Page 19 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

“I’ll help,” he said in an undertone as he brushed dirt off his pants. Then he straightened, his gaze heavy as he arched a brow.

It was a particular look, one he’d perfected when they were young.

And it told her that their conversation wasn’t done.

Indeed, when they were kids, that look meant he would sneak to her bedroom in the dead of night.

She never let him in. Well, except for once and that was only because it was raining.

Usually he would hang from the ivy by her window as they talked. Or kissed.

Fortunately, there was no ivy by her London window. There would be no dead of the night whispers or anything else. And that made her sad. But everyone had to grow up sometime, and she no longer risked her reputation on midnight rendezvous.

Instead, she looked back at the baron. He was now inspecting his hands, moving them through the air as if he were running them through water. “The air is different,” he murmured.

“I’ll see he gets home safely,” Nate said, his voice gentle.

“Thank you.”

Nate bowed before her in a courtly move reminiscent of an earlier age.

It was a silly gesture, but one that made her smile.

And if she hadn’t felt so guilty about the whole debacle, she might have laughed.

But as it was, she could only feel gratitude toward him.

He was doing her a kindness when not an hour before, she’d given him the cut direct.

“Are you quite finished?” Fletcher drawled, fury vibrating in his voice.

“Yes, brother,” she murmured as she moved to his side.

She had to find a way to mollify the man before he started taking out his irritation on her.

Or anyone else who happened to be in his way.

She didn’t much care if he screamed at her.

It was how she kept the peace, and it was a small price to pay for doing what she wanted.

Let him bellow after the fact. But she didn’t want him harping at the servants.

He’d done that at home when he was angry, and she’d always had to find ways to make amends.

Sometimes, she wondered if it was worth it.

Why did she give his moods free reign over her life?

The answer was that she didn’t. Not at home.

But this was London where she wanted to remain for the rest of the Season.

That required his charity, and so she would allow him to rant at her.

She was of age, so he couldn’t force her to marry anyone she didn’t choose.

They walked smartly back to the carriage, neither saying a word. That held until they were both inside the vehicle. Then he began his tirade.

Fletcher was thorough in voicing his disgust of her. She had no sense, according to him, and frankly, given what had happened, she couldn’t disagree. Her brother knew nothing about the serum, but she did. And she was disappointed in herself.

She should not have dosed the baron. He’d taken it willingly, but obviously, neither of them had guessed at the effects. Good God, she never would have dreamed that the stuff was that effective!

Meanwhile, Fletcher continued his tirade, adding in pressure for her to accept the baron’s suit.

He really wanted her to marry the man. She told him explicitly that she would never agree to that.

If nothing else, the truth serum had revealed his brutish side.

No man had ever tried to haul her around by her hair, and now that she was sitting safe in the carriage, that memory surfaced stronger than any other.

The baron had been brutish and cruel. She shuddered to think what might have happened if they’d been alone. Certainly, he hadn’t been in his right mind. She might be able to excuse his behavior because of that. But she would never get past it.

He had hurt her. And he’d revealed that he only wanted her dowry property and her breasts. There was no way she’d marry the man.

Nevertheless, she let Fletcher blather on.

It was what Fletcher always did. He lectured, he threatened, and when they were children, he would strike her.

But that ended after Henry taught her how to fight back.

Indeed, Henry had often protected her from her brother’s rages.

Her father, when he’d been alive, had also kept Fletcher’s tirades in check, but after his death, everyone hid in their own private places.

That left Fletcher to do as he wanted. And sometimes what he wanted was sneaky and cruel.

There was never any proof. A dog who disliked him disappeared. A farmer who had cursed him found his pig pen open and his pigs gone. A barmaid who refused his advances was attacked from behind and beaten. None of these things were ever tied to him, but Rebecca wondered.

The best practice was to let Fletcher blather on, appear to agree, and then do whatever she wanted once they were apart. Back in Cornwall, that had been easy. Here, it would be a great deal harder, but she would find a way.

She sought her bed as soon as they entered the house. Fletcher wouldn’t stay long, she knew. He was never in bed before two or three and it wasn’t even midnight now. So she waved him good night and headed for the peace of her bedroom. He let her go, his expression tight with annoyance.

She made it into her bedroom and quickly undressed.

As soon as she could, she dismissed her maid and exhaled in relief, relishing the quiet.

And though she was ready for bed, she settled into her window seat to read.

A light wrap pooled in her lap, and a pillow cushioned her backside.

And though it was hard to see by the light of the candelabra, she gloried in the peace of the moment. And the excitement in her book.

Until the moment someone tapped on her window.

Nate.