Page 11 of The Truth Serum
“What if Fletcher escorts her?”
Nate grinned. “Then I’ll happily have a talk with him.” He might not be able to stand without pain, but he sure as hell could tolerate a little discomfort if he could give Fletcher the drubbing the man surely deserved. The man had stood by and gleefully watched while Nate was nearly beaten to death. Nate needed to know exactly why the man would do that. Did he just enjoy watching brutality? Or was there something more?
Ras shot him a hard look. “We’re trying to quiet the situation, not exacerbate it.” He pursed his lips. “If Fletcher comes, I’ll talk to him. I hate giving him the satisfaction of thinking we’re friends, but—”
“Don’t try to play him. He’s not stupid.”
“No, but he does have an ego. I can play to that.” Nate didn’t like involving his friend in any of this, but Ras was right. They needed to know why Fletcher was following him. It seemed remarkably coincidental that Fletcher had been there just as Nate was investigating gun running, but the two things could becompletely unrelated. Either way, Ras wasn’t trained in this type of investigation.
“Don’t interfere. I’ll can figure out what Fletcher’s issue is with me, then I’ll do what needs to be done.”
Ras sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter Three
Lady Rebecca didn’tknow the duke’s fiancée except by reputation. So when the invitation came for tea, she wasn’t sure what to do. Naturally, she was incredibly curious, given that gossip said the woman had caught a duke by love potion. Since the truth serum was currently burning a hole in her reticule, she was desperate to quiz the woman. But she also couldn’t bring up the topic with someone she’d just met.
She was still staring at the invite when Fletcher intruded upon her morning salon. Like her, he was a ridiculously early riser, and so she had no escape from his intrusive presence.
“What’s that you got there?” he asked as he peered over her shoulder.
She didn’t bother trying to hide it. He would badger her about it until she gave in. He was nosy that way.
“An invitation to tea.”
“With whom?”
She didn’t want to answer. There were some names that were anathema in their house. The duke’s fiancée wasn’t on that list—yet—but the duke himself had sparked several outbursts over the years.
“Come, come,” Fletcher chided. “You cannot go without my approval anyway, so you must tell me.”
“Fletcher, I am a full adult who has been managing my correspondence and mother’s for years without your—”
“Sweet heaven, Becca, why must everything be an argument between us? I swear you have been in a foul mood since you turned twelve. I’m only trying to help. You don’t know anyone in London, and an invitation to tea is never just tea. Especially since I’ve started my campaign for the House of Commons. Can you not simply trust me?”
Rebecca bit her lip. Had she really been surly since she was twelve? Maybe. Her mother had certainly said as much.
“I’m sorry, Fletcher. And of course I don’t want to hurt your campaign.”
“Good, good,” he said, patting her shoulder. “I’m glad we understand one another. Is that the duke’s stationery?”
Well, there was no stopping disclosure now. “It’s from his fiancée, Miss Petrelli. She’s inviting me to tea.”
To her shock, he brightened immediately. “Excellent! I shall be happy to escort you.”
“You can’t.” She traced her fingers over the words. “This is a ladies’ tea. It would be horribly rude to—”
“Nonsense,” he said as he lifted the invitation from her fingers. “Gentlemen come to these things all the time as escorts and friends of the family. Besides, I have things to discuss with her.”
She twisted to face him directly. “Whatever do you have to say to Miss Petrelli?”
“Just that her fiancé and I are the best of friends. And if you women truly don’t want me there, I can wander off with Ras. Hopefully outside, where everyone will see.”
So that was his true goal. He wanted to be seen in the duke’s company.
“I don’t like being used in this way,” she said. “If you want to speak to his grace—”
Fletcher set the invitation down with more force than necessary. “You are fighting me again. You don’t know the rules, Rebecca. You don’t know London.”
