Page 24 of A Potion for Passion

After locking up his chest of remedies, he leaped down from the stage and tilted his head very slightly at her. With a careful air of nonchalance, she eased her way through the crowd toward him.

No sooner were they face to face than he pulled her out of view behind a large tent. “Miss Hartington!”

She gazed up at him mutely.

He was smiling and his eyes glowed with warmth. Almost as if he was genuinely pleased to see her. “We must talk. Come,” he urged.

She followed him through the tents and caravans until the familiar painted canvas of his wagon came in sight. There was a small queue of people—mostly ladies—building up in front of it.

“Damn it, we can’t talk in there,” he muttered. “Where are you staying?”

“At the King’s Arms.”

“I’ll meet with you there this evening, around suppertime. Forgive me for leaving East Town so abruptly. It was a matter of urgency, and I had no idea how to let you know.” He glanced across at the gaggle of women around his wagon and sighed deeply.

She gave him an arch look. “Hadn’t you better get to your wagon before they start ransacking it?”

“No need. Barnabas Todd is keeping an eye on it for me.”

“Barnabas Todd?”

“He’s a peddler I work alongside sometimes. People at fairs are always in spending mood, so a lady coming to me for a love philter, or a perfume, is very likely to fancy some ribbons or gewgaws from Todd’s tray.”

“I see.”

It was hard to know what she should say. In fact, it was almost impossible to speak at all. She was still reeling from the fact that she’d found him, and that he wasn’t trying to evade her.

Perhaps it wasn’t her he’d left town to avoid.

“I have a question for you before we part company,” he said. “Do you know how to clean silk?”

She blinked. What an odd question for a man to ask. Was he going to make laundry products, as well as cure-alls?

“I’ve been reading about ribbons and hat trimmings,” she replied, “so I’ve a little knowledge of silk. One must lather silk ribbons with Castile soap, then rub them gently with alum and white tartar. Once they’re dry, smooth them over with a glass slick-stone.”

“Castile soap? Splendid. Now, I’d better go, I suppose, before my customers disperse. I’d hate to disappoint them. You’re at the King’s Arms, you say?”

“I am.”

“Make sure to be downstairs at seven of the clock. I’ll come in search of you. Then, Miss Hartington, you and I are going to have a very interesting conversation.”

That wasn’t exactly the word she’d have used, but she had to confess to looking forward to speaking with him all the same. Despite her vow not to fall victim to his allure.

Her heart had been broken when Frank died. Even though the idea of an affaire with the devilishly attractive Lawrence was tempting, she dared not hazard her heart—or her body—again.