Page 27 of Temptations of a Wallflower
The Highwayman’s Seduction
Frustration remained Jeremy’s constant companion. He ached for Lady Sarah—and could do nothing to assuage that need.
At the least, he had something with which to distract himself. After a subdued supper, Jeremy retired back tohis room to contemplate his current task. Thank God he had his search for the Lady of Dubious Quality.
Alone, he sat by the fire and picked up a copy ofThe Highwayman’s Seduction.There had to be clues to her identity buried somewhere within the text. He had to do his utmost to read it with an aloof eye, unmoved by the salacious contents. Not an easy task, but if anything could have been gained by this afternoon’s exercise in self-indulgence, it was that the edge of his desire had been slightly blunted.
The fire burned low in the grate, casting dancing shadows but providing enough light by which to read. Keeping his mind fixed on its purpose—and not allowing his thoughts to drift toward Lady Sarahat all—he began to peruse the book’s contents.
Reading the novel with a more distant perspective, the author’s voice caught him. It didn’t merely relate the story or provide thinly veiled scenarios that easily gave way to sex. Instead, there was actual artistry involved.
What would it be like to discuss the Lady of Dubious Quality with Lady Sarah? They’d spoken so openly about sensual matters at the art exhibit. Surely, she’d be intrigued by this book. Intrigued and . . . aroused?
It was too much to contemplate, so Jeremy forced himself back to his goal.
Whoever the Lady was, one thing was certain: she was literate, educated. Which didn’t necessarily guarantee that she was of gentle birth. English education continued to evolve, and it was entirely possible that whoever posed as the Lady was someone of common blood.
Though a considerable part ofThe Highwayman’s Seductiontook place in some unnamed part of the countryside, including the highwayman’s lair, Jeremy’s interest perked up when the action briefly moved to London. Something in this location might give away even the smallest crumb of information.
“Hold a moment,” he murmured to himself.
The heroine of the book observed the way the sunlight shone on a statue of Eros riding a porpoise. Jeremy knew that statue. The small, unremarked-upon sculpture stood in a hidden corner of the city. Considering how vague most of the locations were in the rest of the novel, surely there had to be some relevance to citing this particular place. Maybe the Lady of Dubious Quality actually frequented this spot.
He’d go there in the morning and perform some reconnaissance. Anything was better than the minimal amount of evidence he had to go on. He could perform his task and not think of Lady Sarah or her lively eyes or soft lips. Not once.
But as he undressed and climbed into bed, her image continued to dance behind his closed eyes. Her bravery today continued to resonate through him. Her strength, and her perceptiveness. She was no wilting blossom. No pallid flower. She reminded him more of a lioness, tawny and proud. No one’s fool.
Thoughts of her tormented him all the way into a restless sleep.
Jeremy stood contemplating the statue of a young boy riding atop a porpoise. He glanced around at the small courtyard that contained the statue. Quiet homesringed the sculpture. Perhaps he’d have better luck out on the street. He crossed a narrow lane, then emerged onto a busy urban intersection.
Late-morning traffic crowded the streets. Jeremy dodged a dray loaded with kegs of beer, then wove between more wagons, carts, and carriages. The din was considerable, and crowds pressed close on every side. He’d grown too familiar with life in the country, its slower rhythms, its soft sameness from day to day, change ruled not by the clock but by the sun and shifting seasons.
He rather missed the chaos and excitement of London, yet he ought to be grateful for his comfortable living, his secure employment.Ought tobeing the operative words.
“Out of the way!” someone shouted.
Jeremy leapt up onto the sidewalk just in time to keep from being plowed down by a hired carriage barreling toward him. Not much respect for a man of the cloth here in the city. As evidenced by the way Lady Sarah’s awful acquaintances spoke to him, he wasn’t entirely seen as man. Neither lion nor lamb. Which left him adrift.
He was here now, in the midst of the city’s businesslike madness. He stood on the corner and looked around, hoping for something, some mote of knowledge to fall upon him.
He saw a grocer’s, a mercer’s shop, an office conducting some kind of business, as evidenced by the clerks hustling in and out with sheaves of paper. Not especially revealing.
His gaze caught on one storefront. J&C MCKINNON,BOOKSELLERS.Jeremy snapped to attention. That might prove useful. The Lady revealed through her writing that she was well read. Did she frequent this bookshop?
Carefully, he crossed the street and approached the shop. Shelves stood out front, offering leather-bound volumes for perusal. The cost for each book was written in pencil inside the cover. He paused to look over the shelves. The volumes they held covered a wide range of subjects, from scientific inquiry to sentimental novels. On the pavement, a gentleman and a lady were busy reading, neither of them paying him any mind. He surreptitiously scanned their faces. Could either of them be the Lady of Dubious Quality? The man was middle-aged, with a round nose and wisps of white hair peeking out from beneath the brim of his hat. He seemed like someone’s kindly uncle—but that wouldn’t impede him from secretly writing erotic books. Anyone could be the author. Anyone at all.
The woman was also middle-aged, with ash-blonde hair and a soft, comfortable look. She appeared to be reading a book about interior design. Might she have penned salacious novels?
Perhaps he ought to inquire with the proprietor of the bookshop. See if anyone was a regular customer, and, if so, what kind of books they commonly bought.
He stepped across the threshold, entering the shop, and was met with the smell of leather, paper, and a faint sugary scent, as though someone often enjoyed tea and cakes while reading. Which seemed a perfect way to spend a day.
In fact, had he not been on an objective from hisfather, the bookshop would have been a wonderful place to spend many hours. More shelves lined the walls and formed a maze, all of it full to bursting with rows upon rows of books. There were books on the shelves, on the floor, stacked onto tables and covering every available surface. A large orange cat curled up on a pillow, dozing, beside a heap of books. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.
First he needed to track down the proprietor, who’d abandoned the desk by the door. Jeremy straightened his shoulders and called to mind all the religious authority he could manage in order to glean the necessary information.
He turned down an aisle and stopped short.
