Page 34 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

B ecca tried to force herself to relax. The decisions were made, the details were important but not significant. So she listened and even asked a few more questions. Nothing worthwhile came of it except for the frustration of hearing Nate say, “I cannot answer that.”

At least he wasn’t trying to lie anymore.

But that didn’t make him any less mysterious.

She’d never really believed all the horrible things Fletcher had said about him, but was being a “spy” any more rational than a Lothario?

She’d never heard of being a spy. The word wasn’t even in his books.

And, honestly, couldn’t a man who wrote such fantastical tales create an elaborate fantasy like spying for the crown?

Of course he could. But she didn’t think so.

Which meant, as fantastical as it all sounded, she believed him. And she believed in him. So she would do what he asked. For England. For the war effort. And for him.

Mostly for him. Because she wanted to believe everything he said, even when her rational mind thought the whole thing silly. Why would any man raised in England sell out his country for more money? Especially when he already had plenty?

She sighed as she looked out the window at the dark night. These were all hypothetical questions, mind candy that distracted from the real problem. Even the temptation, the hope that Nate and the duke could get her dowry free for her was nothing more than a someday dream.

The real problem came in the morning when she had to go home.

She had defied Fletcher tonight. That was not something he was going to forgive. But how far would he go to punish her? Would he be satisfied when she agreed to meet with the baron at the Penrose ball? She hoped so. But more likely, he was right now devising a truly cruel punishment for her.

Fletcher was sneaky. And half his punishment was in making her wait, belly tight and mind spinning, for a cruelty she didn’t see coming.

His revenges had been petty when he was a boy.

He’d broken her dolls or framed her for eating forbidden sweets.

But he was her brother, and she’d been told that she had to forgive him.

Little boys acted out. He’d just needed more attention, more love, more sweets.

And that had been assuming anyone believed her in the first place. Hell, she’d barely believed it herself. He couldn’t possibly have been devious enough or cruel enough to maim her favorite mare. Or get Nanny fired for stealing.

His rages, those violent tempers where he’d destroyed everything in reach, were simply a product of adolescence. Every boy had them, though Henry never had. But then Henry had been a hermit, who spent his adolescence holed up in his room or working the fields alongside their tenants.

So how would Fletcher punish her for tonight’s disobedience? And was there any way for her to mollify his behavior?

She found no answers as their group headed for bed, each to their own bedrooms. Kynthea acted as her maid, helping her out of her gown before disappearing down the hall. Which left Rebecca to sit in her shift as she brushed out her hair.

She wasn’t surprised when a knock sounded at her door. She guessed who it was and sat in indecision. Could she speak with him while sitting in her shift? Could she look at him and not remember how it felt to have his hands on her body?

Could she refuse to answer the door?

No. She wanted to see him, if only to remind herself that he had set her aside. That the last time he had touched her in her bedroom, he had stopped. As he had always stopped, even when they were teenagers.

This time, it would be her who said no. This time, she would not humiliate herself by asking for more.

She opened the door and Nate stepped in. He closed the door quietly behind him, then looked at her face—just looked at her—for a very long moment.

“Nate?”

“How bad is it?”

“What?”

“When Fletcher gets angry, what does he do? How bad it is?”

She turned away. This wasn’t something people shared. It wasn’t spoken of, even among her own family. No one discussed Fletcher at all.

“I can handle my brother,” she said. And inside, she prayed she wasn’t lying.

He touched her arm, gently pulling her around to face him.

“I can tell when you’re lying. Just like you always know when I’m hiding something.

” He stroked his thumb across her cheek, and she felt the heat of it in her whole body.

“Please, Becca, trust me. I can help. I got Frid out of France. I found jobs for her and her daughter. I can—”

“What will you do? Hurt him? Kill him? He’s my brother.”

“I will keep you safe.”

A beautiful thought, but he couldn’t get her dowry out of Henry by tomorrow. And tomorrow was when she’d have to face Fletcher.

“It’s Fletcher’s job to keep me safe. And Henry’s. And maybe my mother’s.”

“They aren’t doing it.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I’ve learned to be sneaky. I’m here tonight. I’ll figure something out tomorrow.”

“You used to say that when we were younger.” He sat down heavily on her bed, one hand pressed against his side. “Just how long have you been afraid of Fletcher?”

She didn’t answer, mostly because she couldn’t. Fletcher had always been volatile, even as a little boy. Thankfully, he’d been gone most of the time at school. It was only when he was home that she’d learned to hide from him.

Rather than say that, she focused on Nate. “You should be resting. How painful are your ribs? Are they hot to the touch?” That would indicate infection.

“They’re healing,” he said. “No infection. And I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.”

“I am fine tonight,” she reassured him. “Go rest.”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow has other tasks. I want to talk about this now, Becca, away from everyone else. So you can tell me the truth.” Then he gingerly reached behind him as he stretched out on her bed. “But I will lie down, if you don’t mind. My ribs do ache.”

She watched him settle back, his bare feet lifting onto the counterpane as he sighed in relief.

She remembered his feet from years ago when they’d gone swimming in the creek.

Large, masculine feet. Hers had been tiny beside his, but now she realized how unformed they’d both been.

Stupid to see so much in feet, but she did.

He had calluses now that had never been there before.

And could feet show weight? If so, his had been softer then. Now they were narrowed with hard sinew.

“Have you gone barefoot often?” she wondered aloud.

“Hmmm? We never wore shoes aboard ship.”

She saw the fine ridges of cuts along his soles. She saw now that it was his calluses that had saved his life. If he hadn’t had all that protection, the wounds on his feet would have gone deeper, bringing infection to his blood.

Her gaze returned to his face, seeing anew that he was a man now and not the boy she remembered. And the man was so much more impressive.

“I’m so proud of you, Nate,” she whispered. “You are so much more than I ever thought you could be.”

His eyes widened and a slight pink crept into his cheeks. “You believe me now.”

“I have since the bookstore. It just took some time for the truth to get past Fletcher’s lies.”

She’d always known Fletcher shaded the truth for his own agenda. She just hadn’t wanted to believe he would outright lie. Or that he would trade her away to a traitor—a man who sold guns to Napoleon—as if she were no more important than a bale of hay.

“Becca, how dangerous is Fletcher?”

She shook her head, but before she could form words, he gripped her hand.

“Do not try to pass me off. It is not a problem for tomorrow. It will not go away, and neither will I.” He reeled her closer to him until her leg bumped up against the bed. “You would always brush things off when you were younger. You’d say, ‘It’s fine. It’s not a problem now.’ And I let you.”

“It was fine.”

“You had bruises. I remember them now. We would be… I would touch…”

“When we were kissing,” she said.

“Yes. You flinched every now and then. There were bruises on your ribs. Sometimes your legs.”

She swallowed. “They weren’t from Fletcher, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then who?”

Her father. It had been part of life. This was how men interacted with women in their families, or so she had been taught.

His eyes darkened the longer he looked at her. “Who hasn’t hit you?” he wondered aloud.

Nate. Henry. Well, not exactly Henry. He’d taught her how to fight back. He’d shown her how to defend herself, and they’d occasionally sparred so she could learn. That had been done in secret, far away from anyone.

“I know how to protect myself from serious damage,” she said. “And I know how to hide.”

“I will kill him.” The strength and power of his vow startled her.

She sighed. “He is my brother.”

“And he is supposed to protect you! Good God, when did this begin? Your father? Your grandfather?”

She looked away. “It wasn’t so bad. They never—”

He squeezed her hand. Abruptly. Not enough to hurt, but it surprised her. She jolted back to look at him, and he immediately dropped her hand, his face ashen.

“Sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She gaped at him. “You didn’t.” Did he think she was as delicate as that? “It was a squeeze.”

“You cannot accept anything like that. Not the tiniest pinch. Not the smallest slap.”

“I won’t break. I haven’t.”

“Becca,” he said softly. “God, I am so sorry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t know. For not knowing.” He touched her face, his hand cupping her cheek. “No more. You will not be frightened anymore.”

“Really?” she drawled. “The world is frightening. Walking down the street can be frightening. How can you protect anyone from that?”

He didn’t have an answer. At least she thought he didn’t. Until his eyes grew moist. He drew her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers.

“You will always be safe with me. I can promise that. Here, in my presence, in my arms. You will always be safe.”