Page 52 of A Potion for Passion

Chapter Twenty-Five

Flora thought about the anti-love philter Lawrence had tricked her into drinking. An action which had devastated her at the time, but no longer mattered. She was so happy he was alive, she could forgive him pretty much everything.

“I’ve crafted some new remedies while I’ve been away,” he muttered sleepily. “A good ointment for rheumatism, and a poultice to open boils without the need for lancing.”

“You aren’t exactly a master of sweet talk, are you?” she said, chuckling.

He reached out and tugged at one of the ties of her lacy cap, undid the bow, and removed it from her head.

“Stupid, hiding this away,” he said, then stifled an enormous yawn.

He stroked her hair a couple of times, his hand warm, sure, and immensely soothing. Tired out from the ball the night before, she felt herself drifting off, which wouldn’t do, at all. She removed his hand gently from her head and placed it on his chest, then got to her feet and leaned over him.

The brandy had taken its toll—he was asleep.

With a wistful sigh, she settled on the bench opposite and picked up the notebook in which he recorded all his concoctions.

She’d keep watch while he slept. No one must disturb him until he was ready to face the world again and put the evils of the night—whatever they were—behind him. In the meantime, if she was able to drag her eyes off his sleeping face and form for long enough, she’d read his notebook.

How long she sat there, she had no idea, but, eventually, the sound of light rainfall spattering across the canvas roused her. She looked over at Lawrence.

He was awake and gazing at her, much as a starving man looks at a banquet.

“Oh!” She flipped his notebook shut. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

“All the better for seeing you,” he replied in a voice that washed over her like liquid silk.

Then he yawned, stretched, winced, and gave her a rueful grin which made her heart thump rapidly against her ribs. My goodness, but the man was compelling beyond words! She struggled against the urge to throw herself at him and run her hands all over his perfectly proportioned and muscled body.

Then she thought of the notches on the wheel and hauled herself back to sanity.

“I’m sore,” he said, “but there won’t be any lasting damage, I’m certain. I’m very grateful for your help, Madame Julietta.”

“Hush! You can’t call me by that name here. It’s a part of my past that no one must ever know about.”

“Just as no one must ever know you’re sitting unchaperoned in an enclosed wagon with a naked man only feet away. An aroused naked man…”

She shot to her feet and uttered several incoherent sounds, blushing furiously. Eventually, she managed to splutter, “You’re just too shocking. Please don’t tease me.”

To which he replied, with a sinfully wicked grin, “You call me shocking? I’m quite justified in being here. You, on the other hand, are not.”

“You want me to go?” She twisted her hair back into a knot and tied her lace-edged cap over the top of it.

“Not at all,” he said. “I was quite enjoying the view. I just don’t want you to become a hypocrite.”

“What would you have me do, then?” she asked, confused. “Go, or stay?”

He was right, she realized. It was hypocritical of her to be excited by the lure of his body and yet be shocked when he voiced the same kind of thought.

Then she remembered what he’d said about unfinished business, and her mouth went dry.

Would now be a good moment to finish that business? After all, it would be horrid having to walk home in the rain. She might as well occupy the time…um…pleasantly until the weather dried up.

“Come here.” His voice was soft, but commanding.

“Do you need some more medication?” she enquired, fighting the tremor in her knees.

“You know damn well I don’t. Just admit it, Flora—you want me, and I want you. Now is as good a time as any. I’m ready to do your bidding.”