Page 18 of A Potion for Passion

Chapter Ten

As soon as she recovered herself, Flora gave Lawrence’s face a resounding slap.

He gaped at her in surprise.

Serve him right, the reprobate! He clearly hadn’t expected to be slapped. Why would he? No one ever expected violence from the good-natured, downtrodden Miss Flora Hartington, did they? Well, perhaps that was about to change—she was tired of being taken advantage of.

“Forgive me,” he begged, gingerly touching his cheek. “I just couldn’t resist.”

“Then it’s time you learned to control yourself,” she snapped, but observed the spreading red mark with a rising feeling of guilt.

“I thoroughly deserved that slap. But please, don’t let us part as enemies. At least let me give you something by way of apology.” He reached into a box and withdrew a bottle, which he pressed into her hand.

She hesitated. The temptation to explain to him that not every sin could be expunged with free medicine was strong, but her emotions were in turmoil, and she feared to say—or do—something she’d later regret. Better to leave now, with her dignity intact.

After shooting him a quelling look she’d learned through years of seeing it from Lucinda, she turned her back on him and left.

As she walked down the road in the general direction of home, she inspected the bottle. The label read, Dr. L. E. Campaign’s Miraculous Tonic to put an End to Sleeplessness. Perhaps he thought the memory of his kiss would keep her awake at night. Presumptuous fellow.

Though he was probably right.

Tucking the bottle away in her reticule, she looked up to discover she’d taken a wrong turn and was heading toward the sea. Goodness, she needed to pay attention. She turned around and set off back the way she’d come.

Whatever had prompted Lawrence to kiss her? Just when she thought she’d found a new friend, a good listener, a confidant, he’d had to go and spoil it.

That kiss had not been a mere brushing of the lips. It had been a full-blown, soul-deep, passionate kiss. A kiss that had completely stolen her breath.

Though, she hadn’t actually fainted, despite what he might think. She’d just…collapsed a little.

She came to a halt and realized she’d accidentally turned off the High Street and was now walking in the direction of the almshouses. It was high time she gathered her wits, or someone would see her making a cake of herself and wonder what had happened.

After a few settling breaths, she started off again. As she passed the grocer’s, she thought about calling in. But what if evidence of the kiss was still on her face? Her lips felt bruised, but not in an unpleasant way. And her cheeks still felt heated.

Suddenly, she halted. Bother! She hadn’t waited to see if Lawrence’s concoction had worked on her strand of hair. Honestly! She’d behaved like a green girl, getting breathless and confused, then running off like a frightened rabbit. A mature woman, a more experienced woman, would never have betrayed such fluster. A lonely spinster like herself should be flattered to be kissed by an attractive man.

And she did feel flattered, now that she was over the initial shock. Perhaps she really was still beautiful…a little bit, anyway.

With an added spring to her step, she carried on along the street, drawing level with Matthew’s Milliners just as Sally was opening up.

Now was as good a time as any to put her proposition forward. Then, at least, something would have been salvaged from the day.

The bell jangled as she walked in, and Sally straightened up behind the counter with a welcoming smile on her face.

Which faded the instant she saw Flora.

“Good morning, Sally,” Flora said brightly. “I trust you’re well?”

“Good morning, Miss Hartington. Have you come with the intent to purchase something?”

Sally seemed a bit stiff and formal today. Never mind—it was a formal business, discussing a partnership.

“Well no, actually. I came to put a proposal to you,” she said, moving forward and placing her hands on the glass-topped counter. Sally insisted on using glass to avoid her precious fabrics and lace catching on splinters, which Flora had always thought an excellent idea.

Very deliberately, the milliner moved the bolts of cloth away from the edge of the counter. “A proposal, you say?” she asked, in a discouraging tone.

Whatever had got into the woman? With more confidence than she felt, Flora said, “Um, well, I wondered if—since Albert died—it was a struggle running the shop all on your own?” There was no response, so she went on, “I thought I might help, in a business sense as well as a practical sense. I have a good needle, and some savings—”

“What are you saying?” Sally interrupted, her eyes narrowing.