Page 14 of Temptations of a Wallflower
The Highwayman’s Seduction
One couldn’t mention publishing in London without thinking almost immediately of Paternoster Row. Even a man as unfamiliar with the modern city as Jeremy was knew this. Publishers crammed together down the street, the air alive with the flow of ideas and words. Nearby was the bustle of Spitalfields Market and the dignified splendor of St. Paul’s.
The lively market and its surroundings interestedJeremy far more than the cathedral, but he felt obligated to spend a few minutes inside, hat removed, his head bowed in solemn contemplation of the task before him. Did the Lord intervene when it came to concerns of salacious literature? Jeremy rather doubted it. Surely, there were greater concerns for the Prime Mover than a handful of inexpensive—though popular—lewd novels.
Once back on the street, Jeremy donned his hat and headed north, toward Paternoster Row. Buildings pressed in closely, radiating with commercial importance. Here, the sacred and the profane were printed side by side, coexisting in the eternal dance of business. There might be art between the leather-covered bindings, but what concerned the serious men of the publishing world was the inarguable truth of money.
Seeing the books brought Lady Sarah’s face into his mind. Did she ever come to this part of the city? Most likely not. A duke’s daughter had little call to involve herself in the world of masculine trade, though he had a suspicion that she might actually enjoy seeing where the many books she read came from. He wanted to show her this place, to watch her as she explored a new realm, far away from the confines of a life that hemmed her in on every side.
Jeremy had no business thinking of her—a vicar could never cast his thoughts so high as to consider a duke’s daughter in any way other than a possible patron.
She had been utterly unexpected, a lovely surprise in the midst of what he’d anticipated to be the usual Society routine. No denying she was a pretty young woman, her soft brown hair slightly curled, her clear gray eyes shining with insightful—almost frightening—intelligence. Her looks were more emphatic than gentle, with those straight eyebrows, assertive nose, and full lips, yet she held an undeniable appeal.
She wasn’t like the other soft, easily understood girls, as straightforward as roses. Lady Sarah was more like a tall wildflower, found growing in the secret places of the forest, hidden from the eyes of man but possessing a beauty that belonged to no one but herself.
He’d never thought about the constraints placed upon the daughters of the elite, but she had shown him her diamond-encrusted manacles. And now that his eyes had been opened, it was impossible for him not to feel a thread of . . . pity? Empathy? He wasn’t certain.
But he felt it. Something . . . intangible. Linking him with her. A confidence shared only by themselves.
Oh, but the man in him responded to far more than her wit or her insight. He’d found himself staring at her petal-pink lips and wondering how they tasted. His gaze had touched along the column of her neck. What would her skin feel like? Did it have a scent? Despite her virginal demeanor, there was an untapped eroticism in her, in the way she turned her face to the sun or absently brushed back a lock of hair, her fingers lingering for a moment to rest upon her own flesh. He couldn’t have imagined those seconds at the end of their time together, when he’d looked at the maze in the garden, thinking of what it might take to lure her in there fora stolen touch—and she had been staring at the maze, too, her own eyes filled with wanting.
Did he wish her to be that rare gem that all men dreamed of but never found? The sensual virgin, eager for a man’s touch?
He glanced at his reflection in one of the windows. A man in the staid garments of the Church looked back at him. He might think of Lady Sarah, might wonder what kind of lover she could be, and fantasize about her many tastes and textures, but she would always be a dream, forever out of reach. Even though his father was an earl, Jeremy had little fortune besides what he earned from his living. Duke’s daughters didn’t consider vicars as potential husbands. He and Lady Sarah were simply too far apart. He might as well court a constellation.
Not the most happy thought, but it brought him back to Earth. He was in London for a reason, and that reason wasn’t the futile attempt to woo a woman who’d have nothing to do with him.
Still, he couldn’t help the excitement rising up in him at the thought of when he might see her again. Between Lady Sarah and searching for the Lady of Dubious Quality, the tedium of his recent existence had certainly transformed into something exciting and stimulating.
Checking the address he had written down on a scrap of paper, Jeremy searched out one particular sign. He dodged crowds of soberly dressed men, as well as wagons carting off books to be sold all over the city and the country. Compared to Mayfair, the noise here was terrific. How could anyone concentrate on theprinted word when the audible one held so much sway?
At last, he came to a sign that read STALHAM &SONS.From the outside, it appeared to be an ordinary business, with a bay window fronting the street. Jeremy peered through the glass, cupping his hand to see better. Men bent over rows of desks, stacks of paper piled up all around them. A lad in a cap and ink-stained apron rushed back and forth, delivering sheaves of paper, hauling them away, and generally looking harried. At the far end of the chamber within was a glass door leading to a private office. But the window was smudged and not particularly clean, so Jeremy couldn’t make out any further details.
A man carrying a paper-wrapped bundle started to enter the front door, then stopped. “Can I help you, Vicar?” he asked.
“Yes, actually.” Jeremy stepped away from the window. Sometimes there were certain advantages to being in the Church, including a small amount of deference from the laity. “I’m looking for the man who runs this business.”
“Mr. Stalham Jr., you mean.” The man frowned. “What do you want to see him for?”
“I’m afraid that’s something I can discuss only with him.”
The man shrugged. “Suit yourself. Follow me, then, Vicar.”
Jeremy did as the fellow suggested, trailing after him into Stalham & Sons. A few of the clerks looked up from their desks as Jeremy entered.
“We getting into printing sermons and tracts, now?” one wag commented.
“Somehow,” Jeremy commented, “I doubt that one book is going to keep you off the paths of vice.”
“Oi, he’s got you, Drew,” another man laughed.
Drew scowled and returned to his work.
“This way, Vicar,” said the first chap, who guided Jeremy down the rows of desks to the office at the end. The name LAWRENCESTALHAMJR.,PUBLISHERwas painted on the door in gold leaf.
All in all, the place looked prosperous and respectable. No signs of lambs being sacrificed to unholy gods, or naked women dancing in a frenzy of pagan madness. They could be printing cookery books and gardening instructions.
Jeremy’s guide tapped on the door.
