Page 45 of The Love Potion
Becky? As in Lady Rebecca, the heiress? Nate’s first kiss and the woman he’d pined for ever since?
“She can’t be husband hunting. I haven’t seen her, and I’ve been everywhere.”
“She’s hunting. Her father has decreed it.”
Well, it was time. The girl was old enough to be on the shelf. In fact, if she weren’t so rich, people would have given her the label a long time ago. “Well, I’m sorry for that, Nate, but what has that got to do with—”
“I was gambling.” The man straightened up as best he could. “I waswinning.I thought if I had enough blunt, I could approach her father.”
Oh hell. “Her father won’t see you.”
“He might. If I were rich enough.”
“You could be a nabob, and it wouldn’t be enough.”
Nate shot him an angry glare. “My blood is just as blue as hers.”
True, but he was a third son. And whereas that might be overcome, Nate had a much bigger problem. “Your grandfather swindled her grandfather.”
“I know,” Nate said with a sigh.
“And your father wasn’t exactly honest with her father.”
“I know.”
“And Lady Rebecca thinks you are a fortune hunting scoundrel.” She’d said it straight to Nate’s face last Season.
“I know!”
Right. So he’d tried to win enough money to prove that he wasn’t courting her for her dowry. “How much did you win?”
“Plenty.”
“And it was stolen from you last night?”
Nate’s head dropped in a miserable nod. “Every single penny,” he moaned. “Gone.”
Then, before Ras could ask more, Tillman tapped a discrete knock on the door.
“Right then,” Ras said with a sigh. “Come on. Let’s get you to my house.”
It was hard work getting Nate into the carriage. The man had cracked ribs for sure, but it was his feet that were the biggest problem. Every step had him cringing in pain. They got him into the carriage and laid him down on the squabs. But even the best sprung carriage bounced when travelling through London. It would be a rough passage to the ducal home.
Ras was just about to climb into the carriage beside his friend when he noticed someone watching him intently. It was a man he recognized, leaning against the building. He wore his usual smirk, but this one was especially dark. And, he noted, the butler Hopfer was standing cozily close.
Ras straightened, closing the carriage door as he crossed to the now grinning man.
“Fletcher,” Ras said slowly. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Is he dying?”
“What?”
Lord Fletcher, the arrogant, awful brother to Lady Rebecca, jerked his chin at the carriage. “Is he finally dying?”
“And what do you know about it?”
“Nothing. Just saw you carrying him out like a sack of meal.” Fletcher snorted. “Seems you haven’t learned the truth about him yet. Still falling for every ‘poor me’ lie from the bastard.”
