Page 43 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

N ate stared into his ale and tried to calm his racing thoughts.

This was the time he’d usually pull out a pencil and paper and write his next chapter in an exciting pirate adventure.

Living as his main character, he’d cut the evil doers to shreds, rescue the fair maiden, and ride off into the sunset.

But he had no heart to write such lies tonight. His fair maiden had ripped his heart apart, and he was tired of feeling alone.

The irony was that he knew why she had done it. She had to refuse him. There’d been an apology in her eyes and misery in her body language even as she gave him the cut direct. So he knew she was lying but was forced to do so for his sake.

All so she could pretend to be interested in the baron tonight. So he could be the spy his country needed and put an end to the rifles going to Napoleon. So he had brought her, an innocent girl from the country, into his double life. And it was making her miserable. Which made him miserable.

“You’re not writing,” Lord Benedict said as he settled onto the bench across from him.

The man looked completely different from the urbane gentleman he usually seemed.

Rough clothing, unshaven face, and a slump to his shoulders made him look—to the casual observer—like nearly every man who frequented the docks.

But Nate could see the difference. It was subtle. Something about Benedict’s innate arrogance always showed through. The man was an aristocrat and wickedly smart, so playing someone abused by the world was difficult for him. Not so much for Nate. He often felt knocked about by life.

Lord Benedict gestured for an ale as he leaned carefully on the filthy tavern table. “Why aren’t you writing?”

“Don’t have the words,” Nate answered.

“You always have words. I never worry when you have words. It’s when you’re stopped up like a buggered sheep that I rethink things.”

Nate winced at the crude words. It wasn’t like Benedict to be so graphic. And he certainly never betrayed anger in his tone. But it was there, vibrating underneath everything.

“What’s got into you?” Nate asked.

“English selling guns to the French, that’s what.” Benedict clenched his jaw shut as the barmaid brought his drink, but the moment the woman turned her back, he was speaking again. “How does a man betray his own people? Our boys are dying, and this arse is selling guns to the French.”

Nate nodded. He felt the same. Indeed, if he had his way, the perpetrator would be hung, drawn, and quartered for every single life his rifles had taken. Over and over until the debt was paid. If ever such a thing could be paid.

The two of them shared an angry glare meant not for each other but for whomever they were about to catch. Ultimately, it would be the baron, of course, but first, they had to get the underlings.

Benedict took another pull from his drink. He didn’t even grimace at the taste, which Nate thought was very well done of him. This swill was awful, and Benedict liked good wine.

“I see you’ve neatly extricated yourself from society,” Benedict said after he swallowed. “Nobody will think twice if you disappear for a time now.”

“I didn’t do it. She did.”

His superior’s brows rose. “Hates you that much, does she?”

“No. She did it for me.”

It didn’t take Benedict long to understand. “You’ve told her who you are.”

Nate nodded. This was a dicey thing, and something he should rightly have discussed with Benedict first. But he hadn’t, and now was the moment he would have to pay the piper.

“She’s clever, then,” Benedict said. “Able to do what’s necessary even when it hurts?”

Again, Nate nodded.

“Can we use her?”

“No!” Nate slammed his hand down for emphasis. His voice was hard, his volume unrestrained. Fortunately, it was part of his persona here. A cantankerous sailor perpetually on the outs with somebody, somewhere. The action fit. It was also something he’d never done around Benedict. Until today.

The man straightened, leveling him with a hard stare. “So it’s love then? Real, true love?”

Yes. Damn it, yes! Which made it horrendous.

“I’ll not pull Becca into this life,” Nate said. It was too dangerous, too painful. One could never really be honest with family or friends, and that was a damned sight harder than he’d ever expected.

“That’s a problem for you then. Even if you pull out of this work…” A quick gesture indicated his spy work on the docks. “There’s more of it as a diplomat. It’s more open, of course, but there are always secrets, always problems. And that can be dangerous.”

“I know,” Nate growled.

“What are you to do then?”

It was probably a rhetorical question. Either way, Nate treated it as such and refused to answer.

“Find a home in the country?” Benedict mused. “Pen your fun stories while remembering the dangers you’d once faced?”

“Everyone gets old. Everyone wants a warm fire and a cozy bed.”

“And that’s what you think of that life. It’s something for an old man with a gray beard and a dog at his feet.”

Nate shuddered at the thought, mostly because it was true.

He hadn’t expected to retire to a fire and his bed until he was nearly in his dotage.

He was still a young, vital man. And he was good at this work.

He was a good spy and could be a great diplomat.

But to come out of the cold, he’d need a wife on his arm.

Diplomatic circles needed a woman who was equally savvy, equally dangerous in her own way.

It was a world where women could be more vicious than the men. And he had no desire to put Becca in such a situation.

But the other option was to walk away completely. To disappear back into the French countryside, waiting in taverns there, sleeping in hay fields and drinking from horse troughs. He could do it. He had done it. But damn, he was already tired of it.

“Have you asked her?” Benedict pressed.

He nodded. “She laughed in my face.”

Benedict winced in sympathy.

“She was…drunk.” Actually, she’d been under the influence of that damned truth serum, but he didn’t want to explain that to Benedict.

“So that’s your answer then.”

Yes. She didn’t want to marry him. Except…

“We spent a night together.”

Benedict’s brows rose.

“Not that way. Well, yes, but not completely like that.”

“Oh.”

Nate rubbed a hand over his face. Why the hell was he talking like this? Normally he kept these thoughts to himself. But this was too big for him to keep inside. It hurt too much. And he loved her too much.

“I… She…” God, what did he want to say? “We work well together.” No that wasn’t exactly right.

“She makes me feel better.” He didn’t need to explain to Benedict how important that was.

They’d both done things that haunted them.

They’d both faced choices that destroyed moral men.

To find someone—anyone—who eased that pain, who saw them for who they were and still loved them…

Well, that person was worth her weight in gold.

“And you think you’ll make her life worse?”

He swallowed. “This life is complicated, and she’s got enough to handle.”

“You want to protect her?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re a bloody idiot.”

Nate’s eyes widened in shock. “You know how difficult this life is.”

“Of course I do. And I know that some women aren’t suited for it. But that’s not your problem.”

“What?”

Benedict reached forward and tapped the blank page in Nate’s journal. “You’ve always put her on a pedestal. She’s been your lost princess to rescue, the sweet damsel who needs your help. But now, you see that she doesn’t need rescuing. That she might like the work as much as you do.”

“No—”

“Yes. Suddenly she’s not this ideal woman, and you don’t like it.”

“What?”

Nate pulled back, but Benedict grabbed his arm, roughly pulling him forward. It was part display for the tavern, part truth, and they both treated it as such.

“Talk to her,” Benedict growled, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Find out what she wants.”

Nate swallowed but was unable to move the lump in his throat.

“Or maybe,” Benedict mused a little cruelly. “Maybe I’ll talk to her myself. I could find work for a clever girl, especially since you’re on the outs with society now.”

“No!” Nate cried, ripping his arm out from his superior’s. But he couldn’t go far. They were supposed to capture the French half of the smugglers this afternoon. That was why he’d been sitting here waiting for Benedict. And so, there was no way he could stomp off, and Benedict knew it.

The man slowly straightened from his seat. “Come along, boy,” he drawled loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’re going to pay me one way or another, and now’s the night for it.”

It was all pretense, and it wasn’t. Anyone watching them would think he was off to do something illegal, forced by someone bigger and badder than him.

That worked perfectly to keep his image of a down-on-his-luck sailor who had contacts and skills useful for exploitation.

It was how he’d learned half the dirt he did, just hanging out at various taverns.

He was a morally grey petty criminal, perfect to exploit by other criminals. Or those higher up on the food chain.

He’d never resented it—or Lord Benedict—more. And yet, such was the game he played.

“It won’t be so bad,” Benedict teased. “And you’ll gain a useful skill in the process.” Then he threw some coins on the table and started walking toward the door.

Nate had no choice but to follow. He slumped as he walked, always keeping a step behind Benedict. Master and servant. For the moment.

If they continued as usual, he’d reappear next week all smiles and with coins, bragging about something he’d learned how to do.

Maybe he had a way to get some goods from them Frenchies.

And of course, movement of goods one way meant that an enterprising Englishman could send information the other way. If he was of a treasonous bent.

Nate called it dangling bait. Sometimes they caught nothing. Sometimes they caught an Englishman smuggling rifles to the French. It all depended on luck.

And today’s luck was that he knew when the French buyers were coming in. He knew what boat and what coin. He just had to catch them before they met up with the English traitors.

Once out of the tavern, Nate took control.

He might look like a paid lackey slinking along behind Benedict, but he whispered instructions ahead, and Benedict followed them to the letter.

They wove in and out of the docks, mixing with various groups and even ducking into a place he knew where they could change clothes.

Different hat and coat, difference gait, and most important, different shoes.

Benedict liked his well-made pair that made little sound and conformed to his feet.

But it was a dead giveaway to anyone who knew how to look.

Major Vance joined them. He was Benedict’s batman from Spain and the most loyal servant a man could ask for. He was smart and quiet, savvy in a way that he’d had to teach the two aristocrats. But thanks to their time in Spain together, all three worked well together, even in cheap shoes.

They made good time to the stairs along the Thames. It was a simple nab, assuming everything went well.

As soon as they arrived, Nate peeled off to talk to the watermen.

They were the army of boatmen who ferried passengers or cargo from the ships that anchored mid-river in the Legal Quays.

Those surly men had tipped Nate off to the Frenchmen after the Frog’s last visit months ago.

It had been too late to catch the enemy then, but not this time.

It was pure speculation that these men were the ones buying the English rifles, but the timing worked out. And either way, they needed to be caught. So Nate returned to Lord Benedict and Major Vance with a cocky grin and quirk of his finger.

“They’re on Vidone’s wherrie.” He described the waterman because he was easier to pick out among the mass of boats. “Black cap, thick mustache, and fists like hams.”

Benedict nodded. He’d met Vidone before. But it was Major Vance who caught the important information.

“They?”

“Yes. Two Frogs.” It was supposed to be one Frenchman, but this time, there were two. And neither of them were small men.

“We’ll do it,” the major said as he squared his shoulders.

Yes, they would.

They waited in the shadows. There were always people coming and going on the stairs, and a steady choke of people clogging the area.

Most waited for cargo or passengers, many waited to board outgoing vessels.

Hackneys sat nearby, and pickpockets loitered.

But Nate was well known to the watermen, and they all knew he was here to grab some Frenchies.

Lots of people turned a blind eye to smuggled goods, but selling English guns to Napoleon was different. The watermen couldn’t fight in France, but they’d been happy to help Nate catch a couple Frenchies on English soil.

Vidone saw Nate as he guided the boat to the rail. They exchanged a couple quick hand signals, and Nate relayed the information to Benedict and Major Vance. The two Frenchmen sat at the back of the boat and would be easily caught when they disembarked.

It worked like a charm.

Major Vance caught the smaller one with a single kidney punch as Benedict crowded the area to box the Frenchman in. Nate used his height to wrap an arm around the other man’s neck. From a distance it could look like a friendly hug.

It wasn’t.

And after a very annoying struggle, the bastard went slack and the purse that was meant to pay for the rifles landed square in Benedict’s hand.

“Well done,” Benedict said as they headed for his carriage.

“It’s only step one,” Major Vance said in an undertone, as he effortlessly propelled his culprit forward.

Nate didn’t say anything. He already knew that capturing these guys was only the beginning. Next, he had to impersonate them in order to catch the men selling the rifles. That would be the hard part.

What he should have realized, of course, was that strong-arming a conscious man into a carriage was much easier than lifting an unconscious one. And damn it, his man was bloody heavy.

“I’ll help in a moment,” said the major. “Then I suppose we’ll both have to turn ourselves into Frogs.”

Because there were two men here. Which meant Nate couldn’t hide in the background. He would have to impersonate one of the French buyers along with the major. And didn’t that just make his insides twitch? His face was well known, even under make-up and a French cap.

But there was no help for it now. And all the reason in the world to get it done tonight. He would not risk Becca again.