Page 55 of The Truth Serum
“Well, he thinks so. Personally, I’m not so sure.”
“Then who do you think would fit him better?”
“Well, he is a wicked pirate. Don’t you think a woman with a bit more sass than Miss Beauty would suit him better? All Beauty does is read books and get locked away by her horrid governess. Really, the girl must be in her twenties by now. Who needs a governess at that age?”
He couldn’t answer that and so he contented himself with drinking the fresh tea and smiling as he looked at her. This felt so right to him. Sitting with her, drinking tea, and discussing literature. It was just like when they were teenagers, except thatthey were in public now and she was ten times more intriguing than the girl she’d been.
“Well?” she pressed after a minute or more had passed. “I doubt you brought me here to discuss wicked pirates.”
“Actually, I had,” he said as he set his teacup down. “You see, I’m the wicked pirate Lucifer.” Then he grinned at her, gleefully anticipating her shocked and amazed expression. He wanted her to clap her hands in delight as she had when they were kids. He wanted her pleased with him and his accomplishments.
Except she didn’t do that. Indeed, she narrowed her eyes as she seemed to be measuring him from all sides. As if he were a puzzle.
“Didn’t you say that Fletcher was Mr. Pickleherring?”
“Yes, but only at the end. He added things to the column after it was sent off.”
“And you know this how?”
He huffed out a breath. “BecauseIwas Mr. Pickleherring. And damn it, Becca, if anyone found out then I would be ruined!”
“I see,” she said in a tone that suggested he was delusional. “You know I asked Fletcher about that.”
“I’m sure that went well,” he drawled in a tone that implied the exact opposite.
“He called me ten different names that all meant ‘idiot.’”
“He’s not going to admit—”
“And now you’re pretending to be the Pirate Lucifer.”
He sighed. “I’m not pretending. I am. That man who was just with me? He’s the publisher. I’m late on the next manuscript.”
“Really? It has nothing to do with forgetting to pay your subscription fees here? That you’re in arrears for tea and sandwiches?” She pointed to the tea service.
“I am not in arrears! They owe me money.”
“Oh my,” she drawled. “Perhaps we should call over your publisher, then. What was his name?”
“Mr. Newman,” he all but growled.
“Yes. If he owes you money, then he ought to pay it, yes?”
“Yes, but I owe him a manuscript, so I’m pretending I haven’t noticed.”
“Ah. Pretending.”
“Becca!”
She looked up, obviously searching for Mr. Newman.
“Stop it!” he hissed. “It won’t help. I told him that if anyone were ever to ask, he would have to deny me completely. Make up something else. Do you know how ridiculous I would look to theton? A man who writes silly novels about pirates?”
“I thought you loved them.”
“I do!” Why else would he write them?
“Then why—”
