Page 26 of A Potion for Passion

If he paid her, she’d be able to stay here without making a hole in her savings.

But…it was a preposterous suggestion, whichever way one looked at it.

“My reputation—” she began, but he interrupted.

“You’re free to do as you wish, aren’t you? No one knows you’re here.”

“What makes you think that?” She’d sent word to Lucinda about going to Dorchester, but she’d lied about visiting the Mullens here.

He tapped the side of his nose, then sat back as the serving wench placed the jug and tankards on the table. Filling one and handing it to Flora, he said, “I can’t imagine you have your sister’s approval for being here.”

There was far too much presumption in his tone. Even if he was right.

She said stiffly, “As it happens, I’m here to visit friends.” She paused while her supper was delivered, then added, “Surely, you don’t think I came here in search of you, do you?”

“I hadn’t, until now,” he replied, still grinning. “So, what do you say to my proposal?”

“To be your assistant? It’s madness.”

“I’ll throw in free medicines. I’ve created a splendid new liniment for rheumatism—a godsend come winter. I’m sure you know somebody who could benefit—”

“No.”

“We’ll disguise you. You can have my spectacles with the plain glass lenses. You can wear your hair in a looser style, so the vibrant color shows—nobody will ever know it’s you. I can borrow a gown from the players—a Juliet costume, maybe—to make you look the part, and you can wear a theatrical mask, too, if you want. I can even train you to change your voice.”

She chewed a mouthful of her lamb. It was delicious. She washed it down with a sip of ale. Also delicious. Then she looked across at the tempting devil who was offering her a delicious taste of freedom.

True freedom—an escape from being herself.

So very tempting.

Laying her fork down on her plate, she caught and held his gaze. She was a whisker away from seriously considering his proposal, but common sense hadn’t wholly deserted her. She had to make it clear exactly what she’d be assisting with…and what she definitely would not. “Tell me why you want to take me on as your assistant.”

“Simple. I detest the sight of blood. I’ve a tooth pulling scheduled tomorrow, and there’ll be more, wherever I pitch my wagon.”

She stared at him, flummoxed. Whatever she’d expected to hear as his reason, that was not it.

“Every inhabited place on earth has folk with rotten teeth,” he went on. “And much as I hate pulling the damn things, the rinse I give the patients afterward does such a splendid job of killing the pain, word spreads rapidly. People flock to me with their dental problems.” He grimaced. “Sorry if the subject puts you off your meal. I’m not used to polite company.”

It was a bit late to worry about that. But it didn’t matter—she could barely taste the food now for the excitement that lanced through her.

This wasn’t a nefarious proposal. He genuinely wanted her help.

Oh, to be somebody else, if only for a week or two! To escape being obedient, colorless, insignificant Miss Flora Hartington. And to spend time with someone who’d actually, willingly, look after her, entertain her, and flatter her. Wouldn’t it be blissful to forget her mundane responsibilities, and tear up the code of behavior by which she was expected to live?

On second thought, common sense had deserted her completely.

Lifting her ale cup, she saluted him and said, “Bother propriety, Dr. Campaign. I’ll do it.”