Page 49 of Temptations of a Wallflower
If she did marry, whom would she pick?
None of the available men that had been presented to her held any appeal. They were shallow, dull. Fortune hunters who wanted nothing more than her substantial dowry. And not a single one of them made her feel anything like her heroines felt with her heroes. Nopassion. No blaze of need. She couldn’t imagine spending fifty years in her would-be suitors’ beds. She’d expire of boredom within a decade.
She wanted passion. And she wanted a man who made her feel . . . everything. Alive. Intelligent. Wanted. Was that impossible?
It wasn’t impossible with Jeremy. He made her feel all those things. He appreciated her mind, her intellect. And there was no denying that she felt herself powerfully aware of him as a man, and herself as a woman, whenever they were together.
Was he what she needed? Was he the prospective husband she was looking for?
Shewashighly attracted to him. Desired him as she’d desired no one else before. He was witty, scholarly, perceptive. Kind and honorable, but he was no one’s easy prey. He’d stood up for her when she’d been insulted, and blazed with barely restrained anger in her defense.
Yet . . . he was beneath her in station. A country vicar with a decent, but still relatively small, living. She was a duke’s daughter, expected to marry one of the highest-ranking men in the country.
She couldn’t ignore the fact that it would be a huge problem for her to keep writing should she and Jeremy marry. But shehadto continue penning her stories.
He wouldn’t have to find out, however. She had ways of keeping the two identities apart. True, her safeguards had been tested recently, but if she became someone’s wife, if she was Jeremy’s bride, they might be strengthened by her married status.
Jeremy would never need to know that she wasthe Lady of Dubious Quality. She could even take the smallest break away from her writing, just a month or two—though the time apart from it might prove very difficult—to wait for the danger to die down. She could leave London for a time, as well.
Sarah paused to give a beggar a coin, despite her maid’s look of disapproval, and continued on her way to the bookshop.
As for Jeremy being beneath her . . . he was the son of an earl, not a commoner. While such distinctions mattered little to Sarah, they did count in the eyes of Society, and she dwelt within those confines. The scandal of marrying Lord Hutton’s youngest son would be far less than her taking just any man as a husband.
Besides, her parents were eager for her to marry someone. Far better for her to take a vicar to wed than for her to be unmarried forever. No one wanted a spinster for a daughter.
Sarah drew up short and stared at the front of McKinnon’s. Somehow, she’d reached the shop already.
She stepped inside. McKinnon sat at his counter, reviewing an accounting book.
“This isn’t your usual day, Lady Sarah!” the bookseller exclaimed.
“I need to ask a favor of you,” she said.
“Of course,” he answered at once.
When she told him what it was, he nodded slowly but did not press her for details. For that, she was glad. There were irreversible moments in life that needed silence far more than words.
Chapter 14
On a fur blanket, naked, we reposed before the fire, sharing a glass of wine. He stroked my hair and murmured endearments. A fine rain began to fall, sheltering us, as though we were the only two people in England. I had never been so content . . .
The Highwayman’s Seduction
As Jeremy walked into breakfast following his morning swim, one of the servants approached him.
“A letter for you, Master Jeremy,” the footman said, holding out a small envelope.
He took the letter and dismissed the servant. The handwriting on the front of the missive didn’t match that of Mr. Wolbert, his curate.
The letter was from McKinnon, the bookseller, telling him that the book he’d ordered had come in and was ready to be picked up.
To the best of his recollection, he hadn’t ordered anything from McKinnon’s. It had to be a mistake. Should he write the man back and let him know? Or perhaps he ought to go there himself to inform him of the error.
The clock chimed just half past nine. The day at home stretched before him, stifling. Ever since his dead end with Mrs. Chalbury, he’d been at a loss as to how to proceed with his search for the Lady of Dubious Quality, but if he stayed at home, he’d be subject to more of his father’s stern looks.
His mother entered the breakfast room. She offered her cheek for a kiss before approaching the sideboard to help herself to her repast.
“You aren’t staying home again, are you?” she asked, setting a rasher of bacon on her plate. “Young marriageable ladies don’t simply show up on our doorstep.”
