Page 62 of The Truth Serum
He didn’t know, and he didn’t like thinking about it. “Napoleon isn’t defeated yet,” he growled. “I’m still useful.”
“Of course you are.”
“I’ll figure out who’s selling those rifles. And then, I’ll go wherever you need me.” He lifted his chin. “So long as it’s not into the parson’s trap.”
Benedict smiled. “Suit yourself. I suppose a wife would be inconvenient, given where I’d likely send you.”
And on that ominous note, the man paid the tab and cheerfully departed. Which left Nate free to get what he needed before burgling the Joguet household.
Even though he had a night to rest, Nate still felt slow when it was time to go. Being quick on his feet had been his best asset when burgling a house. Right now, though, he felt as quick as a sick ox. Normally, he wouldn’t risk it, but he was anxious to solve the gun running problem and get out of England. And besides, there might not be another good opportunity for a while.
Madame and Monsieur were attending the theater this night. He went despite his misgivings. Frid let him into the house.
Together they searched Monsieur’s known hiding places and found a few new ones.
And then they were found out. Worse, it was Monsieur Joguet who discovered him.
Nate could bribe a servant, but the master of the house was a much bigger problem. Thankfully, he had a backup plan. He’d prepared a cover story and arranged to have a woman substantiate his tale.
Unfortunately, that very same tale would make the rounds of thetonby morning.
Chapter Eighteen
Rebecca spent theevening at the theater. Normally, she would enjoy the stage productions, but the London audience was particularly rude this night. It was hard to hear over the noise in the pit, and their seats were not the best, as they were guests of some of Fletcher’s friends—two younger sons, both with seats in the House of Commons. And—Fletcher hoped—allies in his bid for a seat of his own.
Neither of her hosts were married, and she could see that Fletcher was watching for any gleam of interest from her. But given what she’d learned in the last twenty-four hours, her opinion of her brother had reached rock bottom.
She believed Nate now. Not just that he was Pirate Lucifer, but also that her brother had been vicious in his attacks on Kynthea. She couldn’t definitively say that Fletcher had written those awful paragraphs in Mr. Pickleherring’s column, but she did see a marked similarity in style. She’d often been the victim of Fletcher’s biting wit. If he knew that Nate was writing the column, her brother could have damaged it out of simple spite.
And damn it, Fletcher had succeeded. The column had been shut down. Whatever income Nate received from that work was gone. It was a miracle that the situation hadn’t damaged his relationship with the duke.
Speaking of whom, it appeared the duke and his fiancée were in attendance this night. She could see them in the ducal box, and she was determined to get a word with him. Fortunately,Fletcher was interested in doing the exact same thing. As soon as he noticed the direction of her gaze, he offered to escort her there.
Indeed, all three gentlemen wanted to join her.
She allowed it because she really had no choice in the matter. And as they walked, greeting everyone of a certain status or above, she began to chuckle. Hadn’t she once read this in a novel? A heroine escorted by a bevy of gentlemen to speak with a duke! What more could a lady want?
A husband who loved her. Children to nurture. Good work for her mind and body. All of which could be summed up by saying she wanted a life that served her own purposes instead of her brothers’. She included her older brother Henry in this. She’d written the man just this afternoon. She’d voiced her concerned that Fletcher was not who they thought. Indeed, she very much wished Henry would quit his hermit ways and help her manage the family’s London affairs.
She did not want to marry the men Fletcher thrust in front of her. And she very much feared that their brother was engaged in unsavory actions. She hadn’t been specific about what those actions might be. She wasn’t sure herself. But his spiteful personality was becoming clear, especially when she adamantly refused to see the baron this night.
That was, after all, why they were here at the theater and not at another ball. Rebecca had told Fletcher in no uncertain terms that if the baron approached her, she would make a scene out of refusing him. So after ranting for an hour, Fletcher had stormed out. Then a little bit later, he’d sent around a note commanding her to prepare for a night at the theater. She’d agreed because it was an olive branch from Fletcher. A quiet acknowledgement that she was not going to marry the baron.
So here she was approaching a duke’s box, just like a heroine in one of Nate’s novels. Or not Nate’s novels, because thoseweren’t about the women. Those were about a man having exciting adventures while poor Beauty waited in torment at home.
They entered as someone else was leaving, all four of them cramming through the door as if they were entering a spacious ballroom. They were not. The duke’s box might be larger than most, but it did not hold enough room for the several people chatting there.
The duke was a popular man. His fiancée, on the other hand, looked like she was tired of all the attention. Indeed, unlike Fletcher’s characterization of the woman, she did not seem a social creature. She never came alive when the attention centered on her. Unless, of course, it was the duke’s attention. And at the few balls they’d both attended, Kynthea had spent several minutes sitting companionably with the dowagers.
Those were not the actions of a “social climbing hag,” as Fletcher had termed her. And here was more proof that her brother was not seeing society with any accuracy.
That was the kindest interpretation Rebecca could give.
Rebecca watched the duke as they stepped into his box. Fletcher and friends were enthusiastic in their greeting. If the duke returned such regard, she couldn’t see it. His response was neutral, his expression carefully blanked.
His fiancée, however, wasn’t as careful. Her gaze hopped to Rebecca and the two shared a moment of surprised connection. Miss Petrelli seemed startled that Rebecca was open to speaking. And Rebecca was grateful the woman didn’t hold her in disdain.
After that, a bit of careful maneuvering—and an ignored scowl from Fletcher—allowed Rebecca to get a quick word with Miss Petrelli. She didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
