyone. “Then let me extend my hand as I ask for yours, Lady Rebecca.”

There was a moment’s stunned silence as Nate’s words seemed to echo in the air. Even Rebecca, who remembered how Nate was prone to sweeping statements, was shocked by his words.

But then she recovered.

“I’m not marrying anyone!” she cried. “Not because of…” She cut off her words. She couldn’t confess to using a truth serum. “The baron overindulged this evening. That is all. Now, Fletcher, I should like to go home. Let the others recover as they see fit.”

She felt a great deal of guilt at saying that.

Shouldn’t someone stay with the baron to make sure there were no other ill effects?

He seemed healthy enough sitting there and looking up at the stars through the leaves, but one never knew with medicines.

Though, of everyone, he seemed the most serene as he slowly turned to her.

“You mean that, don’t you?” he said, sounding shocked. “You don’t want to marry me?”

“Don’t listen to her,” Fletcher snapped as he brushed dirt off his jacket. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

The baron shifted, leaning back against a tree truck. “Say it again,” he said to Rebecca.

“I do not love you,” she said, knowing it was true. “Do you love me?”

He gaped at her. “Good God, no! It’s your land I want.” Then his gaze turned soft as he looked at her bodice. “And those magnificent breasts.”

Well, that was plain speaking. She hadn’t thought her dower property all that valuable. It was pretty, of course, situated right on the Cornish coast. But she realized now that it likely abutted the baron’s property. And perhaps any land was valuable.

Meanwhile, her brother decided that was enough plain speaking. “Baron, we will discuss this matter in the morning.” Then he grabbed her arm as if to drag her away.

“And what of my proposal?” Nate challenged. His tone was light, but his hand was still gently clasped about her elbow. Then he drew her hand to his mouth and lightly pressed a kiss to her wrist. “Shall I get down on one knee?”

“Don’t you dare!” she muttered, knowing full well that he would. And indeed, there he went, dropping down before her.

“I am quite sincere,” he said and the hell of it was that he probably thought that the truth. The man was ridiculous, and yet, her heart lurched to see him down on one knee before her. If only he’d lived up to the promise of what he’d been as a teenager.

How she’d dreamed of their future together.

Him, as a respected leader. Her, with their children about them.

In her mind’s eye, she’d given him all sorts of different careers.

Banker, barrister, advisor to the king. Never once had she seen him as a man who lived off of gossip gleaned during other people’s parties.

It hurt to see him so small. Worse, he was making fun of something so serious. Marriage. Love. He played at them, and she turned her head away from the sight.

“ I will pick my husband,” she said her tone loud. “And I do not choose either of you.”

She wanted to stomp off in a huff. She did not enjoy such spectacles.

But before she could leave, she had to manage the baron.

She couldn’t leave him like that, sitting in the dirt and looking shocked that she didn’t want him.

It was the effects of the serum, and she couldn’t abandon him until it had worn off.

But she couldn’t stay either. That would be tantamount to accepting his proposal.

Damn it. Whyever had she even mentioned that silly serum?

She looked around her. There was no one here whom she trusted to keep the secret of what she’d done. No one except Nate. He might be a society fribble, but he’d proved his loyalty to her. He’d never betray her.

So he was her only option.

Shaking off Fletcher’s hand, she turned back to Nate who was still on one knee. “Oh get up,” she huffed. He came up easily. The man had always been nimble. And then she leaned forward to hurriedly whisper in his ear.

“I gave the baron a truth serum. Please watch him until he’s better.”

Shock flared across his expression. “What?” Then his gaze ticked to the baron and back, showing he understood what she’d said.

“Please,” she whispered. “There is no one else.”

He stared at her, then his gaze flicked not to the baron but to the shrubbery where a maid hovered in the shadows. Is that what had brought him out here? An assignation with a maid?

“Nevermind,” she huffed, but he cut her off.