Page 100 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“And if I had from the beginning, would you have accepted me?”
“We’ll never know.”
“You’re right, she acknowledged, “and for that I’m sorry. But perhaps itwasher you cared for,” she wondered aloud. “Because she is me. All those aspects are part of who I am—the lady, the writer, the woman. Youknow me,deeper than anyone does. You’ve always known who I truly am.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, then dragged his fingers through his hair. Grounding himself with his touch. Realizing that everything he’d ever learned, his every experience and scrap of knowledge, all the philosophy he’d read and bit of wisdom and guidance he’d ever dispensed—it all led to this moment. This defining time.
He stared at her. She had her arms wrapped around herself. Either from the cold, or to protect herself from what she surely thought would be his wrath and disappointment. But she didn’t look afraid. She looked, finally, resolute. As sure of herself as he’d ever seen her before.
She’d made her choice. That choice wasn’t him. Yet he knew that it was the right one. She needed to be herself, entirely. Not to pretend or cut off a limb just to prove something to him or to assuage his pride. This was the woman he’d come to care about so deeply. The one with conviction. Who knew what she wanted and took it.
“Thank God,” he said finally. “This is the right choice.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
His voice was thick, rusty. “I mean . . . that I’ve always wanted to be with you. The complete woman you are. Lady. Writer.” He stepped closer to her. “I’ve known, I think for a long time, the truth of you. That secret self.” He continued resolutely, “That night, at that private masquerade.”
She went cold all over. Had someone spied for him? How could he know she’d been there?
“You kissed a stranger,” he went on, relentless. “The kiss made your heart speed and your blood heat.” He stepped closer still, a sharp, intense look upon his face.
“I—” What could she say? It had happened during their early days, but still she felt the dark sting of her infidelity. How could he forgive her?
“I know all this, because I felt it, too.” He gazed intently at her. “That man in the blue mask—that man was me.”
She gaped at him. “You?” The stranger had had dark hair, but that could easily have been changed. He’d had the same height as Jeremy, the same rangy physique.
He nodded. “I was looking for the Lady of Dubious Quality, and I found her. I found you.”
“Oh, God.” She didn’t know whether to be appalled or overjoyed. Both emotions crashed against each other, leaving her dizzy. Her anonymous lover was actually her husband.
“It felt right,” he pressed. “We both knew it. But, not knowing the truth, we both believed we were betraying the other.” He spread his hands. “On every level, we areexactly right for each other. The vicar and the duke’s daughter. The man in the blue mask and the Golden Woman. The libertine and the Lady of Dubious Quality. They’reus.” He blazed. “To hell with what Society dictates—we can be all of those things.”
She couldn’t catch her breath, and her mind raced. “I must be able to write.”
“And I want you to. God, Sarah—when I think how I stood by, doing nothing, dumbly accepting it when you gave up the thing you needed and loved most in all the world . . . I’ve been in touch with McKinnon,” he continued. “Your newest book is amazingly successful. Women and men both purchase it. That’s . . . extraordinary.” He clenched his fists. “I didn’t fight hard enough for you to keep writing. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“We each have need of forgiveness,” she said softly.
“We’ll find it,” he answered with conviction. “If anyone can weather the tempests of life, it’s you and I.” He swallowed hard. “Write anything and everything. Write of sex. Of love. Of whatever you want. Only,” he reached for her, “never leave my side. Never be apart from me.” He opened his arms to her.
“Jeremy.” Would he truly stand beside her through all the twists and turns?
“Don’t make me wait a second longer, love.”
She crossed the distance between them. Wrapped her arms around him, feeling his solid body, the body she loved beyond all reasoning, and the man himself. Relief tore through her so hard that tears streamed down her face. “Jeremy.”
“My Sarah.” He kissed the top of her head as he cradled her close.
She sniffled a little. “But . . . your parish. Your status as a vicar.”
He was silent. But then, “I’ll think of something. Some way for us both to have what we need.”
“We’ll think of it together,” she insisted.
“Together.” He cupped her face with his broad hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “I love you, Sarah.”
Though the night was dark and hazy, she could still see the love and passion in his gaze, warming her from the inside out. Her heart brimmed, and everything within her aligned, becoming exactly right. “I love you, Jeremy.”
