Page 17 of The Truth Serum
She nodded.
“I have made a mess of the duke’s linens, but your poultice recipe has served me well. And the doctor said I could not do much about the broken bones, but give them time.”
She nodded. That much was true. “Still, you must wash regularly and watch for the first signs of infection. Be rough enough on the new skin to push out any pus, but not so rough as to damage healing. It’s painful, but necess—”
“I know. I am.” His voice warmed her. His eyes seemed to hold her. And damn if his very presence didn’t turn her into a twisting mass of conflicting feelings.
What did he want from her? Why was he here?
She looked away, too confused by her own reaction to hold his gaze. So she turned her attention to the other occupant in the room.
“My apologies, Your Grace. This must seem very odd to you.”
“Call me Kynthea,” the lady reminded her gently. “And I find this very interesting. To answer your question, Lord Nate’s injuries included cracked ribs, several broken toes, and cuts allover. The worst of the black eye has faded, but you can still see the shadow of it if he were to sit in the sunlight.”
“Kynthea,” Nate growled. “I can answer for myself.”
“Except you did not.” She leveled a hard gaze at him. “Lord Fletcher targeted me because of you. I have yet to understand why.” Her gaze shifted to Rebecca. “I meant to have a quiet conversation with you, but it appears that the men must intrude upon us, no matter what we want.”
Rebecca completely understood that irritation. And because she did, she chose to explain what she could. “Like everyone else in my family, Fletcher blames Lord Nate for everything ill that has happened. Bad crops. A sickened pig. And the death of my father who discovered us one afternoon in a hayloft.” She swallowed. “In that, at least, I am equally complicit and equally damned.”
“No, Becca. It was—”
“I will take responsibility for my part in this,” she snapped. “My father’s heart was weak. It is a family trait. But the shock of the discovery…” She bit her lip, remembering. She’d been half dressed when her father burst in on them. And as she shot to her feet, he’d clutched his chest and collapsed.
Her screams had brought everyone running. The vicar, nearby farmers, the ladies who cleaned the church. But it had been too late. There was nothing to be done when a man’s heart stopped, though she and Nate both tried. She’d read that hanging a man upside down could restart the heart. So under her direction, Nate had lifted her father up by his legs, trying to get him to breathe again.
It didn’t work. And Fletcher had used that attempt to claim that Nate had tried to break her father’s neck.
“My father died that day.”
“Oh my God,” whispered Kynthea. “I’m so sorry.”
“I tried to talk to you afterwards,” Nate said. “I saw you at the funeral—”
She shuddered. She’d seen him there. Of course, she had. But at the time, she’d been too steeped in guilt and pain to do anything about it.
“So many times,” he continued. “I have tried to speak with you. I’ve written letters—”
Her head shot up. “You didn’t send them! Please, no!” What a disaster that would have been.
He shook his head. “I knew they’d never reach you. But I wrote them because I had to. I had to tell you how sorry I was—I am—for everything.”
She didn’t write to him. She knew better. After their relationship had been exposed, her family took great pleasure in pawing through everything she owned, everything she did. Flether was the most zealous at it, but everyone else had looked at her private things. Indeed, her mother continued to search her room on a regular basis. And the dark accusation in their eyes remained to this day.
“The rift between our family continues,” she said, as she looked to Nate for confirmation.
He nodded, his expression grim.
Then she turned back to Kynthea. “But I cannot imagine why Fletcher would involve you in our family’s idiocy. I don’t believe it.”
“So you still think the feud is idiocy?” Nate asked.
“Don’t you?”
“I do,” he agreed. “But my family was furious I wasn’t able to go back to school.”
He hadn’t? She hadn’t known. “Why not?”
