Page 62 of A Potion for Passion

Chapter Thirty

It was both a delight and an agony to have Lawrence in the house. Flora wasn’t used to seeing him inside a normal dwelling—it was as if some elemental being had swept indoors like a savage gust of wind. Every time he came near her, she shivered.

But not from the cold.

How could it be that she wanted this man so very badly? He was beneath her on the social scale, and although not poverty-stricken was nonetheless looked down upon by the gently bred. This last fact softened her heart considerably, for it must have been terrible for the young Lawrence to be shunned by most of the children he came across.

It wasn’t Adam whom Lawrence wanted to see, of course. It was Will. The wounded man was sitting up in bed when they entered. Something passed between him and Lawrence she didn’t quite understand—not exactly friendship, but mutual respect, perhaps? She couldn’t help but think there was some kind of mystery here.

She watched Lawrence work at exposing the soldier’s wound, mesmerized by the deft movement of his hands, the cool assurance with which he assessed his patient’s situation and then dealt with it. He examined her handiwork and told her she’d done an excellent job, then shot her a heated look that made her knees quiver like a newborn colt’s. It would take days…perhaps months…to shake from her mind the lascivious memory of his hands sliding over her half-naked body in his wagon and to stop thinking about the way he’d stoked her desires to a pitch which had left her hollow and aching with longing.

Fortunately, their patient broke the simmering silence by asking, “And your own wound, sir? Are you recovered?”

“I am, thank you, Major Wilberforce. Let me just test your temperature.” As Lawrence leaned over to feel the man’s forehead, the gold cross he always wore around his neck swung free.

The major frowned. “That’s an expensive-looking piece of gold work for an itinerant physician.”

“Pay no mind,” said Lawrence lightly. “We travelers are very fond of gold. Banks are of no use to us, you see. It’s best to wear your wealth if you don’t want it stolen.”

The crucifix spun on its chain, catching the light, and the major reached out to steady it. “There’s a crest on the back,” he announced, squinting at it. “Very worn, though. How did you acquire this piece?”

Reluctantly, Lawrence knelt by the side of the bed so the major could examine it properly. Flora felt a frisson of fear and prayed Lawrence hadn’t stolen the cross.

“I took it when I ran away,” he replied. “Ma and Pa used to taunt me with it sometimes, and claim it was my inheritance, so I felt no guilt about stealing it. Sometimes I wondered if it came from my true parents, as it was the only thing of value my vagabond family owned—but then I tell myself ’tis just my imagination running away from me. I do know I’m not the child of those traveling laborers who raised me, for they were both blond as ripe barley.”

“Indeed. You might have had a Spanish mother or father, I suppose. Which puts me in mind—”

“No matter. My blood kin are probably long dead by now. I’ve been fending for myself these last sixteen years, ever since I ran off to tread the boards with the players. By the time one reaches the age of eight-and-twenty, one has no need for a father or mother. Flora, give the gentleman plenty of cold water to drink, or small beer if you have it. Aside from that, he can leave as soon as the wound knits. Check it carefully each time you change the dressing.”

He got to his feet, tucking the gold cross on its chain back inside his shirt, and made for the door.

“Will you come again?” asked Major Wilberforce.

“Safest not to. You’ll mend fine,” was Lawrence’s reply.

“Then you have my thanks. If there’s any way in which I can repay you—?”

Lawrence grinned. “Shall we just say if I ever need to redeem that debt, I’ll come and find you. Flora?”

She allowed him to lead her from the room, then followed him downstairs. There were so many questions gnawing at her mind that she barely knew where to begin. There was certainly more to Will’s story than either man was prepared to discuss in front of her.

Which rankled. It was her house, after all.

Her hopes of getting any information out of Lawrence were quickly dashed. He couldn’t get out the door fast enough, telling her apologetically that houses suffocated him, and that she must forgive his haste and not take it as a personal slight.

How very considerate!she thought grimly as she closed the door on his retreating back. Here she was, willingly risking her good name by letting him into the house, yet he couldn’t wait to be gone.

Chiding herself for a fool, she became immersed in household chores the rest of the morning, in between making frequent visits to see how the major fared. Much of the time he dozed, but when a tray was brought up to him with some luncheon, he declared himself well enough to sit up, and invited her to join him.

“I can tell,” he said, “that you’re innocent of all of this.”

Her spine tingled. Innocent of what?

“I sincerely hope I’m innocent,” she said, forcing a smile. “But of what, in particular, I’ve no idea.”

“Yon physician rescued me from the shipwreck, as I said. But then he treated me in so questionable a manner, I can’t help but think he was bound up in it in some way.”

Lawrence wasn’t the kind to deliberately lure men to their deaths by putting out false lights. Yet how had he come to be on the beach during the wreck?