Page 22 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

She snorted. “Spoken like a man who hasn’t been controlled by others his whole life.

Without Henry’s say-so, I can’t have my dowry.

Without Fletcher’s escort, I can’t meet eligible gentlemen.

If Mama says she needs me, I am not allowed to leave the house.

I am not better off alone,” she said. “I am better off married to a good man.”

He looked at where he touched her. She had set her hands upon his to emphasize her point, and now he flipped his hands over so they were palm to palm. How he wanted to touch so much more of her. If only she’d—

“And you, Lord Nathanial, who are so free… What have you done with your freedom since leaving home ten years ago?”

He winced. He knew what lies he had to say.

What he always said. Oh, this and that. I’ve been here and there.

All in a good day’s fun, eh? But he already knew how she would react to that.

She’d see the words for the empty platitudes they were, and she’d never open up to him again.

Not if that was all he gave her in return.

But what could he say? Not that he’d been working for the war effort since the day he left their borough.

Not that he spoke five different languages plus a dead one.

That he’d travelled enough to see that people could be awful to one another, and that he missed the comfort of home.

And that he couldn’t be honest with his friends, and that made him so achingly lonely that he would climb into her bedroom in the middle of the night just so he could talk so someone who remembered the boy he’d been.

Who remembered and didn’t call him a scapegrace.

Except, of course, now she would. Because he couldn’t tell her.

“Nate?”

“I have done nothing of note. Nothing as worthy as caring for my family even when they’re awful. Nothing as intelligent as learning how to dose sick children. Nothing…” Nothing that he could tell her.

“So it’s true. You’ve just wandered about. Ten years of indulging yourself?”

He laughed. “There has been little indulgence. That I can swear to.”

“Because you had no money?”

Because he was working in secret for the Crown. And the Crown didn’t pay very well.

“Because you weren’t there to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

He’d thought it was a romantic line. He’d thought that she would melt at those words. She would have ten years ago. Instead, she looked like she wanted to slap him.

“Don’t you dare,” she growled.

He reared back. “What?”

“Don’t make me into your salvation, you lazy ass. You’re a grown man! Either grow up or don’t, but don’t make me the reason for either of it.”

He held her gaze, saw the ferocity in her reaction, and felt ashamed. She was a woman restricted on all sides, and here he was, trying to tease her by suggesting he needed her as well. He did need her, but not to make him responsible. Not to make him a man.

He needed her because she knew him best of all.

She remembered the boy he’d been, and she’d had a hand in shaping his moral core.

That wasn’t a casual statement. They’d discussed all manner of philosophical things.

Things like who was responsible for the poor who had no food?

What was justified when a man was caught beating his child?

Who owned a woman? Was it herself or her guardian?

These were practical questions for her. She worked much closer with the vicar than he ever had—helping with the sick and tending the poor.

He’d avoided such things in favor of fixing fences and watering crops.

But together, they’d discussed the politics of it.

Because she liked thinking through systems. Systems in a house to make cooking more efficient.

Systems in the parish to see that the right people got help.

And systems in the country or the world.

But, of course, systems had to be based on fairness, and that was what they argued. What was a fair wage? Who got to decide? When was a woman a full adult? When was a man? They’d discussed that ad nauseum until he discovered he could kiss her into acquiescence.

And here he was pretending that those discussions meant nothing, that he hadn’t thought about them while walking through war-torn Spain, or that he’d never disobeyed orders when they were unnecessarily cruel.

Fortunately, he’d gotten away with his actions.

He was, after all, a secret part of the war effort.

And Sir Benedict had a rebellious streak as well.

But all that virtue, such as it was, could be traced back to her and the things they’d discussed. Except he couldn’t tell her that, without explaining everything. So he was left staring at her as he searched for something to say.

He needed some way to tell her his true heart without any details. And that was an impossible task.

He sighed. “I’m not what you think.” It was the best he could manage.

“Then what are you?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. At least not until his gaze landed on the book she’d set on the windowsill. Just as he’d guessed, it was a raucous novel filled with silly situations and a moronic heroine. He’d read every word. As had every literate woman in London who had the time to spare.

That was his answer.

He looked up at her. “Does Fletcher allow you to go to the lending library alone?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes. I have to take my maid, of course, but she doesn’t care what I read.” Then she stiffened. “Are you going to say that’s not an appropriate book?”

“What? No!” Indeed, the idea that he would, was pretty funny.

“Meet me at the Minerva library tomorrow. Say, two o’clock?”

“That’s visiting hours. Fletcher will be angry if I’m not here to entertain guests. And it’s Mama’s favorite time of the day.” And when he frowned at her, she shrugged. “Mama likes me to see that everyone’s needs are attended during her salon.”

“You mean she treats you like a servant, waiting on everyone while she holds court.”

Far from being insulted, Becca gently chided him. “I am her daughter and the one looking for a husband. It is appropriate for me to be there.”

Present, but she shouldn’t have to wait on everyone. Still, he held his tongue on that regard. He knew better than to wade into complicated mother-daughter relationships. Besides, they were figuring out when he could see her again.

“When can you get to Minerva’s?”

“Thursday. Nine o’clock?”

He groaned. That was when he was supposed to be meeting Frid at the apothecary shop. “Why so early?” he asked.

“Fletcher will still be asleep at nine. I hope.”

Nate sighed and dropped his forehead onto her knees. “Only for you, my dear. Only for you.”

“For me what?” she asked, her voice tart.

“Meet me there at ten. That’s when it opens.” He should be done with Frid by then. “I’ll show you what I’ve been doing.”

“What?”

“I’ll show you,” he repeated. At least some of what he’d done. The light stuff. The silly stuff. The only way his sanity had survived some of the places he’d been. He lifted his head and put on his most winning expression. “Please?”

Then he waited while she studied him. Lord, the woman could drag out a decision, looking at it from all angles before she committed. But in the end, she nodded.

“At ten.”

“Good.”

And then he kissed her. Because he never wasted time on deliberation, even when he should.