Page 48 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

B ecca woke with a pounding headache. She felt strong arms around her and heard…chaos. Men’s voices. Grunting sounds. And Nate murmuring in her ear.

“Wake up, sweetheart. You’re safe. Wake up.”

She felt such joy at hearing him. Such wonder to feel his arms around her. He was safe. She was safe. They were together.

She pressed her face into his chest and breathed deeply.

Then a flash of pain had her stiffening.

“Ow,” she said.

“You’ve hit your head,” he said. “Go slow. Does anything else hurt?”

Anything else? Everything else! But nothing so specific as the pounding in her head.

Damn it, she was going to have straighten up out of his arms. She didn’t want to, but the sounds around them were getting clearer. A man’s voice issuing commands. And Fletcher complaining.

Oh hell. Fletcher.

She remembered everything now. The baron.

Her idiot brother. And her choice to scream.

She should have done it at the beginning.

Then Fletcher would have had the chance to run, but she’d been looking for a better option and waited too long.

As it was, she’d struggled with the baron, trying to hold him here so Nate could arrest the real culprit. Then…

He must have hit her.

“Becca,” Nate said against her ear. “Why were you here?”

“To stop Fletcher.”

He grunted.

“Where’s the baron?” she asked.

“Was he the one who hit you?” There was a hard growl in his voice that Rebecca appreciated. She’d like to do the man more violence as well. But at the moment, all she really wanted was to stay in Nate’s arms.

Unfortunately, she heard footsteps approaching as another man called out.

“Nate? Where are you?”

“Over here,” he answered. Then he spoke low into her ear. “Don’t say anything. Let me explain.”

How she wanted to do exactly as he ordered. She could just close her eyes and let Nate handle everything. Especially when he started to shrug out of his jacket as he whispered, “I’m going to try to hide your face. Maybe we can—”

“No.”

Hiding was the reaction of a child, and she needed to take responsibility for what she’d done. And though she hated the necessity, she had to take responsibility for her brother, too. Because she’d already made the decision that she couldn’t bear to see him hang.

Damned arrogant idiot.

“They’re going to think you are working with your brother. You’ll hang too!”

She swallowed. Up until this moment, that hadn’t even occurred to her. But she’d screamed to warn her brother. Of course, they would think her in league with him.

“I won’t hide what I’ve done,” she said.

He touched her cheek, his expression tight. “I can’t protect you,” he whispered. She heard true anguish in his tone, and she gave him a wan smile. He’d always wanted to protect her, but he couldn’t. And he needed to know that was all right.

“I made my choices, Nate. I always have. You’re not responsible for this.”

He winced. “I knew you’d say that. But Becca—”

“You are not responsible for my choices. You never have been.”

She saw her meaning hit him. He knew she was talking about her father’s heart attack, the separation between their two families, and even his lies. He was only guilty of his own actions, and she her own. There was no more blame between them.

“Becca,” he said, his voice breaking. And then they were out of time.

Lord Benedict appeared in front of them, his expression tightening as he looked down at her.

“A family affair then,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“No,” said Nate.

“Not like you think,” she said. Then she smoothed out her skirt, wincing as blood smeared down her dress from her hands. She hadn’t realized they were scraped until this moment. Well, she didn’t want to wear this gown again anyway. “Is there someplace we could talk?”

“You mean gaol? Because that’s where you’re both going.”

She winced as she watched the other pretend Frenchman pull her brother around the crate of silks. Fletcher was in handcuffs, and he was sputtering all sorts of stupidities. He was innocent. He was trying to capture French spies. This wasn’t what it looked like.

“Shut up Fletcher!” she snapped. “It was exactly what it looked like. You were trying to sell rifles to the French. You betrayed yourself, your family, and your country.” She grimaced as she struggled to gain her feet, thanks to Nate’s support.

Damn her head hurt. She pressed a hand to temple.

It came away bloody, but not overly so. And though she hissed as she explored the wound, she already knew it wasn’t deep enough to threaten her life.

Indeed, the more she thought about it, she realized her jaw hurt like the devil.

The baron must have punched her, and she’d fallen on the other crate.

She was lucky she’d only lost consciousness for a moment. She could have broken her neck.

“Shut up, you stupid bitch!” her brother bellowed.

Nate punched him. Straight in the jaw, hard enough to snap his head around, but not so hard as to shut him up. Her brother howled in response, and it took Lord Benedict to silence him.

The aristocrat got eye to eye with him and said with silky ease, “Be quiet or I shall authorize the hangman’s noose for you right now. You will not be the first person the major and I have dispatched. Nor will you be the last.”

The man restraining Fletcher—the major, if she guessed correctly—glanced out the door. “The Thames is right there. I gather he’s the one who flung Nate in it a month ago. Would be a fitting punishment. We can see if he can swim as well.”

“We’d have to break his ribs first,” Nate growled.

“It wasn’t Fletcher. It was the baron’s men,” Rebecca said, her tone weary. “My brother only watched.”

Nate grumbled something incoherent, then shook his head. “Just keep him quiet.”

“I’m sorry they didn’t kill you,” Fletcher growled.

She sighed. Her brother really was the sorest loser. What was it in him that kept him from accepting his mistakes? Whatever it was, she couldn’t let him hang.

She straightened and addressed Lord Benedict, as he seemed to be the man in charge. “Fletcher wasn’t the one in charge of this disaster. Even I could see that he was miserably bad at it.” She looked at her brother. “You’ve never been in charge of such an exchange before, have you?”

His jaw firmed, refusing to answer. He would rather hang than admit he was bad at something.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lord Benedict said. “Once is all it takes.”

“But wouldn’t you rather have the baron? And not just him, but all of the people involved in his schemes?”

The major’s eyes narrowed. “Do they all involve trading with the French?”

“Not all. But Corporal Skewes is not his only stooge working in the Tower. He has two more.”

Fletcher’s eyes widened at that, and his weren’t the only ones. Corporal Skewes was tying a bandage around a shallow wound in his arm, but he managed to throw her a hateful glare. “An’ how would you know that?”

Because the baron had told her. Then she’d told him how to expand his business with the use of women. It was only luck of the moment—with Nate as inspiration—that had pushed her to getting that information.

“I’ll tell you everything.” She looked straight at Lord Benedict. “But only if you let my brother go.”

Lord Benedict didn’t say anything. He left it to the major to question her.

“How do you know?” he pressed. “And how will we know it’s true?”

She shrugged. “Some men are idiots around women. Others—” Her glance flicked to her brother. “Are just idiotic. Henry’s due in town tomorrow. He’ll see that Fletcher doesn’t sin again.”

“Not good enough,” the major snapped. “He would have gleefully sold guns to the French. He’s a traitor.”

Becca winced, but she’d been prepared for this. “What if you transport him,” she said. “He can’t help the French while in the colonies.”

“You can’t! I’m the son of an earl!” Fletcher cried, but no one paid the least attention to him.

Then Nate spoke, his soft words were almost kind. “He was terrible at it. Without the baron, I doubt he could cause more trouble.”

“It was treason!” the major growled.

“He failed at it.”

Benedict stepped forward. “He’ll cause more problems. Wherever he is, he’ll try something again.”

Nate nodded. “But it will hurt her if you kill him. I can’t… I can’t agree to that.”

Rebecca felt a flush of heat roll over her skin. If anyone should be out for Fletcher’s blood, it should be Nate. But he was pleading for Fletcher’s life—for her sake.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him.

His gaze turned to her but steadily hardened as he looked at her head wound. “You need a doctor,” he said.

“No,” she said, as she gingerly tried to wipe the blood off her temple. “A surgeon will do. But someone should come with me. I need to tell you everything while it’s still fresh in my memory.”

“I’m not leaving your side,” Nate said.

She smiled. “What about Fletcher?”

“Gaol,” Lord Benedict said. “Until we know that he will bring no harm to anyone else.”

Until he was sure that her information was good.

Fletcher objected, of course. It made no difference. The major took control of him and the corporal. Rebecca heard him say something about arranging for the baron’s arrest as well.

She left that to them. Her head was swimming, and exhaustion was beginning to pull at her.

Nate supported her, guiding her gently to a waiting carriage.

But they were not left alone. Within seconds of heading to a carriage, Benedict grabbed Nate’s elbow.

The two stepped aside for a few whispered words, and then Benedict left to help the major.

“What was that about?” she asked Nate.

“Just making sure that my head’s on straight.”

She frowned at him. “Is it?”

“I honestly don’t know. We can transport Fletcher, but he can just as easily board a ship back.”

True. But that wasn’t tomorrow’s problem. Right now, she was grateful to climb into the carriage and rest her head back on the squabs.

“I hope I don’t get blood on everything.”

“If you’re worried, lean on me.”

“Then I’ll get blood all over you.”

“I’ve suffered worse from your family.”

She shot him a worried look, but his lips were quirked into a smile.

“You’re making fun!” she realized. “My head is pounding, and you’re making fun.”

“It made you smile.”

Had it? Yes, she supposed it had. “I’m sorry about Fletcher,” she said. “About everything.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either.”

His lips curled as he pulled her close. “I love you,” he whispered.

She heard it clearly, even though his words were barely audible.

She tensed, wanting to straighten up to face him, but he didn’t let her.

Especially when his tone turned angry. “And what the devil were you doing there? I told you to stay at the ball!”

Ah yes. Well, that would take some explanation. Fortunately, there wasn’t time as Lord Benedict climbed into the carriage.

“We’re going to the best surgeon I know,” he said as he shut the carriage door. “Better even than Nate at stitching up a head wound.”

Her eyes widened. Nate knew how to sew up wounds?

“He’s joking,” Nate said in an undertone. “The major has the best stitches in the field. But we’ll go to a surgeon who has ten times the experience of either of us. You might not have a scar.”

“Of course I will.” She’d be lucky if she didn’t have a long, big bare streak of a scar through her hair.

“Hush,” he said, squeezing her shoulders.

“Speak,” Lord Benedict contradicted. “Tell me everything, and don’t try to soften it. I still think you should be hung right alongside your brother.”

“No!” Nate cried, but she stopped him by squeezing his hand.

“I’ll tell him.” And so she did. But even as she recounted everything the baron had said, her mind was on something else entirely.

Nate loved her. And she had yet to tell him how she felt.

Of course, none of that would matter if she was hung for treason.