Page 39 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

“Fletcher, I protected you. Henry and I both did. We stood between you and our father.”

“You kept him from me,” he rasped.

Truth. At least as far as Fletcher understood it. But maybe it was true from her own perspective. Each of them had worked to stay in their father’s good graces one way or another. And when Father was being kind, she certainly hadn’t wanted her moody brother around.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose I did want him all to myself”

“You bitch!” he rasped, jerking her head around again. “You bloody bitch!”

“Fletcher!”

“You wanted his love for yourself. You poisoned him against me!”

What? “No!”

“And then you killed him!”

Truth.

“No! That’s a lie”

“It is not!”

Truth. At least her brother believed it.

Rebecca’s head was reeling, her body felt on fire, and her clothes itched.

She longed to take off her stockings, to feel the cool air on her thighs.

But mostly, she wanted to be away from her brother.

All she felt from him was a noxious cloud of hate.

It was so thick and dark, she felt like she was choking on it.

But she couldn’t stand without reeling and her vision was distorted. Plus, he was still gripping her arm, leaning over her as he tried to press his words bodily into her. He was ranting, spewing words at her as he let his darkness out.

He wasn’t yelling. No, that might bring the servants.

Instead, he was whispering such hateful things into her ears that she couldn’t process it.

Neither could she block it. But if she squinted her eyes, if she looked deep into him, she could still see that little boy.

The angry, furious little boy throwing a tantrum.

A justifiable tantrum, maybe. He seemed to want his father. But the loving father he wanted never existed.

“Why are you doing this?” she croaked. “Father wasn’t a good man. Not always. Don’t you remember?”

“Lies! All of it lies.”

She swallowed, gathering her resources to fight back. “You dosed me. I can’t lie,” she lied. It was hard to do, but it was possible. The serum made it so she could hear his lies. And so she pressed him again.

“What do you gain if I marry the baron?”

Pleasure flooded his system as a slight smile curved his lips. “His money for us,” he said. Meaning money for Fletcher.

“What makes you think he’ll share?”

“He wants your dower property. He has to share with me to get it.”

“How?” she pressed. “How does it work?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shot back. “Just see that you marry him.”

She shook her head. She knew Nate wanted her to pretend, but she couldn’t promise this. Not marriage. But she could give in a little.

“I will talk to him,” she said. “I’ll see him at the Penrose ball.” She closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness. “He can have a dance.”

“That’s days away.”

“We have to wait until his scandal dies down. The Penrose ball should be far enough away. He can probably get an invitation.”

Fletcher seemed to consider it. He knew as well as she did that a few days would quiet the scandal, then everything would go smoother. “Very well. You’ll give him three dances,” he declared.

“Two.” She was growing exhausted. He was wearing her down.

“And a walk outside.”

“I can’t go outside with him.” She had to stay in the ballroom. Nate said so.

“Outside.” Fletcher grabbed her chin. “He needs a kiss.”

Nausea pushed into her throat. “No!”

His fingers tightened on her chin and his other hand, on her arm. Tight fingers, boring in. But they were nothing compared to his anger. And when she opened her eyes, she didn’t see him. She saw a little boy breaking all his toys.

And she was one of his toys.

“You will do this,” he whispered into her ear. “Or I will serve you up to him without benefit of a ring. I will put you in his bed and let him do to you what he did to his first wife.”

She didn’t know what that meant, but she could feel it in him as surely as she felt the clothes on her back. It was dark, malevolent, and it gloried in her fear.

She tried to say something back to him. She tried to reach the angry child inside. She knew that he wanted love but could not find a way to receive it. She knew these things, but she couldn’t voice them.

She was too afraid. And he was too filled with hate.

So she said nothing. And in her silence, he said one last thing.

“And if he doesn’t, I will find someone else to do the deed. Someone much worse.”

She cried out in horror. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“You are nothing more than a cunny for sale, sister. If you do not do as I will, then I will break you, and you will do what I want anyway.” Then he tossed her aside and walked out.

She collapsed, her entire body shaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t care.

Her brother was a monster. A cruel, angry monster who’d once been a frightened, lonely little boy.

The two images collided against each other.

How could a lonely boy act so heinous? How could a monster be a child at heart?

She closed her eyes. She stayed where she was, and she felt herself drop into darkness.

It was a spinning, rolling, nauseating vortex of darkness, but it was easier than when he’d been in the room with her.

And in time—she had no idea how long—Dorothy found her.

She gently eased her to her feet. She helped her walk and climb the stairs.

Eventually, Rebecca slid into a hot bath.

Then Dorothy brought her some food. Little bits of fruit and a few biscuits.

That eased the nausea. It grounded her more in the present reality, though her vision was still blurry. Then, when Rebecca felt she could, she called for pen and paper.

She had letters to write.