Page 25 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“Let us seek, then,” she conceded, “but always have something left strange and unknown to us.”
He inclined his head in agreement. Yet there was a flush in his cheeks, as though he was still under the influence of the sexual artwork displayed not but a few feet from them.
“I should think that a stable would be an excellent place for an assignation,” she said conversationally.
His cheeks darkened further. “I wonder how you might even know of things like that.”
“I read,” she said, knowing she sounded coy and enigmatic. She bent close to study the delicate, sensual painting, biting her lip in concentration.
He seemed to go very still. She glanced at him through her lashes. His gaze ricocheted between the artwork and her, never resting. His breath came at an accelerated pace.
Did he picture her in the scenario before them? Was he the man, in his imaginings? It was a dreadful thing of her to wonder, yet she couldn’t help herself. Because when she saw the painting, she thought of them, together.
They hardly knew each other, yet her body didn’t think so. It wanted him.Shewanted him. The realization hit her as she stood there, placidly examining erotic artwork. She’d written pages and pages of it, and she’d longed to know what sex was and experience it for herself, but this was the first time she’d desired a specific man. Craved his touch. Wanted him in her bed.
She should leave. Forget about Lord Lynde, Lady Donleigh, and Miss Green—they could have this victory for now. She ought to go and not look back. There was nothing to be gained by tormenting herself with what couldn’t be.
Remain? Go?
Hearing their suppressed laughter firmed her spine. Stay.
This was where she belonged. Here, with him. If not for her own selfish desires, then . . . for her writing. In the future, who knew? She could use this all. This helpless longing. This ravenous need for one person.
She walked away from the painting and heard him follow. A statue of a couple caught her attention. The male figure was much larger than the female. He sat cross-legged, and the woman was in his lap. Straddling him. They wore rather serene expressions. Were they merely cuddling?
Only when Sarah looked closer did she see that the man’s penis was erect and partially sheathed within the woman’s body.
Beside her, Jeremy saw it at the same time. He gave a startled grunt, as though hit in the stomach.
She thought she heard him curse under his breath.
“Should we go?” she ventured.
He shook his head, though his expression was pained. As if he suffered physically. His voice was raspy. “She’s very . . . limber.”
Pleasure rose up anew at his continued presence. He could have made excuses, invented an appointment that called his attention. But no, he stayed. For her.
It was an odd thing for a knight valiant to do—look at lewd art. Yet by so doing, he proved that he wouldn’t back down in the face of obstacles. He remained strong and steadfast. Her heart brightened.
“She must stretch beforehand,” Sarah agreed. Yet she gazed at him, wordlessly communicating her thanks.
By mutual, silent agreement, they did not linger long at the statue. They walked rather quickly from piece to piece, their conversation limited. Yet he remained with her the whole time.
At last they returned to Lady Donleigh, Miss Green, and Lord Lynde.
“Commendable,” Jeremy said, his voice cutting. “An extraordinary showing.”
“I . . . I . . .” stammered Lord Lynde.
“It’s rather an interesting aspect of art,” Jeremy continued, speaking over the faltering man. “Whatever the subject matter may be, it reveals more of us than it does itself. For example, it showed that Lady Sarah is a woman of uncommon courage.”
She went giddy and hot, dizzy and elated.
But Jeremy wasn’t done. “It also,” he went on, “revealed that you three”—he skewered the trio with his bright blue gaze—“are better suited to the nursery than respectable Society.”
All three gaped in response.
“Lady Sarah,” he said, turning to her. “It’s been my privilege.” He bowed low, one hand pressed to his chest.
