Page 15 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“What the hell do you want, Jones?” shouted a man inside.
“Got a visitor for you, Mr. Stalham.”
“Too busy for visitors,” came the answer.
Jones looked apologetic, but Jeremy held up his hand. He tried the doorknob and found it open, then let himself in.
“Even for me?” he asked Stalham.
The older man—a decent-looking fellow in a slightly rumpled jacket and waistcoat, his cravat undone—widened his eyes when he beheld Jeremy.
“What’s he doing here?” Stalham asked Jones, pointing his finger at Jeremy.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Jones answered.
“And I’d be more than happy to answer that question,” Jeremy said, “in private.”
The publisher raked his fingers through his thinning hair, making it stand on end, but then he shookhis head. “All right, come in and shut the door behind you, Vicar.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” Jeremy said, giving the man’s hand a shake.
“Put in a good word for me,” Jones replied. “With Him.”
“I shall.”
With that, Jones strode away, leaving Jeremy still standing outside Stalham’s office.
The publisher waved. “Come in, Vicar, and take a seat. Is it ‘Reverend’?”
“Just ‘vicar’ or ‘Mr. Cleland’ is fine.” Jeremy closed the door, then sat down. Like the rest of the business, Stalham’s office appeared perfectly ordinary, with galleys for books heaped up on tables, and manuscripts piled here and there. A miniature of Stalham’s wife adorned his desk, along with some correspondence. But there were no signs proclaiming the Lady of Dubious Quality’s identity, no letters with her (or his) signature announcing who she (or he) might be.
Stalham caught Jeremy’s inquisitive gaze and returned it with a puzzled look.
“We’re not in the market for religious works, Mr. Cleland,” the publisher noted, interlacing his fingers over his stomach.
“Sermons for my parish are the extent of my writing endeavors.”
“Then what brings you to Stalham and Sons? My family runs a respectable business and has done so since the time of our monarch’s father.”
“There are those who might say that what you publish isn’t entirely respectable,” Jeremy noted.From his pocket, he pulled outThe Highwayman’s Seduction.
Stalham’s eyes went wide again. “Didn’t know the clergy read our humble little books.” He leaned forward. “Life in the parish getting a little dull, eh, Mr. Cleland?”
Though it was the truth, Jeremy maintained his collected demeanor. He had been given deportment lessons as a child, after all.
“I would like,” he said coolly, “to know more about this Lady of Dubious Quality.”
“What about her?”
Was that a clue? Was the author truly a woman, or was Stalham merely trying to throw him off the scent?
“Who is she?” Jeremy asked.
A corner of the publisher’s mouth turned up. “Want to meet her?”
“I simply want to know her identity.”
“Why? You could be trying to get her to find religion and stop writing her books.”
