Page 27 of A Potion for Passion

Chapter Fourteen

The following day was an inauspicious start for his new assistant. When Lawrence stuck his head out of the wagon, it was to see gray skies and drizzle. Fortunately, he’d had the foresight to rig up his own tiny stage on his pitch the day before, affording him shelter beneath it.

Sleep had been slow in coming. Much of last night had been spent second-guessing his decision to make Miss Hartington part of his show. Would having her around interfere with his…more covert activities? How much time would he have to spend sharing his wagon with her? Would she expect him to tell her where he was at all times of the night and day?

That would be as bad as having a wife. Worse, because he’d be getting none of the benefits…

He wouldn’t think about that now. There were more important matters to deal with, such as breakfast. He could boil a kettle under the sheltering roof of the stage and make himself a couple of eggs with some cold ham.

He’d just got the fire going when her familiar voice called, “Dr. Campaign?”

He leaped up so quickly he cracked his head on the wooden boards above him. With a curse, he looked up into Flora’s concerned face.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.

“Not to worry. I’ll put some arnica on it. And please, call me Lawrence.”

“Of course. Sorry.”

“I hadn’t expected you quite so soon.” What was it about Dorset that produced women who got up at cockcrow? It was quite unnecessary.

“I’ve always been a bit of an early bird,” she said cheerfully. “Here I am, all ready to be trained up.”

He gazed at her for a long moment and forgot all about the rain. “You’ve changed your hair,” he finally said to break the awkward silence.

She looked eminently enticing. The matronly cap was gone, and she wore just her bonnet, loosely tied. Her hair had been styled much less severely, with sweeping loops over her ears, and a single thick curl which caressed her neck.

It tempted him to caress it, too.

He was right. Red hair suited her.

“I’ve done it differently, yes,” she said, lifting her umbrella so he could get a better view. “Have you those spectacles you told me about? Did you secure a gown from the players?”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “Just let me think where I’ve put them.”

He was having difficulty concentrating. That knock on the head must have been harder than he thought.

“You don’t look quite yourself,” she said, peering at him from beneath the dripping rim of the umbrella. “Tell me where the arnica is, and I’ll fetch it for you,” she offered and made to climb into the wagon.

“No! I mean, there’s no need.” Damn it! The silk he’d bought from the wreckers was in plain sight inside. “I’ll find it faster than you. Would you watch the fire for me? I’m hard-boiling eggs.”

A few moments later, having satisfied himself that everything incriminating was well hidden, he laid out her costume and returned to his breakfast, leaving Miss Hartington to use his wagon as a tiring room for transforming herself. He couldn’t wait. He was dying to see if he’d estimated her shape and size correctly when choosing the dress.

But when he saw her emerge, his mouth fell open, and it was a good while before he remembered to close it again.

Miss Hartington had never been without her charms. But clothed in the Shakespearean Juliet costume he’d borrowed from the players, she was a newly emerged butterfly. He stepped out from the shelter of the stage and gazed in rapt admiration at his new assistant.

The Juliet outfit comprised a heavily corseted peach silk gown with a low neckline, a dropped, pointed waist, and flared skirts. She had modestly covered her décolletage with a thin muslin scarf, which did little to hide the tempting hue of her skin. Her headdress was a simple circlet of two velvet strips in different shades of peach twisted together. Which did nothing to conceal Miss Hartington’s abundantly gorgeous red hair, now hanging loose to her waist.

He should thank Jud Creasey, after all.

“You’re getting soaked, Dr. Campaign,” she said.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes and carried on gazing. “Hmm?”

She said, primly contrite, “I’ve shocked you. This is a huge mistake. I’ll change at once.”

He shook his head. Not shocked. Excited.