Page 31 of The Truth Serum
So he had to attend the ball as himself, and he had to convince Ras to let him go alone. The two of them together drew too much attention. Everyone tracked a duke’s movements, especially one newly engaged. And then there was all the love potion stuff, which made him especially interesting. If Nate entered with him, everyone who couldn’t get close to Ras would sidle up to him.
That was hurdle one. The second was getting enough coin to handle all the logistics. Hackney there and back, new stockings and shoes, because he’d bled all over his, and the bribe. All information had to be paid for one way or another. In time and attention if nothing else. But his contact in the Joguet household needed cold, hard coin. And Nate was sadly lacking in that.
Fortunately, he’d been able to borrow some of Ras’s clothing to cover the basics, including a fresh cravat. And he’d won a couple pounds playing cards with Ras last night, so that covered the hackney. But the bribe?
That was going to take finesse.
Ras walked in as Nate was dressing.
“What are you doing?” the man asked as he leaned against the doorframe.
“I can’t sit around any longer. The boredom is killing me.” At least he’d managed to write a little, but he was accustomed to being a great deal more active.
“Your feet will be permanently damaged if you don’t give those bones time to heal.”
It was a real risk but so was letting Napoleon win the continent. “I don’t intend to dance. Just…” He waved a negligent hand in the air. “You know.”
“No, I don’t.”
Damn it, Ras was getting prickly demanding answers. It was a lot easier five years ago when he could distract the man with women or liquor. Fortunately, he had a ready excuse. “Cards, you cretin. I need to win some money. My tailor bill is due.”
“I’ll pay your tailor. You stay here and get better.”
“No.” And at his friend’s sudden sharp look, Nate flashed him a cheeky grin. “But I will borrow a cravat, if you please.” He pointed at a pair of stockings resting on the coverlet. “I’ve already stolen these from you, so you can add those to my bill.”
Ras folded his arms. “Your feet are a mess. The bones have barely had time to mend, you still run the risk of infection, and if the fever strikes, you could die. Why are you risking your life?”
“Don’t be dramatic. It’s just a ball, with pretty ladies who will ooh and ahh over me as I regale them with a tale of my terrible attack. They’ll fall over themselves to pamper me.”
“Hmmm.”
Nate matched Ras’s tight expression, slowly exaggerating it until the duke snorted at the comical display. “Very well. What ball?”
“I’ll take a hackney.”
“The devil you will. I’ll go with you just to make sure—”
“No, Ras. You suck up all the air when you arrive. Not a single pretty girl will look my way when you are there.”
“I’m engaged.”
“Nevertheless.”
Ras stepped further into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. “You are my closest friend, and yet I know nothing about how you spend the bulk of your time.”
“Sitting on my arse, staring at the ceiling! Ras, don’t make more of this—”
“I’m trying to help you!”
Nate had several ready answers to that. He could laugh it off without giving any details. It was what he’d always done with Ras, but that technique was wearing thin. Ras wouldn’t tolerate it any longer. Which meant he had to give a cutting remark. He had to push his dearest friend away, thereby beginning the end of their association. It was what he’d done with so many others over the last ten years.
One after another had realized their friendship had been built on sand. The moment they pushed to know more was the moment he had to grow cruel and shove them away. That was how this game was played.
But he couldn’t do it with Ras. Just like he’d never been able to stop dreaming about Becca. They were embedded deep in his childhood, which made them tethers to his true identity. He wasn’t a footman slipping through the Joguet’s kitchen. He wasn’t a Portuguese sailor burning through his pay after smuggling supplies to the English soldiers. And he definitely wasn’t a feckless aristocrat with nothing but time on his hands, though he spent a great deal of effort to appear so.
He was Ras’s friend. And Becca’s lover. And the man who risked everything in service to his country when his country couldn’t even admit he was anything but a half-drunk hanger-on.
“Don’t make me do this, Ras,” he said. “Please.”
