Page 90 of The Truth Serum
“Finish your tea, and I’ll tell you.” He held the drink to her lips, trying to force it down her throat.
She reacted as anyone would. She twisted away, and when he grew more forceful, she jerked out of his hold—Henry had taught her how to do that—and knocked the teacup away.
She’d surprised him, that was clear. But she also surprised herself as a wave of dizziness swept over her.
“What is in that?” she asked.
“Truth serum,” he said. “The exact same thing that you dosed the baron with, so don’t pretend to be high and mighty with me.”
“I asked him!” she shot back, steadying herself on the armrest of the settee. “He took it. I didn’t give it to him unawares!”
“A meaningless difference,” Fletcher said with a wave of his fingers. “The point is that he drank it, and now you have as well. So sit down and we shall talk.”
He grabbed her arm and hauled her back into her seat. She tried to evade him. Indeed, she’d seen his hand move, but she was not as quick as usual and her head was spinning.
She landed with a thump, and she pressed her hand to her head to steady it. Good God, just how much of the stuff had he given her? The baron had drank the whole bottle, but he was several stone heavier than she was. Dosages were tricky things. What was safe for one could be lethal for another.
“Why would you do this to me?”
“Why did you do it to him?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “He was pressuring me to marry him. You both were. I wanted to know why.”
“And did he tell you?”
She snorted. “My breasts. And my dowry.”
“Did he say anything else?”
She frowned. “Not really. He was very focused on my breasts.”
Fletcher snorted. “Then this potion is as useless as you are,” he snapped. “Or perhaps you just don’t know how to question a man.”
That was certainly true. At the time, she’d been more interested in keeping the baron dressed than on pressing herquestions. She wished she’d known to ask if he was selling English rifles to Napoleon.
Meanwhile, Fletcher’s gaze narrowed. “What secrets have you been keeping from me?”
So many. Too many to recount, though the urge to speak nearly choked her. Instead, she went on the attack, at least verbally.
“What secrets have you kept from me? Why is the baron so important that I must marry him?”
“I have no secrets sister dear. I am only looking out for your welfare.”
A lie. She felt its falseness in the air between them, heard it in the tenor of his voice.
She frowned. “You are only looking out for me?” To her shame, her voice came out weak with confusion.
“Of course! You are my precious sister, and I want the best for you.”
Another lie.
The falseness in his words shook her. Her brother was difficult, sneaky, and occasionally violent, but he was still her brother. She loved him despite his shortcomings. After all, she had several faults in her personality, too, or so he often reminded her. She’d always thought he felt the same about her. He was often frustrated by her and misguided in his attempts to manage her, but deep down, he still loved her as a brother ought.
But his words rang so false that she knew she’d been wrong. He didn’t love her. And he certainly wasn’t looking out for her.
“Fletcher,” she whispered, grief filling her.
“Rebecca, let me take care of you.”
