Page 38 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

She chuckled. “You caught my fib. What I wanted was to spend more time with Miss Petrelli.” She flashed him a mischievous look. “And it worked! I’m to be her bridesmaid, so our family shall be further entwined with the duke’s household. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Do not think to mollify me with your ridiculous conclusions. I told you to get close to the duke.”

She sighed. “There is only so much I can do if the man is besotted with his fiancée.” She took another long pull of the tea. “And really, so much can be learned from women’s talk, don’t you think?”

She was trying to do exactly what he thought: mollify him by showing him what other advantages she could offer. Women’s talk, however, did not appear to interest him.

“If you lack for women’s chatter, spend more time with Mama.”

“You know what I mean, Fletcher. Mama has her cronies, and I need mine.”

“Then I shall draw up a list of women who are appropriate companions to you.”

“Ack,” she cried, startled that such a sound came from her mouth. “Don’t bother. I can make my own friends.”

His eyes narrowed as he watched her, his expression growing more intense. “And yet your discernment is sorely lacking.”

She bristled at that. She always bristled at that, but this time she chose to speak. “Fletcher, you’re my brother and I love you, but really, it’s time to retire that accusation. I’m seven and twenty now. I can make my own friends without my brother telling me how to do it.”

Far from being annoyed, his expression cleared, and he slowly leaned closer to her. Part of her tightened at his proximity. He’d never liked being so close to her or anyone. And yet, here he was leaning forward as if to sniff her.

“Fletcher, what are you doing?”

“Rebecca,” he said slowly, “how do you feel?”

“Like I am done with this conversation. Really, I don’t understand what you want from me. I am here to find a husband. I am done with catering to everyone else. It is time I established my own household, my own family.”

“And yet, you will always be part of ours.”

That was true. But… “Are you sniffing me?”

He was, but at her words, he drew back. Then he pressed her abandoned teacup into her hands. “You must drink up. You said you were parched.”

She pressed it back on him. “Well, I’m not now.”

He shook his head, his expression growing gleeful. “I think you are. You said you were, don’t you remember? Come come, you were parched. Was that a lie?”

“Yuh…uh—” She cut off the word ‘yes’ with a truly awful gag. Lord, her head was getting fuzzy. “I think I shall go now, Fletcher. The late night is getting the better of me. Perhaps a lie-down—”

“Finish the drink!” Fletcher commanded and she jolted as she stared at him.

“No.” Then she looked down at the cup, remembering the strange taste. Had he dosed her? “What did you do?”

“Finish your tea, and I’ll tell you.” He held the drink to her lips, trying to force it down her throat.

She reacted as anyone would. She twisted away, and when he grew more forceful, she jerked out of his hold—Henry had taught her how to do that—and knocked the teacup away.

She’d surprised him, that was clear. But she also surprised herself as a wave of dizziness swept over her.

“What is in that?” she asked.

“Truth serum,” he said. “The exact same thing that you dosed the baron with, so don’t pretend to be high and mighty with me.”

“I asked him!” she shot back, steadying herself on the armrest of the settee. “He took it. I didn’t give it to him unawares!”

“A meaningless difference,” Fletcher said with a wave of his fingers. “The point is that he drank it, and now you have as well. So sit down and we shall talk.”

He grabbed her arm and hauled her back into her seat. She tried to evade him. Indeed, she’d seen his hand move, but she was not as quick as usual and her head was spinning.

She landed with a thump, and she pressed her hand to her head to steady it. Good God, just how much of the stuff had he given her? The baron had drank the whole bottle, but he was several stone heavier than she was. Dosages were tricky things. What was safe for one could be lethal for another.

“Why would you do this to me?”

“Why did you do it to him?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “He was pressuring me to marry him. You both were. I wanted to know why.”

“And did he tell you?”

She snorted. “My breasts. And my dowry.”

“Did he say anything else?”

She frowned. “Not really. He was very focused on my breasts.”

Fletcher snorted. “Then this potion is as useless as you are,” he snapped. “Or perhaps you just don’t know how to question a man.”

That was certainly true. At the time, she’d been more interested in keeping the baron dressed than on pressing her questions. She wished she’d known to ask if he was selling English rifles to Napoleon.

Meanwhile, Fletcher’s gaze narrowed. “What secrets have you been keeping from me?”

So many. Too many to recount, though the urge to speak nearly choked her. Instead, she went on the attack, at least verbally.

“What secrets have you kept from me? Why is the baron so important that I must marry him?”

“I have no secrets sister dear. I am only looking out for your welfare.”

A lie. She felt its falseness in the air between them, heard it in the tenor of his voice.

She frowned. “You are only looking out for me?” To her shame, her voice came out weak with confusion.

“Of course! You are my precious sister, and I want the best for you.”

Another lie.

The falseness in his words shook her. Her brother was difficult, sneaky, and occasionally violent, but he was still her brother.

She loved him despite his shortcomings. After all, she had several faults in her personality, too, or so he often reminded her.

She’d always thought he felt the same about her.

He was often frustrated by her and misguided in his attempts to manage her, but deep down, he still loved her as a brother ought.

But his words rang so false that she knew she’d been wrong. He didn’t love her. And he certainly wasn’t looking out for her.

“Fletcher,” she whispered, grief filling her.

“Rebecca, let me take care of you.”

No, no, no!

“I can manage my own life,” she said.

He exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “I know you believe that—”

Truth.

“—but I know what is best for you. I know who is best for you.”

Lie.

“Who?” she asked, the pain in her heart keeping her words short.

“The baron.”

“No—” The denial came up swiftly.

“Yes, my dear. I know now why he acted so strangely. It was you. You dosed him.” He tapped a finger on her nose. “Don’t try to deny it. He told me all about it. And Missy told me where she’d bought it.”

All of that rang true.

“The baron wants you. He loves you.”

Truth. That startled her. The baron didn’t know her well enough to love her.

“Is it hot in here?” she asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

“You must allow the baron to make things up to you. You must let him show his love.”

Truth again.

It took her some time to realize that it was Fletcher’s truth. He believed the baron loved her.

“You don’t understand love, do you?” she said. “Love is wanting the best for someone.”

“He does!”

Lie.

“Fletcher why are you like this? Why do you want me to marry the baron. The truth this time.”

“He is the best for you.”

She really focused on his words. She opened herself up to the serum, understanding now that it showed her the truth or lie in other people’s words. Which meant that Fletcher believed the words he was saying.

“You mean,” she said slowly, “that he is the best for you.” Not her. For Fletcher. “He has offered the best inducement to you. What is it?”

“Oh, you know,” her brother said. “He will help the family.”

Lie.

“He will help you, you mean. But how?” she pressed.

“Am I not your family? Don’t I deserve something too?”

And that was when she heard it. A petulant child beneath all his bluster and demands. A little boy who wanted so much.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“A seat in the House of Commons. He’ll help me with that, you know.”

“No, no,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face. It was so hot. Her clothing was so tight. And Fletcher’s answer hadn’t been the little boy’s answer. “Is it money?” she asked. She knew Henry had put limits on Fletcher’s funds. “How will my marrying the baron get you money?”

“He has a business that he will share with me,” Fletcher said. “Business that is very profitable.”

Oh dear. Didn’t he see the contradiction? “No man shares what he doesn’t have to. Not even with his wife.”

Fletcher touched her cheek, pulling it toward him. Had her head been lolling to the side? She blinked, trying to get her eyes to focus. It was a struggle. Everything seemed to be in multiple layers. And at the deepest layer of Fletcher was an unhappy child.

If she squinted, she could almost see it.

“Don’t you think I know?” Fletcher asked.

“What?”

“I know how clever you are. I know all your secret tricks.”

Rebecca blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” he crowed. “That is how I know you will make him help me. Just by being your difficult, devious self.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He will not get your beautiful breasts unless he shares with me. I will make sure of it.” He grinned. “It is part of the marriage contract.”

Truth. And the coldness of his statement shook her.

“But I do not want him,” she whispered. She swallowed down any words about who she did want.

“You do,” Fletcher said. “You must.”

Lie.

“No,” she said.

His grip on her chin tightened painfully. “You will obey,” he commanded.

She flinched, not from the pain but from the memory of those words. The harshest beating she’d ever had followed those words. Her father had told her to obey. She’d said, no.

That was her first and only time she’d experienced cracked ribs. At least her own. Because after that, she never openly defied her father again. And in her confusion, in her dosed state, she said the words she’d meant to ask her father.

“Why? Why don’t you love me?”

“I do love you!” he said.

Lie.