Page 90 of A Potion for Passion

Other than stay…

What was the point of him loving her, if they couldn’t be together? The agony of their parting would destroy her.

She opened her eyes and captured his gaze. “I want you to stay,” she whispered.

The warmth in his eyes didn’t waver. “I want to,” he said earnestly. “Believe me, I would stay, if I could think of a way to make it possible. But I don’t want to be the cause of your social ruin. That would be too cruel, too selfish of me. I only want what’s best for you, and if you persuade Sally to let you work in her shop, and turn all your beautiful designs into reality, you’ll get the respect you truly deserve.”

“But you should be respectable, too! A real doctor. Your remedies work. I’ve seen them do so, time and again. Your knowledge of wound dressing, tooth pulling, and the treatment of pain are second to none. Never doubt yourself, Lawrence.”

His mouth quirked up at the corners. “Am I to understand you approve of me, Miss Hartington?”

“I more than approve.”

He raised an eyebrow. “More? Truly?”

Confound it. She’d given herself to him. Surely, he knew she’d never have done that from lust alone. No matter how heart-stoppingly attractive the man might be.

“You know there’s more.” But what did it matter what either of them said, what either of them felt, if their paths were taking them in opposite directions?

“If I were sure of that,” he said slowly, “I’d move heaven and earth to find a way to stay.”

“I do love you, Lawrence. But it’s all so hopeless. Lucinda would be vile to me, and your traveling friends would never feel able to trust the aunt-in-law of an earl.”

He nudged her chin up and brushed her lips with his own. “Never despair. Fate smiles on lovers.”

“More likely Fate laughs at them,” she replied gloomily.

He pulled away and said briskly, “Right. We shall dare Fate to laugh at us. We’ll go immediately to the Admiral Duncan, fetch my money, and walk over to East Town and pay the perfidious Sally Matthews a visit. Much as I hate to offer my coin to the woman who betrayed me to the redcoats. If that can’t convince you I love you, I fear nothing will.”

“But—”

“Off now, Flora, and put on your best coat and your most outrageous bonnet. You are about to become a woman of circumstance.”

She slid unwillingly from his lap. “But what if Sally refuses? She hates me, and she has every reason to dislike you, too.”

“She won’t object to my gold, my love. I know her well enough to be certain of that.”

His optimism had given him a spring in his step and a glint in his eye, which gladdened Flora’s heart. There was something else, too—a light blazing out from deep inside him, like the white-hot glow of a blacksmith’s forge.

He was happy.

Shehad made him happy. And a happy Lawrence was truly incandescent.

As they stepped out into the chill air of that bright October day, he took her hand and placed it on his arm, and they marched off toward the inn, heads held high.

She felt anticipation charge through him, powering like lightning through her body whenever they touched, spurring her heart into a gallop. It no longer mattered to her who might see them, or what they might think about the prim Miss Flora Hartington walking out so boldly with an unshaven, olive-skinned Adonis.

When they arrived at the yard of the Admiral Duncan, they discovered a horde of people, including some soldiers, taking a great interest in Dr. L. E. Campaign’s gaily painted wagon.

She froze. He released her and accosted the nearest redcoat, demanding angrily, “What’s going on here?”

“Are you the proprietor of that wagon?” the soldier asked.

“I am,” said Lawrence, planting his fists on his hips. “What of it?”

Flora surged forward. Her heart, which had previously soared so high, now plunged like a drop of lead in a shot tower.

The redcoat’s eyes assessed her, then moved back to Lawrence. “Your wagon has been ransacked,” was the chilling reply.

“By whom?” Lawrence’s cheeks burned red with fury.

A new voice broke into the conversation, one she thought she recognized.

“You know the man already, I believe,” it said. She spun around and saw the redcoat from the fair scowling at them. Triggs, she recalled his name was.

“Who?” Lawrence demanded again.

Triggs said, “He’s one of those benighted wreckers that lured the Alcestis onto the rocks. Major Wilberforce got them rounded up, but this one was nowhere to be found. He was seen exiting your wagon a couple of hours ago.”

“Does this miscreant have a name?” Lawrence snapped.

“Aye,” Triggs replied grimly. “He’s a peddler when he’s not murdering sailors and despoiling dead men. Goes by the name of Barnabas Todd.”