Page 47 of The Love Potion
He’d been right about the difficult, jostling ride. Nate moaned during the worst ruts. Ras hoped the man would lose consciousness, but halfway to the house, he spoke.
“How did you know?” Nate asked.
Ras jerked his gaze to Nate’s one open eye. “What?”
“How did you know to come find me?”
“I didn’t know. I wanted to discuss something else with you.”
Nate groaned as the carriage jolted again. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, but a moment later, he spoke again.
“Well come on. What did you want?”
Ras shook his head, though Nate couldn’t see it. He was not one to kick a man when he was down. “We’ll discuss it later.”
“Now. You came to my rooms. Never done that before.”
“I didn’t want to wait until our usual time at the club.”
Silence reigned in the carriage for a bit. Nate’s eyes were still closed, and his face was slick with sweat. A few minutes later, Nate kicked out with his foot, connecting hard with Ras’ knee. It had been a common thing when they were children. They were boys kicking each other for one ridiculous reason or another. But this time, Nate had clearly forgotten that his feet were hurt.
“Ow! Bloody hell,” he groaned.
“Why would you do that?” Ras demanded. His knee wasn’t hurt, but he was sure the move made Nate’s pain worse.
“Out with it!”
“I’m not—”
“I cannot abide a tease,” Nate rasped. “What was so bloody important?”
No way to dissuade him now. Nate could be like a dog with a bone when his curiosity was piqued. “It was about your column.”
“Mr. Pickleherring? Whatever did he say to upset you?”
Ras held onto his temper. “What exactly did you write about Miss Petrelli?”
The man groaned. “Everyone was talking about your dance. I had to mention it.”
“Did you call her a Jezebel who needs to be hung?” His voice was hard with fury.
“I did not!” Nate’s head came off the squabs. His torso, too, as he gripped the handhold and pulled himself upright. It must have hurt dreadfully, but he was determined. “I said she was a good sport to forgive your valet for dressing you in a shoddy spat. I praised her.”
Ras set his hand gently on his friend’s shoulder, pushing him down. “Fletcher changed it. With the help, I think, of your butler.”
“The devil you say.” Nate held out his hand for the column, but another bump in the road had his arm flying wide. “Read it to me,” he ordered. “Every damned word.”
Ras obliged, though his voice shook when he came to the offending paragraph. The whole thing was not Miss Petrelli’s fault, but thanks to this damned column, she would be drummed out of society for good. And that was something he could not allow.
He finished reading, his tone cold and hard.
Nate’s voice was equally furious. “I did not write that.”
“I know. Fletcher changed it.” He leaned forward. “What has happened between you? He seems intent on destroying you.” Ras frowned. That wasn’t right. All he’d need to destroy Fletcher would be to expose him as Mr. Pickleherring. Instead, he was trying to poison the friendship between Ras and Nate. And perhaps take over the column.
“I don’t know,” Nate said, his voice quiet. “Nothing but that old feud between our families.”
“And your affection for his sister.”
