Page 8 of A Potion for Passion

Chapter Five

When Flora finally dared open her eyes again, it was to find Lawrence tucking a dark red handkerchief back into to his pocket.

Oh, thank heaven!She was safe…but now feeling even sillier than before. Why did this man have the power to unsettle her so? Was it because he was lowborn? As her experience with the Emburys had proved, she didn’t fully understand how to deal with such people.

Lawrence was watching her with a bemused expression. “If you denounce me publicly,” he said, “wouldn’t that do you more harm than good? You’d have to show people the evidence, and if you hate the color so much, I can’t imagine you’d want to. Look, if you refuse to believe me that the red tone becomes you, ask someone else. Your beau, your sister, or your niece.”

“I have no beau,” she said primly. And was never likely to have another.

“You surprise me.”

He would say that, wouldn’t he? “You’re still trying to flatter me,” she complained.

“And apparently failing.” He let out a heavy breath. “Miss Hartington, I’m deeply sorry for the mistake. I gave one of the local scamps the task of labeling up some bottles. I took my eye off him for barely a moment, so I can only think he must have mixed them up deliberately. Do you have the bottle with you? I can work out what it contains.”

At last he was taking her seriously. She fished in her reticule and produced the offending bottle. Just a few drops of liquid remained in it. If only she’d sampled it first instead of using the whole lot, she could have been saved all this bother!

He sniffed at the contents, then examined the cork.

“Hmm. I smell madder extract. I use it for dyeing. But there’s something else mixed in with it.”

“What should have been in the hair tonic?” she asked, intrigued despite herself.

“Rosemary, blackberry leaf, and a few rather special ingredients from an old family recipe.” He winked at her, then sniffed the bottle again. “Ah. Iron salts.”

“Iron salts?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Her heart sank. “You’re afraid, because—?”

“They’re used as a mordant. To fix certain dyes and give them a brighter color. This is not my hair tonic. It’s my hair dye.”

As she digested this information, angry tears threatened to begin again. Not only was her hair a garish coppery red, but the color had been fixed.

Slumping forward, she hid her face in her hands.

“Please, don’t cry, Miss Hartington. I’ll deal with it, I promise. I could perhaps make the color less bright. Or dye it much darker. Would black do, instead?”

Black? A color to match his own? It looked splendid on him, but on her…

“No! Well, maybe. Nothing could be worse than this.”

“I have an idea,” he said, suddenly businesslike. “Let me cut some locks of your hair with which to experiment. Far better that than risk giving you something that makes the situation even worse. Could you return tomorrow? I shall be sure to have something made up for you by…shall we say ten o’clock?”

“Well, if that’s the best you can do…”

“It’s the least I can do. Trust me, Miss Hartington, I enjoy a challenge. I’ll also catch that scamp, Jud Creasey, and tan his hide. I’ll have to check every bottle so no one else ends up with hair dye instead of hair tonic.”

She gave him an anxious look. Despite the disaster, she wasn’t sure she approved of beating children.

He gave her a smile of encouragement, and dimples appeared on either side of his mouth. They made him look even more devastatingly handsome.

And utterly fascinating.

Time to go. Before anything untoward happened. She grabbed her bonnet and started tucking her hair inside it. “I must be off. The servants will be wondering where I am,” she said, praying she wasn’t blushing.

He helped her up, saying, “But it’s your house, ma’am, not that of your servants. You may go out when, and for however long, you choose. One moment. Don’t put your bonnet on yet. I need to cut some of your hair to experiment with.”