Page 9 of The Truth Serum
“You’ll work as I tell you to,” Benedict said. “This is no time to go rogue.”
Benedict always said that because Benedict believed in structure, even among spy organizations. Especially among spies. Otherwise, there was no safety anywhere for the men under his command.
Nate knew that was a dangerous illusion. He functioned as he always had, a lone figure wandering places he shouldn’t go in the hope of finding answers. His success was a product of luck and diligence. It was what he could do for England. Though, in his honest moments, he knew that excitement was his real motivator.
“Be careful,” Benedict whispered in English. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Was there anguish in his tone? Desperation? Or simple anxiety as his gaze hopped to the clock on the mantlepiece.
“I need to leave,” Benedict said as he switched into bastardized Portuguese. “Do you trust your host?”
“Ras? With my life.”
“You’re sure.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’d bring him into the work if he weren’t about to get married.”
“Hmmm,” Benedict said. “And do you trust his fiancée?”
Nate’s nod came slower this time. He didn’t have the benefit of years of friendship with Kynthea, but everything he’d learned about her said she was exactly as she appeared: a poor relation who was abruptly, suddenly, in absolute love with a duke.
What he wouldn’t give for Rebecca to look at him the way Kynthea gazed as Ras. She’d done that once, but that had been long ago.
He sighed. Inactivity was turning him maudlin. He couldn’t even write in his journal right now. Thoughts kept running chaotically through his brain, thanks to the fever. That was gone now, but he still hadn’t picked up a pencil. He hadn’t the will.
He mustered a smile as Lord Benedict rose to his feet. The man didn’t say anything more beyond his customary good-byes, but the look he gave Nate was something else. It was long and full of worry. But then he’d often looked that way when considering Nate.
After all, he knew more than anyone else about what Nate had been doing for the last ten years. He and Lord Benedict had grown up together in the spy service, though the man was his senior in age and the service.
Benedict’s final words were, “Don’t be stupid. And don’t talk.” Which for Benedict was the same thing.
“Go on wit ye,” Nate drawled, pulling out his best no man’s accent. Neither Cornish nor Cockney, he centered it as a general low-brow London accent. It usually served his purpose and was enough to make Benedict wince at the coarse tones. The man hated pretending to be anything less polished than what he was, a future earl with a very bright future in diplomacy.
So the man shot Nate a long-suffering stare before taking his leave. Less than five minutes later, the door opened again, this time by Ras. The duke’s gaze was somber as he stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. He looked like he was about to discipline a recalcitrant boy.
Nate was having none of it. “Leave off, Ras. And fetch me some fresh water. I need to clean my wounds.”
“Water’s there,” Ras said as he gestured to the pitcher set to the side of the table. Then he appeared to make a decision. He entered the room and shut the door firmly behind him.
“Interesting conversation you had there. I counted five different languages, plus English.”
Nate’s gaze abruptly sharpened. “You were listening at the door?”
“I was.” He didn’t sound the least apologetic, but he did grab the water pitcher and filled a basin before dropping a clean cloth into it. “Not at first,” he added. “But when I overheard Russian, I was intrigued.”
“Did you understand it?”
“Not a word. Don’t speak it. But I did wonder what Lord Castlereagh’s right-hand man was doing visiting you. When did you two become friends?”
Nate waved a hand in a casual gesture. “Oh, we met when I first came to London after…” After he and Rebecca had blown up both their lives. “After I left school.”
“Was he here then?” Ras clearly was thinking about the man’s age. “Wouldn’t he have been in school?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes not.”
“And you were here sometimes, sometimes not.” It was an echo of what Nate always said about his early training. He did this and that. Went here and there. Met some people, kissed a few girls, killed a few villains.
He never said that last part out loud, but clearly Ras guessed that his wastrel life was a bit more complicated than it appeared.
