Page 92 of A Potion for Passion

“Doubtful,” Lawrence replied. “I suspect only the strap, or the promise of coin, would make that scoundrel do as he ought.”

They’d just reached the edge of East Town when a familiar furry shape came barreling down the road toward them. “Hah! Speak of the Devil and he will appear!” he said with a grin, as he knelt to ruffle Charley’s ears.

It was no surprise to see Jud Creasey hot on the heels of the dog, and it soon became apparent why. Mrs. Carboys, the teacher, was hurrying down the street behind him, brandishing a broom.

As Lawrence straightened up, Jud must have seen the expression on his face, for he skidded to a halt on the cobbles and stared about him wildly. Before the lad could hare off in a different direction, Lawrence caught him by his shirttail and dragged him back.

Very much aware of Flora’s presence at his side, he fought to temper his language. Damn, if she wasn’t turning him into a better man already.

“What are you up to, Master Creasey?” he demanded fiercely. “You’ve stolen my dog and left my wagon to be looted, and you must have caused considerable upset to Mrs. Carboys, or she’d never have chased you all the way here from Fortuneswell.”

Jud just sniffed and ran his hand under his nose, which earned him a sharp cuff around the back of the head.

“Mind your manners in the presence of ladies!” Mrs. Carboys panted up to them, her eyes darting between Lawrence and Flora in puzzlement.

He resisted the urge to shock the schoolmistress by winking, made her a very decent bow, and gave Jud a shake. “Good morning, Mrs. Carboys. What’s this miscreant done now?”

“Oh, er, Mr— I mean, Dr. Campaign. I should have seen that was your dog. But Jud had no cause to bring it to school in the middle of lessons. Once it was there, the children just wanted to pet it, and flat refused to go back to work. I had to send them all home for an early luncheon.”

Lawrence summoned up his sternest voice. “Why did you do such a thing, you reprobate? You must have known it was wrong.”

“I don’t mean to be bad,” the urchin responded, looking genuinely chastened. “I just wanted the dog for protection.”

“For protection from what?” Flora asked in alarm.

“Those wreckers, and the Frenchies, and that man what looked like a billy goat.”

“You’ve seen Barnabas?” Flora’s voice rose a notch.

Lawrence wanted to hold her, tell her she needn’t be afraid. Then he saw she was not afraid, just keenly curious. It looked as if Miss Flora Hartington was gradually being pushed aside in favor of the fiery Madame Julietta.

Not that he was objecting.

“He’s the peddler,” Jud replied, looking around warily. “But I don’t know the cove’s name.”

“When did you see him?” Lawrence demanded, wanting to track the man down and drag him back by his boot heels.

“Just after the clock struck eleven,” Jud said. “He was going into Mrs. Matthews’ shop. I didn’t like the look of him. There was blood and dirt on his face like he’d fallen down a cliff into a midden. I bet Mrs. Matthews chased him off.”

Lawrence looked down at Flora. Her lovely face was pale but determined. “Shall I run back to Fortuneswell and fetch the redcoats?” she offered.

“No. He’ll hear them coming a mile away. I can move quietly and get through a locked door. We’ll go and spy out the land.”

“What if Barnabas is holding Sally hostage?” Flora asked anxiously.

“Then we’ll need to be especially careful.”

Five minutes later, after he’d skillfully let them in through the locked back door, Lawrence heard the sounds of a struggle and a woman’s cries coming from upstairs.

Motioning the others to remain below, he made his way silently to the floor above. Luckily, he was acquainted with the arrangement of the rooms. Which tasted like bile in his mouth. No other woman in his life had ever compared with Flora. He was her man now. And she was his…if only he could work out a way to keep her.

The noises were issuing from Sally’s bedroom. Feeling in his belt for his dagger, he inched the door open with infinite patience, until he was able to peep into the room.

Good God. He should have expected the sight that greeted him but was caught off guard by one of the details.

Sally Matthews lay naked on her bed, bare thighs parted. Between them strove a sinewy looking man with his breeches around his ankles, boasting hair of a distinctive red color. A very familiar color. Caused by the hair tonic sabotaged by Jud Creasey. Whether Barnabas had used it by accident or on purpose, it was an excellent disguise.

The noises coming from Sally were not of distress. The peddler must have sought sanctuary with her and decided to take a little pleasure before making his escape. Of course they knew one another. Sally would have bought ribbons and silk flowers from his basket to embellish her hats.

Far from feeling triumph that he’d run his enemy to ground so quickly, Lawrence had to stifle the urge to laugh.

Suddenly, he became aware of Flora at his back, asking what was going on. He turned to motion her away, but—of all the misfortunes—his cuff caught on the doorknob, the door hit his shoe, and rebounded against the wall. He barely had time to utter a curse before Barnabas had tugged up his breeches and launched himself at him.

A knife glinted in the man’s hand.

Lawrence raised his own blade and readied himself for a parry. Then, inexplicably, his opponent missed him and hurtled on past. Did he hope to escape without a fight? Damn coward!

A squeak of alarm from Flora made Lawrence swing around, and his blood turned to ice.

Barnabas stood behind her, one arm clamped around her body, his free hand holding the knife to her throat.