Page 45 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“What do you mean?”
“If you refuse to do your duty,” the earl snapped, “then I refuse to do mine. Unless I see tangible results of your search, unless the Lady of Dubious Quality is found, I will cut your allowance in half.”
Jeremy stared at his father, aghast.
The earl continued relentlessly. “I doubt a vicar with a modest living can afford trips to London, much less all those books you are so fond of.”
What little freedom Jeremy had suddenly disappeared, choked by his father’s threat. “You cannot . . .”
“I can, sirrah, and I will.”
With that, Lord Hutton paced away.
The earl’s demands always came first. It didn’t matter if Jeremy was eight, or eight and twenty. He was a pawn to his father, little more.
He stood in his mother’s garden, but he felt trapped, caged. As though the hedges surrounding him were bars, and all he could do was smash against them in frustration.
At dusk, he journeyed back to Bloomsbury. The building that housed the club appeared even more sedate and ordinary as daylight faded. There was no sign of what went on in the evenings. Though the growing darkness conspired to hide details, Jeremy took no chances and wore a suit of russet and brown—old clothing of his that remained at the house—rather than his more sober clerical clothing. It wouldn’t do if anyone saw him approach the house in his role as a vicar.
With his father’s threat hanging over him, Bloomsbury remained Jeremy’s most concrete lead toward finding the Lady of Dubious Quality, who might also be the Golden Woman. So many secret identities, so many disguises.
But she wasn’t the only one perpetuating a role. He led more than one life, inhabiting more than one persona. Ever since he’d kissed the Golden Woman, that was even more true. A part of him that he’d kept hidden had been loosened, freed, and now protested being forced back into its cage.
As he mounted the steps to the Bloomsbury house, he glanced around quickly. Making certain that no one was watching, he quickly donned his borrowed blue leather mask. With his disguise in place, he knocked on the front door.
After a few moments, the door opened, and the woman who’d called herself Amina appeared. Shewore a mask, though her sumptuous red gown had been replaced by an ordinary muslin dress. She frowned at him as she held the door open.
“There’s no gathering of friends tonight,” she said, eyeing his mask.
“I haven’t come for that.” He looked up and down the street. A few pedestrians were out, along with a cart heading home from market. “May I step inside?”
Wordlessly, Amina held the door wider, permitting him to enter.
Once inside, he was struck anew by how typical the house appeared without its exotic, sensuous guests, dim lighting, and music. Any younger son or well-to-do brewer might call this place home. Yet the specter of the Golden Woman haunted this place, as well as the ghost of his other, more liberated self.
That self could not be allowed to stretch and breathe. What would Lady Sarah think if she knew there was some lascivious, lecherous vicar panting after her?
“What is it that you want?” Amina asked without preamble. “We never permit guests inside unless it’s the selected night.”
“There was a woman here,” he answered, cutting to the chase. “Wore a gold cloak and gold mask. It might have been her first time.”
“What of her?” Amina folded her arms across her chest. She was really quite lovely, but her eyes held far more knowledge than one would expect in a woman so young.
“I need her name.”
At once Amina said, “Absolutely not.”
“It’s a matter of some urgency,” Jeremy pressed. Itfelt bitter in his mouth to speak again, but he had to. “I can . . . make it worth your while.”
But Amina only shook her head. “Names are never given here. It’s one of the reasons why our friends return. They need the security of absolute anonymity.”
Though he felt considerable discouragement, he urged, “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”
“Nothing,” she said flatly. “And if that’s all you wish to discuss, I must bid you good evening, sir.” She gestured toward the door.
Seeing that there was nothing further to be gained by pursuing this line of inquiry, Jeremy bowed and turned to open the door. He felt compelled to add over his shoulder, “As I said, it’s an urgent and serious matter. If you change your mind—”
“I will not.” Amina’s voice was cold. “Now go. And you are not welcome back here again.”
