Page 117 of The Truth Serum
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 grabbedNate’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.
