Chapter Forty-Three

Flora sat by the parlor window, gazing out at the mild October day, unseeing. For three days she’d hidden her fears well, but there was no need to hide them now. The house was empty. The servants had gone off to choir practice, as had the Daniells. Finally, she had privacy to vent her feelings.

No reply had reached her from the letter she’d sent Major Wilberforce. She knew he’d received it, because a pair of redcoats had arrived the next morning in the early hours to carry Nat Pryce away. The major had not come himself, nor had he sent word of what he was going to do about Lawrence.

Three long days, and not a word about his fate. A fate for which she knew she was entirely responsible. Because she hadn’t just written a note asking the major to collect Nat.

She’d confessed to him that Lawrence was buying goods from the wreckers. She’d begged that he be treated leniently if he gave up the names of those he knew to be involved.

Digging her nails into the back of her hand, she watched the skin whiten as the blood was pushed away and she tried to focus on the physical pain rather than on the mental torture she was going through.

Had she mistaken Major Wilberforce’s character, and unwittingly condemned Lawrence to hang? Or would he now be forced to live like a fugitive, pardoned by the government but forever looking over his shoulder, lest some cutthroat associate of Pryce’s plant a blade in his back?

Oh, why had she ever written that letter? And why had no one told her of its outcome? The wait for news was agonizing. Trying to conceal both a broken heart and a soul-destroying burden of guilt from the rest of the world was taking all her strength.

A knock on the door sent her leaping to her feet. Who could it be? Dashing the tears from her eyes, she wiped her face on the skirts of her apron.

And then paused.

She must look a fright, her eyes red rimmed, her cheeks streaked with the salt of her tears.

She was also alone. It might be wise not to open the door, at all.

The knock came again, louder and more determined. She ducked away from the parlor window and hid behind the drape. Just as a shadow moved across the window and a face pressed against the panes.

Her pulse exploded like a cannonade. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

Lawrence?

The one man in the world she most wanted to see…because she loved him.

The very last man in the world she wanted to see…because she’d betrayed him.

There was a tap on the window, and she shrank back, not daring to breathe.

“Flora, I know you’re in there.”

Oh, the welcome sound of that dear, sweetly remembered voice!

All the air was sucked out of her. She needed movement to get her lungs working again and quash the unbearable tension.

There was only one thing she could do. Face her fate.

After walking determinedly into view, she paused and gazed through the misty panes at the figure beyond. “What do you want?” she called, hiding her hands beneath her apron so he wouldn’t see how much they shook.

“To talk to you. Let me in.”

No doubt so he could tell her how disappointed he was, how hurt, how angry. There would be no soft words of love, nothing to ease the pain of his displeasure. But at least he was a free man, and, surely, that was more important than her selfish need for his love…

She must deal with it. She’d coped with Frank’s death. It was time to accept that Lawrence would soon be as good as dead to her, too.

With a heavy heart, she opened the door and, not able to meet his eyes, motioned him to enter.

As he walked past her into the room, she felt the power of his dominance, the connection created by their lovemaking which made her body a slave to his. Without even touching her, he could bring her—metaphorically—to her knees.

“How are you, Flora?”

The cold formality of his greeting threatened to set her tears flowing afresh. Head averted, she replied, “Well enough. A little tired, perhaps.” It was a struggle to get the words out, mundane as they were. Her voice just wouldn’t work.

There was no reply, only the feel of his eyes on her, examining, condemning.

Endeavoring to put off the terrible moment when he told her how much he hated her, she inquired, “How are you?”

“Exhausted. As you could tell if you bothered to look at me. Am I such an anathema to you, my angel, that you cannot bear to do so?”

Her head snapped up. His angel? “Oh, Lawrence!”

Lines of weariness etched his beloved face, and she fought the urge to run her fingers over them and smooth them away. But the invisible chasm between them sucked up all her spirit, and she couldn’t bring herself to look into those dark eyes, to read the resentment, the disappointment there.

Custom took over. “Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, Flora, have you nothing more to say to me?” His voice was soft, regretful.

She could have coped better with his anger. The gentleness of his tone and manner only made her feel worse.

She said, “I just don’t want you to hate me.” Her hands were twisting together beneath her apron, exposing her extreme agitation. If only she could keep the tears at bay.

He reached a hand toward her. A strong, tanned, masculine hand. A beacon of hope, a spar in a raging sea. As soon as she put her own in his, the gulf between them was spanned. Hands met, then bodies, then lips. His touch seared away all sorrow, doubt, and shame. Her heart soared.

When she could take no more of his impassioned kiss and was in danger of sliding to the floor, she eased out of his embrace. “Do you really still want me?” she asked shakily.

“Evidently,” he said, with a grin that made her knees weak.

“You’re not angry with me about—?”

“The letter you sent to Major Wilberforce? I was furious at first, yes. I can see you’re eaten up with anxiety. I’ve a tonic for that back at the wagon. Can I offer you some?”

“Don’t jest at a time like this!”

He gave her a rueful pout, which only made her want to kiss him some more, to nibble at that firm, masculine mouth, slick her tongue along the seam of his lips, and explore again the sensuous secrets of his mouth.

“I gather we’re alone,” he said, “Or you wouldn’t have let me kiss you.”

At her mute nod, he smiled again, then tipped her into his arms and carried her to the old sofa where he sat down and pulled her onto his lap.

She fought against the lustful impulses of her body. The moment was too precious, her feelings too raw. “You promise you don’t hate me?”

“Quite the opposite,” he assured her.

“Tell me what happened,” she demanded, twining her arms around his neck and feasting her eyes on him.

“I was in the churchyard. Sally was sniffed out to identify me, and she came with a couple of soldiers. One of them was that irksome redcoat who was hanging about at the Dorchester fair, remember?”

Yes, she remembered. How could she ever forget the bizarre incident involving the removal of Nat Pryce’s tooth?

“I was escorted to Oakwood Grange in manacles for a private interview with the major. He’d given orders that I be brought to him under duress, so I didn’t look like an informer. He questioned me thoroughly, made sure I told him everything I knew.”

She bit her lip. “How much persuasion was necessary?”

She hoped he had turned King’s Evidence willingly. He was more likely to be pardoned then.

“He didn’t have to resort to torturing me,” he replied with a half-smile. “Mind you, there were plenty of veiled threats—”

“It must have been hard, giving up the names of your friends,” she said. “But I just couldn’t think of any other way you’d be safe after turning in Pryce.”

“It wasn’t as difficult as you might imagine. None of those men were actual friends. Besides, Wilberforce knew some of their names already. I just gave him a statement he could use at trial, if needed.”

“Oh, Lawrence, that’s wonderful!”

“No, you are. He told me your letter named all the things I’d done to aid his cause, and also that of Lord Beckport last year. As a result of your generous letter, I was offered a full pardon. When he handed me the paper, I felt like a snake shedding its skin, emerging brighter and better than before. All thanks to you.”

“You did those things. I simply wrote them down.” Her heart glowed. He’d been pardoned! She couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome. “I’m so happy for you, Lawrence. See? You did the right thing. I knew you would.”

“There may be a small grain of honor in me, I suppose. I had thought the only way to live a blameless life would be to start again in America, peddling my medicines, and avoiding cheats and rogues. But you have shown me that I can continue my life here in my own country and still make an honest living.”

Hope soared through her like a kite on the breeze. Had he decided not to go America, after all?

“What happens now?” she wondered.

“I won’t be troubled by the authorities again, so long as I don’t return to my old habits.”

She nuzzled against his cheek. It was rough with stubble, and she wondered how long he’d been detained at Oakwood Grange. Had he even been back to his wagon, or had he come straight to see her?

“Do you think you can keep out of trouble?” she asked.

“It sounds boring, but I suppose I must.”

“What you do could never be dull,” she said with a laugh. She truly had enjoyed his medicine shows. But that adventure was a distant memory now, a glimmer of bright color in an otherwise gray and monotonous life.

“I’ll just have to make sure my exploits are on the right side of the law,” he said.

She couldn’t help the deep sigh that escaped her. He’d set off on his travels and leave her behind. She’d only see him a handful of times in a year.

Unless she went with him. Could she give up her dreams, her reputation, and her family, to join him and share his roving existence?

Not that he’d even invited her to.

Did he plan to be reunited with his true family? That would be splendid for him. Less rosy for her. No doubt she’d never see him again if he became one of the nobility. Best she not ask. While she remained in ignorance, she could pretend there was some kind of future for them.

Her voice shook as she circled back and asked, “You no longer plan to go to America, then?”

He pulled her closer. “I don’t. I’ll find other ways to help them fight their epidemics. Write papers, send seeds so they can grow the correct herbs. The money I’ve saved will be put to much better use.”

He brushed his lips along her cheek, and she quivered in his embrace, determined to treasure every last second of time with him and every touch, however fleeting.

Whatever memories she made with him now would have to last a lifetime.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I intend to do with the money?” he murmured, nibbling gently at her earlobe.

“If you want me to. What will you do with your savings?”

“I’m giving them to you.”

She went rigid. “What? No. Whatever for?” She didn’t want his money. She wanted him. Now and forever.

“With it, you can buy a share in a hat shop, without having to sell your cottage. If you still want to, that is.”

“But I can’t take your money!”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” he said.

She gaped up at him. She didn’t know what to say. She’d betrayed him, thrown his plans into complete disarray, yet here he was, rewarding her for it. Such generosity was completely undeserved. All she could do was shake her head, and press her eyes tight shut against the burning tears.

He released his grip on her waist and took her face in his hands. “Look at me, Flora.”

She wanted to hide from him, hide the depth of her feelings. She loved him more than she’d ever thought it possible to love another human being. But there was no room in his life for her. That must be the reason behind his offer of money, to make it easier to leave her behind.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “I love you. I would do anything for you.”

Other than stay…

What was the point of him loving her, if they couldn’t be together? The agony of their parting would destroy her.

She opened her eyes and captured his gaze. “I want you to stay,” she whispered.

The warmth in his eyes didn’t waver. “I want to,” he said earnestly. “Believe me, I would stay, if I could think of a way to make it possible. But I don’t want to be the cause of your social ruin. That would be too cruel, too selfish of me. I only want what’s best for you, and if you persuade Sally to let you work in her shop, and turn all your beautiful designs into reality, you’ll get the respect you truly deserve.”

“But you should be respectable, too! A real doctor. Your remedies work. I’ve seen them do so, time and again. Your knowledge of wound dressing, tooth pulling, and the treatment of pain are second to none. Never doubt yourself, Lawrence.”

His mouth quirked up at the corners. “Am I to understand you approve of me, Miss Hartington?”

“I more than approve.”

He raised an eyebrow. “More? Truly?”

Confound it. She’d given herself to him. Surely, he knew she’d never have done that from lust alone. No matter how heart-stoppingly attractive the man might be.

“You know there’s more.” But what did it matter what either of them said, what either of them felt, if their paths were taking them in opposite directions?

“If I were sure of that,” he said slowly, “I’d move heaven and earth to find a way to stay.”

“I do love you, Lawrence. But it’s all so hopeless. Lucinda would be vile to me, and your traveling friends would never feel able to trust the aunt-in-law of an earl.”

He nudged her chin up and brushed her lips with his own. “Never despair. Fate smiles on lovers.”

“More likely Fate laughs at them,” she replied gloomily.

He pulled away and said briskly, “Right. We shall dare Fate to laugh at us. We’ll go immediately to the Admiral Duncan, fetch my money, and walk over to East Town and pay the perfidious Sally Matthews a visit. Much as I hate to offer my coin to the woman who betrayed me to the redcoats. If that can’t convince you I love you, I fear nothing will.”

“But—”

“Off now, Flora, and put on your best coat and your most outrageous bonnet. You are about to become a woman of circumstance.”

She slid unwillingly from his lap. “But what if Sally refuses? She hates me, and she has every reason to dislike you, too.”

“She won’t object to my gold, my love. I know her well enough to be certain of that.”

His optimism had given him a spring in his step and a glint in his eye, which gladdened Flora’s heart. There was something else, too—a light blazing out from deep inside him, like the white-hot glow of a blacksmith’s forge.

He was happy.

She had made him happy. And a happy Lawrence was truly incandescent.

As they stepped out into the chill air of that bright October day, he took her hand and placed it on his arm, and they marched off toward the inn, heads held high.

She felt anticipation charge through him, powering like lightning through her body whenever they touched, spurring her heart into a gallop. It no longer mattered to her who might see them, or what they might think about the prim Miss Flora Hartington walking out so boldly with an unshaven, olive-skinned Adonis.

When they arrived at the yard of the Admiral Duncan, they discovered a horde of people, including some soldiers, taking a great interest in Dr. L. E. Campaign’s gaily painted wagon.

She froze. He released her and accosted the nearest redcoat, demanding angrily, “What’s going on here?”

“Are you the proprietor of that wagon?” the soldier asked.

“I am,” said Lawrence, planting his fists on his hips. “What of it?”

Flora surged forward. Her heart, which had previously soared so high, now plunged like a drop of lead in a shot tower.

The redcoat’s eyes assessed her, then moved back to Lawrence. “Your wagon has been ransacked,” was the chilling reply.

“By whom?” Lawrence’s cheeks burned red with fury.

A new voice broke into the conversation, one she thought she recognized.

“You know the man already, I believe,” it said. She spun around and saw the redcoat from the fair scowling at them. Triggs, she recalled his name was.

“Who?” Lawrence demanded again.

Triggs said, “He’s one of those benighted wreckers that lured the Alcestis onto the rocks. Major Wilberforce got them rounded up, but this one was nowhere to be found. He was seen exiting your wagon a couple of hours ago.”

“Does this miscreant have a name?” Lawrence snapped.

“Aye,” Triggs replied grimly. “He’s a peddler when he’s not murdering sailors and despoiling dead men. Goes by the name of Barnabas Todd.”