Page 37 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“I just need the address,” Jeremy continued.
Marwood stepped back, releasing his shoulder. “Hold a moment. You can’t go like that.”
“Like what?” Jeremy frowned.
“Like a walking sermon,” his cousin explained. “You’ll never fit in that way.” He waved at Jeremy’s simple black clerical clothing. “No one will act naturally around you. At the very least, you’ll have to change your clothes.”
“To what?”
“No ecclesiastical black, for one thing. You can be a little more exuberant in your choice of colors.”
“I don’t have anything else,” Jeremy complained.
“Tomorrow, go to my tailor on Jermyn Street,” Marwood said. “Tell him you’re my cousin. He’ll have you fitted with something in a trice. Don’t worry, old man, you can still wear dark colors, but please, lose the black.”
“I can’t afford to have a suit of clothes made up in a day,” Jeremy exclaimed.
“Don’t worry about the cost,” his cousin assured him. “I’ll pay any price to sully my uncorrupted cousin.”
Jeremy was going to object, but, hell, if receiving one suit of clothes meant finding the Lady, then he’d accept it. Marwood was appallingly wealthy. Such a thing meant nothing to him. Even so, Jeremy vowed to himself that he’d pay his cousin back.
“So my wardrobe is settled,” Jeremy said decisively. “That means I’m ready to go.”
“This is just the beginning!” Marwood threw wide his arms. “You’ll need a mask.”
“I haven’t got one lying around,” Jeremy answered wryly.
“Just a moment . . .” Marwood strode to his desk and rifled around in the drawers for several moments. “Aha!” he cried, pulling out a half mask.
“What are you doing with a mask in your desk?” wondered Jeremy.
“If you have to ask . . .” His cousin handed the item to him. It was ink-blue leather, with finely wrought gold embroidery around the edges. “Be sure to wear that,” Marwood continued as Jeremy pocketed the domino. “Don’t shave for a few days so you have some stubble. And slick back your hair,” he commanded. “Darken it, as well. The color’s too distinctive.”
His head spinning, Jeremy removed a notebook from his inside pocket. “Just a moment.” He scribbled on the pages with a pencil. “Don’t shave,” he muttered as he wrote. “Hair. Darken.” He glanced up to see his cousin laughing.
“Only you would take notes on how to attend an orgy,” Marwood said with a shake of his head.
“It’s a considerable amount to remember,” Jeremy muttered. “So, my ensemble and appearance are taken care of. I’m prepared.”
Marwood held up his hand. “Easy on the reins, cuz. We’ve taken care of the externals. But it’s the internals that are equally important at an event like this one.”
Jeremy’s brow furrowed. “What are you blathering on about?”
“It’s not blather if it comes from decades of experience,” his cousin answered good-naturedly. He tapped Jeremy in the center of his chest. “How you conduct yourself at the club is as important as, if not more so than, how you look.”
“I’m not going to assault anyone, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Jeremy snapped. “I’m not going to read anyone passages from the Bible, either.”
“You want to fit in, don’t you, so you don’t draw unwanted attention to yourself?” At Jeremy’s nod, Marwood continued. “Then it’s important for you to act like you belong there. And that means acting sexual and confident.”
Jeremy drew himself up to his full, not inconsiderable, height. “I can do that.”
His cousin looked dubious. “Can you? You’re probably a virgin.”
Face hot as a furnace, Jeremy said, “I’m not. There was . . .” He cleared his throat. “One woman.”
Marwood rolled his eyes. “How many years ago?”
After a long pause, Jeremy answered, “Five.”
