Page 46 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

“Are we to trade blows then like children?” she taunted. “Or do you want to learn what I require to be your willing partner, rather than your pawn?”

“You’re a woman!” he growled.

“And women can get things, go places, and manage people you cannot. Do you think you could get an audience with the Queen?” she pressed.

“And you can?” he scoffed.

Absolutely not. “You have no idea what I can and cannot do.”

She left it there. It was a threat she’d read in Nate’s books often enough, but it was a shock to use it in real life. Perhaps his tales weren’t as far-fetched as she thought. Meanwhile, the baron proved that he wasn’t an idiot by dropping back in his seat and staring at her for a very long time.

Good God, he’d obviously never considered that a women could think. But he was certainly considering the possibility now.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

“Leave my brother out of everything. He isn’t who you need.”

“And you are?” The man scoffed, and she had to agree. After all, she had no intention of helping him. So when she remained silent, he folded his arms across his chest. “Fletcher and I have made our arrangement. I’m a man of my word, so think of something else.”

He was not a man of his word, but she wasn’t going to quibble about stupidities. Instead, she nodded. “Tell me everything about how you make your money. I will show you how a woman can help you.”

It took him a minute to accept that. But then he started talking.

He began with the smallest of his ventures—a simple bribery scheme wherein soldiers paid him for a position at the Tower of London, something he could influence, given his position on the Board of the Ordinance.

“What,” he challenged, “could a woman do to benefit me in that?”

She rolled her eyes. “You accept money? That’s it? That’s the smallest thing people have to offer, especially poor soldiers.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about. What else could I want?”

“Do you not think these men have wives? Mothers or sisters? They have things to offer that are much more valuable than a few coins. If nothing else, they can sew your attire for free. But they also listen in important households, they clean important places.” She folded her arms in a mimicry of him.

“You cannot talk to those people as I can. They will tell me which woman is desperate to sell her jewelry, who sleeps with whom, and much more. And you cannot tell a well-made coat from a poorly made one. That much is certain.”

“What?”

“Your seams are crooked and the thread weak.” It wasn’t more crooked than most gentlemen’s attire, but she knew he had never thought to look at the seams of his coat much less the threads before. “You could benefit from a woman’s eye.”

He frowned as he tried to see his seams. He couldn’t, not inside the carriage, but it was enough to make him think.

“Go on,” she prodded. “Challenge me to see where else I can help you.”

And so he did, speaking slowly and carefully as he revealed his schemes, one by one. Thank God the trip was taking so long. She would have a wealth of schemes to expose to Nate and the authorities.

Eventually, they arrived at the docks, the carriage stopped, and he pulled her out. The sun was setting, so it was hard to see, but it wasn’t long until he drew her into the back of a dark building.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Shhh!” he snapped. And lest she try to delay by dragging her feet, he jerked her forward.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. They were in a large building with crates and boxes. A warehouse, obviously, but not a large one. He made her crouch behind a stack of carefully arranged boxes while he peered over it at…nothing as far as she could tell.

Instead, she fingered a pile of fabric bolts. Silk, she believed, and of decent quality.

“Are these smuggled?” she whispered.

“Of course not,” he said as he turned back to her. “Merely an extra tip, so to speak, from the ships that store their goods with me.”

“Do they know they’re tipping you?” she drawled.

“What they do or do not know isn’t my business,” he said with a grin. Then he looked at the silk. “Do you know who best to sell that to?”

She nodded. She could think of several modistes who would jump at this fabric. “You need to sell it soon before the rats get to it.”

He nodded. “That shall be your first task, then.”

“So we are partners now?”

“You and your brother,” he said as he jerked his head to a side door where her brother was just now entering with another man.

“Is that your brother?” she asked, seeing a vague similarity between the baron and Fletcher’s companion.

“ Bastard brother.”

As if that made a difference when they were both betraying their country. “What are they carrying?” They set down two large crates, clearly heavy, between them.

“Shut up and watch,” he growled.

He wasn’t going to tolerate any more questions.

And he wasn’t going to let her escape either, given the grip he had on her arm.

So she remained quiet, listening as Fletcher and the baron’s brother traded small talk.

It was mostly grumbles about the weight of the boxes and the weather. And how the Frenchies were late.

If she had any doubt before that her brother was involved, it disappeared now.

It was Fletcher, dressed in his ballroom finery.

He’d pulled on an overcoat, but she recognized it.

His voice and the condescension in his words were typical Fletcher.

He had no respect for his co-conspirator but was excited to get good money out of the French.

Worse, he knew the box contained rifles. Good English guns that were better than anything else on the continent. And he didn’t care that they would likely kill English boys. It was all about the coin and how often this exchange happened.

A traitor. Her brother.

Or rather, a would-be traitor because it was clear from his conversation that this was his first time making an exchange. She looked at the baron.

“Who handles this when my brother isn’t here?”

“My brother. And he’s terrible at it.” He flashed her his teeth. She wasn’t sure if it was a grin or an implied threat. “Though I’m always here watching.”

He’d directed the hackney to wait nearby in case he needed to depart quickly. Just in case this was a trap, which it most definitely was.

Damn it, she couldn’t let this go on. She couldn’t let her brother sell rifles to the Friench. And she couldn’t let him be arrested and hung. He was an awful brother, but that didn’t mean she wanted him dead. There were precious few options here, and time was ticking away.

And while she sat there, everything got worse. The baron pushed her down onto the floor. She might have been able to break his hold, but she saw no reason to fight him yet. So she ended up with her bottom on the floor in her ballgown while he…

He pulled out a pistol and aimed it at her brother.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Just in case of trouble.”

She looked at him. She looked at her brother.

And then she watched as the door opened again and the two Frenchman walked it.

She didn’t recognize one of them. He was a broad man with sturdy legs who looked like he could single-handedly carry the box of rifles.

And the other Frenchman? It was clearly Nate.

Dressed differently and with a beard, but she would know the shape of his body anywhere.

Even when he slumped and shuffled his feet.

And so the negotiations began. Fletcher had made some small effort to lower his voice before, but he wasn’t now. And so she made her choice.

Given no other options, she went with the only action that might save her brother.

She screamed.