Page 11 of Temptations of a Wallflower
Still, she waited for Mr. Cleland to say something about women knowing their place, or how it wasn’t proper for ladies to engage in intellectual pursuits.
Instead, he only nodded. “An enviable skill. I have to write a sermon every Sunday, and it’s like swimming the Atlantic every time. Cold at first, then exhausting after a while.”
No lecture? No sidelong look of censure?
What an interesting man.
“Yet you make the swim every week,” she pointed out.
“So I do,” he agreed amiably. “You’d think I’d have developed some muscles after all that exercise, but I feel like I flounder every time.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” She felt the strength of his body. He had to provide his congregation with spiritual comfort and guidance. Just a few words with him and she knew. Sharp mind, honed wit and intellect. And there was that extraordinary face of his, sofull of beauty and sensuality all at once. How had the women sitting with her earlier not seen it? Surely others had to.
Together, they fell into a companionable quiet, making their way slowly up and down the paths. Sarah glanced toward the hedge maze, her imagination spinning. Wouldn’t it be delicious to steal a kiss from Mr. Cleland? He did have a lovely mouth and was handsome as . . . well, as sin. Talking with him held its share of pleasures. He didn’t act like other men, trying to curry her favor. Nor was he dismissive. He listened to her, treated her as though she had worthwhile opinions.
For the first time in . . . she couldn’t remember when . . . she enjoyed conversing with a man. Exhilaration moved through her. As though she was waking up from a long sleep, to blink happily in the sun.
“Do you enjoy reading, Lady Sarah?” he asked.
“Very much,” she answered. “Sentimental novels are my favorite, though I’m not supposed to say so.”
“Why not?” he wondered with genuine surprise.
“Because they aren’t edifying or educational. Because they teach me to expect things out of life that aren’t really possible.”
He made a scoffing sound. “Rubbish. Not the books, but those opinions. There’s nothing wrong with a little escape. And there’s certainly nothing at fault with teaching someone how to hope for a better life.”
“So you aren’t going to press me with some spiritual texts? Things that teach me the value of patience and humility?”
He laughed, and the sound was like brandy, rich and full. “Saints preserve me from moralizing literature.While I do read my Bible every day, I find myself particularly fond of the novelWaverleyand the poems of Blake.”
“The battle scenes inWaverley,” she said, excitement rising at mention of the book. “I swore I heard the gunfire and smelled the blood and powder.”
“Have you readGuy Mannering,by the same author?” he pressed with equal excitement.
“I even saw it performed as a play at Covent Garden earlier this year,” she exclaimed.
He looked blissful. “That must have been wonderful.”
“‘Wonderful’ is a paltry word compared to the experience.”
“How I envy you,” he said, a touch of wistfulness in his voice.
Now it was her turn to laugh. “I’m hardly enviable, Mr. Cleland.”
His expression shifted to thoughtfulness. “I wonder why you might say that.”
“I have . . . everything a woman could want,” she acknowledged.
“Such as?”
“Wealth, position. If there’s a material thing that I desire, I simply have to ask, and it’s mine.” She shook her head. “And I’m grateful for these things. I truly am. And yet . . .”
“And yet . . . ?” he prompted gently.
“It comes at a high price,” she admitted.
“What is that price?”
