Page 85 of A Potion for Passion

In no time at all, Nat was trussed up like a goose ready for the oven, using some sailors’ knots of which Lawrence was particularly proud. Moments later, he and Flora stood on either side of Nat’s body, hands on hips, looking down at their handiwork.

“And second?” Flora inquired.

“Best hand him over to Wilberforce to be dealt with. But I can’t be seen to do it, or my life’s not worth a farthing. You must write him a note telling him you’ve captured one of the wreckers’ ringleaders and ask him to come and collect him. I’ll take the note and drop it off without Wilberforce seeing me.”

The corners of her beautiful mouth turned down. “You’re still not willing to surrender to the authorities?”

“Not while there’s a score of wreckers out there keen on revenge. They don’t deal kindly when one of their own turns on them. Trust me, Flora, please.”

A curious expression replaced the disappointment in her eyes. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll write a note.”

Lawrence used her absence as an opportunity to go through Nat’s pockets, to make sure there was nothing in them that could incriminate him as an accomplice. Nothing of interest but the pick-lock, which he stuffed into his own pocket. He also helped himself to Nat’s pistol.

It seemed to take an age, but eventually Flora returned with a sealed letter addressed to Wilberforce. Tucking it inside his shirt, Lawrence turned to her. “Lock the door behind me and don’t let anyone in but your servants,” he advised, then frowned. “Do you have a cellar?”

“A small one, for preserves and suchlike.”

“Can it be locked?”

“Of course.”

He grinned at her. “Then that’s where our Mr. Pryce shall await his fate.”

She gave him a reluctant smile. “Lawrence, I do believe you’re enjoying this little adventure.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. “I believe you are, too, Madame Julietta.”

Between them, they managed to get Nat down the stairs into the cellar. “If he gets free, don’t hesitate to run. Go straight to the vicarage and seek help. I don’t want you trying to deal with Nat on your own, do you understand?”

She nodded, then her gaze went to his shirt, where he’d tucked the letter.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I won’t lose it. But I’d better not tarry. Farewell, my sweet.”

She didn’t meet his eye as she raised a hand to wave. “Goodbye, Lawrence,” she called after him.

There was a hollow quality to her voice that he didn’t understand. If he hadn’t known her for the most honest woman he’d ever met, he’d have said her tone bore a hint of guilt.

But what could she possibly feel guilty about?