Page 29 of A Potion for Passion

Chapter Fifteen

Flora couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Surely, after all these years, she’d managed to subdue that part of herself? She was a lonely spinster, albeit a young one, whose sweetheart had died at sea, who could never love again and would spend the rest of her days cherishing his memory. She had no right, no right at all, to throw herself at a man, even if he wasn’t a gentleman. Especially if he wasn’t a gentleman. Something about her red hair must have turned her into a scarlet woman.

She should pull away, apologize, and remind herself to expect nothing beyond being his assistant for a short time. She’d help him in the completely unromantic tasks of pulling teeth from putrid gums, lancing boils, stitching wounds, and dealing with all kinds of gory complaints. After a day spent thus, neither would be interested in kisses. They’d need their beds, yes, but for sleeping only.

But that was tomorrow. Today, she wanted to explore that scarlet woman hidden deep within her.

Goodness gracious! If she couldn’t stop herself, Lawrence must resist her…before they did something truly scandalous.

But he responded so quickly—and not with a refusal. One might imagine he’d been just waiting for her to make the first move, letting the desire build up in him to a point where it needed but the smallest spark of encouragement from her for it to explode.

And explode, it did. His answering kiss was an immediate act of possession. His tongue thrust into her mouth, his hands gripped her shoulders and he plundered her with a hunger that surprised and amazed her. Or would have, if she had a single coherent thought left within her.

Which she didn’t.

Her head fell back under his onslaught, and she heard herself moan as he applied his lips to the exposed column of her throat, then nibbled hungrily at her earlobe, sending a shiver of illicit pleasure coursing through her.

Now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. She grasped his hair and clung to him as he tugged at the neckline of her dress, pulling it down over one shoulder so he could mold his hand over it, then kiss the spot where his hand had been.

He seemed to enjoy the taste of her skin. Everywhere his lips touched her, they created a delicious tingle, prompting her to touch him back, to run her hands up his arms in appreciation of the muscles she found there, to brush the stubble of his cheek with her fingers, and nuzzle against his face and hair.

She’d never imagined kissing a man with such fervor. Certainly, she had never done so before. He was breathing hard, as was she, and suddenly they were touching each other everywhere. Then she shocked herself again by tearing at his clothing.

Her blanket slipped to the floor. Somehow, she slid down after it, and in no time at all he was on top of her, running his hand beneath the silk skirts to stroke the flesh of her thigh.

A thrill shot through her, and she squeezed her legs together in excitement and glorious anticipation. He nuzzled at her bosom, pulling the muslin covering away with his teeth, sending another tide of sensation roaring through her body. When he ran his tongue across her collarbone and dipped it into the cleft between her breasts, she moaned and grasped at his shoulders, and bucked beneath him.

A loud tinkling crash split the air, and he froze, his head cocked on one side, listening intently. “Judas! What was that?” He scrambled awkwardly off her, pulling her skirts down before glancing around.

She sat up, jerked cruelly out of her sensual daze, and saw shattered crockery on the floor. Nothing alarming. Not an intruder. Nor a witness.

Thank heaven.

She swallowed hard and shook her head free of lascivious thoughts as best she could. It was just as well the pot had fallen when it did. It had saved them both from enormous folly.

Mumbling an apology, Lawrence squatted on his haunches and started clearing up the shards. She watched him, revisiting urges she’d thought long dead, feeling again sensations she had believed denied to her forever. This new Flora, sitting in a puddle of peach silk on the floor of a wagon, was so entirely different from the old Flora that she might have been drugged by one Lawrence’s remedies.

But all she’d ingested that day was tea, hot-buttered toast, and preserves at the inn. There was nothing aphrodisiac in those…that she knew of.

She watched his shoulders working as he dusted the floor, clearing up the remains of the jar which one or the other of them must have knocked off as they thrashed about in their passion.

Passion. Something she’d known only once before, with Frank. But today, with Lawrence, it had been…more.

Oh, my. He really did have a very attractive posterior. She couldn’t help admiring it. With shaking fingers, she replaced the muslin fichu around her neck and asked in a strangled voice, “Can I help you with that?”

“No, the pot’s beyond repair. But I can replace it.” He collected the pieces in his handkerchief and leaned out to cast them under the wagon. “As soon as you’re ready,” he said, “we’ll go and look for that mask.”

Hisvoice sounded odd, too. Perhaps that was what passion did to a man. Unless he was secretly mocking her? Hard to tell. But she’d decided, just for the next week or two, not to care what anybody thought, hadn’t she?

“I’m ready now,” she replied, brushing her skirts down and settling the blanket over her shoulders. “Is it still raining?”

“Barely a drizzle.” He turned to face her, but against the light issuing through the open wagon flap, she couldn’t read his expression. Was he mortified by what had occurred between them? Was it ever likely to happen again?

Moments later, they were both outside the wagon, facing the damp grey gloom of reality as they trotted across the sodden grass to the players’ cart.

Few of the actors were up this early, and the ones they saw moved like sleepwalkers around their campsite. One, however, a middle-aged fellow with a squint and a bald pate, was more awake than the rest. As soon as he saw the color of Lawrence’s coin, he disappeared off to search through the trunks of costumes and props.

“I must pay you back for all this,” Flora said, reaching into her reticule.

“No, keep your coin. Don’t forget you’re saving for your hat shop.”

His face was wistful as he said this, but she couldn’t fathom why. She made up her mind there and then to pay him back covertly, in case he was trying to be gallant. Why should he have to act the gentleman when she was certainly not acting the lady?

A mask was duly found and approved, and she and Lawrence had just started back for the wagon when the heavens opened with such force that they could barely see a yard ahead.

“Quick, in here!” he said on a gasp, hauling her by the elbow into the nearest pavilion.

Immediately, the smell of freshly brewed coffee assaulted her nose, combined with a heavy, musky scent that both dulled and intrigued her senses. She pushed her damp hair out of her eyes and glanced around in amazement.

Lawrence let out a string of colorful curses.

Clearly this was not somewhere he wanted to be.