Page 72 of A Potion for Passion

His fingers tightened on her hand. “No!” She could hear the hurt in his voice. “I’m no thief. I buy them from locals who scavenge off wrecks.”

“Thus evading customs duties, as the free-traders do.”

“I’m no smuggler, either, Flora. I just can’t afford to pay full price. It’s essential I make a profit.”

She felt as if her world was tearing asunder. “Men were killed by those wreckers,” she said, wrenching her hand from his grip. “Are they the ones you’ve been consorting with?”

“I saved Major Wilberforce from them. I’d have done more if I could.”

She was hardly listening anymore. Frank had died in a shipwreck. Not brought about by false lights, certainly, but she’d imagined with vivid clarity her fiancé’s last moments. Oh, how awful it must be to drown. But how much more horrific to survive drowning, only to be butchered on the beach by your fellow man?

She took a calming breath. “How long have you been buying from such men?”

“Many years. I need to save enough to go to—”

“I don’t care why you want it. What I care about is the fact that by making me part of your show, you put me on the wrong side of the law. How can I have been so blind? I trusted you. I am the stupidest, most ridiculous woman that ever drew breath. To think I believed you were genuinely interested in healing—”

He lowered his head and pressed his cheek against hers. “I am genuinely interested in healing. I do care about my customers. I didn’t tell you about the lace because I thought you would be safer if you remained ignorant. Even with my head in a noose, I would have sworn to the death that you knew nothing of my illicit trading. I still would.”

“Grand words, Lawrence. You always have been one for grand words. But they’re the words of a showman and mean nothing.”

He pulled his head back slowly and just looked at her, his hurt reflected in his eyes.

Well, good. He’d tricked her, used her, and endangered her. And now, for good measure, he was breaking her heart.

“How could I tell you?” he asked softly. “You’re such a good person. You’re an upright citizen, well respected, honest, and honorable. You’d have despised me if I’d told you, and you’d be lost to me forever. I’ve never met anyone as openhearted as you, Flora. You put me to shame. You genuinely do.”

His contrite confession opened a chink in the armor of her anger. Did he really think her such a good person? Even after she’d masqueraded about as Madame Julietta, hoodwinking everyone with her disguise? Did not that guilty secret make her little better than him? And of course, that wasn’t her only guilty secret…

She brought her hands up and rested them, palms flat, on his chest. From the rapid movement of his breathing, she could tell he was deeply affected. But was it a sign of fear that his secret was out, or was it some other emotion? As she gazed up into the dark pools of his eyes, her own breathing quickened, and her outrage began to seep away.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her once more. “Let me show you the secret of true bliss.”

It was hard to remain angry with him when held so passionately in his embrace. She could feel the pressure of his hips against hers, his taut belly, his muscular thighs. And not only was there contrition in his eyes, but also desire—a desire which awoke an answering spark in the depths of her soul.

He was leaving—that much was for certain. Could she just let him go without tasting what he offered her? She looked up at him, her emotions in a whirlwind, when her eye caught a glint of light on gold metal. Around his neck. The crucifix.

Suddenly, she remembered why she’d come. She gasped. “Mother of Mercy! Lawrence, I almost forgot!”

He blinked at her sudden change. “What is it, my sweet?”

“You may be the missing son of an earl!”