Page 25 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

“Actually, I’m often late. Always have been. It’s just that you were even later, and so never knew.”

He frowned, thinking back. That couldn’t be true, could it? “You always made such a fuss. Said you’d been waiting ages for me!”

Her lips curved and she cast him a mischievous look. “I know,” she confessed. “It was awful of me. I kept thinking you’d catch me, but you were always worse.”

“Until today,” he said with a flash of satisfaction. “And now I shall have no more guilt about tardiness with you.”

She chuckled as she stripped off her gloves, then her expression sobered. “What was that gentleman upset about, if it wasn’t your account?”

Damn it, this wasn’t how he wanted to tell her.

He’d meant to confess his trade as a kind of secret triumph.

But now that was tainted. She’d see that even in this, his favorite pastime, he was inconsistent.

But there was no help for it now. He’d brought her here.

And damn it, he wanted to share it with her.

“What do you know of Minerva Press?” he asked. “Do you know what they publish?”

She waved at the large library, her gesture expansive. “These are their books, aren’t they?”

He nodded. “Quite innovative of them, I think, to combine press, bookstore, and lending library all together.” For customers who could not afford to purchase the books outright, they paid a subscription fee to borrow the tomes.

It maximized the number of people who read the books and increased profit for everyone. “What do you think of their catalog?”

She shrugged. “The books are silly, but you know I love them. Have done since I was young, and you gave me a copy of The Children of the Abbey for Christmas.”

He had given her that. Goodness, he’d forgotten. “Do you have any favorites?”

She flushed. “Several. But you know, it’s hard to get them back home, and Fletcher doesn’t approve. But Mama likes them, too, so we manage to stock up whenever we’re in town.”

“Have you read any of the Wicked Tales by the Pirate Lucifer?”

“Oh yes!” She smiled as Mr. Vawdrey brought them a new tea service. She waited while he set the small table before them, then bowed himself away.

“Well?” he pressed when she shifted to pour the tea rather than continue what she was saying. “What did you think of it?”

“Well, far be it for me to judge—”

“It’s a novel. One to be read and judged by people just like you.”

She flushed. “Very well. I think Pirate Lucifer—whomever he is—gets too involved in the wrong details. I don’t want to learn how to steer a boat or fight with a sword.”

“What do you want to know?”

“If he ever finds Miss Beauty, of course. And will that wretched Governess ever die? I mean honestly, the woman was described as being a wrinkled old hag, and yet she’s got eyes good enough to see him on a boat at sea.”

He frowned. “Some people see things better when they are far away.”

“And some people are just meddling nobodies who need to get out of the way of true love.”

He grinned. “So you think Miss Beauty is Pirate Lucifer’s true love?”

“Well, he thinks so. Personally, I’m not so sure.”

“Then who do you think would fit him better?”

“Well, he is a wicked pirate. Don’t you think a woman with a bit more sass than Miss Beauty would suit him better? All Beauty does is read books and get locked away by her horrid governess. Really, the girl must be in her twenties by now. Who needs a governess at that age?”

He couldn’t answer that and so he contented himself with drinking the fresh tea and smiling as he looked at her.

This felt so right to him. Sitting with her, drinking tea, and discussing literature.

It was just like when they were teenagers, except that they were in public now and she was ten times more intriguing than the girl she’d been.

“Well?” she pressed after a minute or more had passed. “I doubt you brought me here to discuss wicked pirates.”

“Actually, I had,” he said as he set his teacup down.

“You see, I’m the wicked pirate Lucifer.

” Then he grinned at her, gleefully anticipating her shocked and amazed expression.

He wanted her to clap her hands in delight as she had when they were kids.

He wanted her pleased with him and his accomplishments.

Except she didn’t do that. Indeed, she narrowed her eyes as she seemed to be measuring him from all sides. As if he were a puzzle.

“Didn’t you say that Fletcher was Mr. Pickleherring?”

“Yes, but only at the end. He added things to the column after it was sent off.”

“And you know this how?”

He huffed out a breath. “Because I was Mr. Pickleherring. And damn it, Becca, if anyone found out then I would be ruined!”

“I see,” she said in a tone that suggested he was delusional. “You know I asked Fletcher about that.”

“I’m sure that went well,” he drawled in a tone that implied the exact opposite.

“He called me ten different names that all meant ‘idiot.’”

“He’s not going to admit—”

“And now you’re pretending to be the Pirate Lucifer.”

He sighed. “I’m not pretending. I am. That man who was just with me? He’s the publisher. I’m late on the next manuscript.”

“Really? It has nothing to do with forgetting to pay your subscription fees here? That you’re in arrears for tea and sandwiches?” She pointed to the tea service.

“I am not in arrears! They owe me money.”

“Oh my,” she drawled. “Perhaps we should call over your publisher, then. What was his name?”

“Mr. Newman,” he all but growled.

“Yes. If he owes you money, then he ought to pay it, yes?”

“Yes, but I owe him a manuscript, so I’m pretending I haven’t noticed.”

“Ah. Pretending.”

“Becca!”

She looked up, obviously searching for Mr. Newman.

“Stop it!” he hissed. “It won’t help. I told him that if anyone were ever to ask, he would have to deny me completely. Make up something else. Do you know how ridiculous I would look to the ton ? A man who writes silly novels about pirates?”

“I thought you loved them.”

“I do!” Why else would he write them?

“Then why—”

“You’re being purposely difficult,” he huffed.

“And you’re lying to me.”

There it was, spoken baldly between them.

Of all the things that he couldn’t tell her, this was his most private.

It would be easy to confess being a spy for the Crown, if one ignored the implications for the war effort.

But it was hard to tell her that all those ridiculous tales he’d spouted as a teenager had blossomed into real income.

In fact, it was thanks to the Wicked Tales that he had had any lodging in London at all.

Except, of course, that he was currently living with Ras.

He sighed as he looked down at his hands. “Of all the things…” he said softly.

“What?”

He met her gaze. “Of all the things you’ve said and believed of me…

” He let his gaze roam the bookshelves until he found the shelf that was reserved for his books.

It was half empty. He took pride in that.

It was half empty because people kept buying or borrowing his words.

They liked what he did, even if the ton would crucify him for it.

He was a writer. Not of gossip, not of dark things that needed to be exposed to the world.

He’d done that as Mr. Pickleherring. But the tales of Pirate Lucifer?

He’d done that because he’d loved telling her the stories.

Back when they had been nothing more than the wild fantasies of a bored adolescent.

Except he’d matured. He’d written them in his journal when he was sailing back and forth to Spain. He’d lost himself in the tales when the war had gotten too brutal to face. And when he’d come back to London, he’d screwed up his courage and brought them to Mr. Newman.

They’d been published. They’d been loved!

And she didn’t believe him.

He sighed as the truth hit him broadside. There was nothing left between him and Becca. Nothing to stand on, if she didn’t believe anything he said. And nothing to pine for, if she refused to see him for who he was.

“Thank you for coming, Lady Rebecca,” he said. “I won’t bother you again.”

Then he stood up and walked away. He had a manuscript to finish. And she could go to the devil.