Page 54 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“I mean that I went to that damn masquerade and kissed another woman,” he growled. “A woman wearing a gold mask. I think,” he added unhappily, “that she wasthe Lady of Dubious Quality.” He wanted them both—Sarah and the Golden Woman—but he couldn’t have them both. Yet it was Sarah who had taken up residence in his mind, his body and heart. The Golden Woman was unmitigated physical pleasure. Sarah was so much more to him.
“And that makes you miserable,” Marwood said, confused.
“It . . . lit something in me.” Jeremy stared off into the memory. “Something wild. Don’t know how to explain it.”
“I think I understand.” Marwood nodded in consideration. “I’ve had kisses like that.”
Anger and mystification warred within Jeremy. “How can I offer myself to Sarah if I’ve had thoughts about another woman?”
“Of course you can,” Marwood said at once. “Maggie and I didn’t come to each other as virgins.”
Jeremy stood abruptly, tipping the chair to the floor. “I didn’t make love to that other woman.”
“But you still feel the betrayal,” his cousin noted.
Jeremy could only nod unhappily. He thought of those stolen touches at the theater, of the kiss at the Observatory, and confusion mired him. Could he desire two women? When he truly only wanted one?
Walking up to him, Marwood placed his hands on Jeremy’s shoulders and looked hard into his eyes. “Don’t confuse what your cock tells you for what your heart wants,” he cautioned. “Clearly, it wants Lady Sarah.” He smiled wryly. “Not so long ago you were the one dispensing advice, Vicar. The honor’s mine now. Though I’m no man of God.”
Jeremy exhaled but felt no more certain than he had when first he’d entered the theater box. “I just don’t bloody know.”
“You want the woman,” his cousin said with careful patience. “She wants you. Yes, there will be hurdles to leap, but you’ve got long legs and a strong heart. There’s nothing more to discuss. Marry her. Besides,” he added with a wry smile, “taking a bride might repair that dented reputation of yours.”
Alarm gripped Jeremy. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard a few things,” Marwood answered smugly. “Going into shops that sell women’s undergarments, for one thing.” Before Jeremy could exact more answers, Marwood continued, “Listen, you once asked me what I was afraid of. Time to ask yourself the same question.”
The quill sharpener was poised in Sarah’s hand when the door to the Green Drawing Room opened and Jeremy strode in. He looked intent, focused, barely aware of the rain darkening the shoulders of his coat, and hardly attentive to the footman hurrying up behind him.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” the servant began. “He just came right in and—”
“That’s all right, Paul,” Sarah said with as much calm as she could muster. Jeremy’s sudden, unannounced appearance rattled her—especially after the way they’d left things two days ago, without a word of communication between them since.
The last few days had been knotted with anxiety and confusion. She didn’t believe her own bold actions. Hadshe actually presented him with the option of marrying her? And he’d gone and kissed her in response—a kiss as melting and powerful as the one she’d gotten from the man in the blue mask. She’d known it would be good between her and Jeremy physically. Actual proof changed everything. They lit the world on fire with the heat they shared. It was as spontaneous and instant as a midsummer blaze.
Had it been her imagination? She’d exhausted herself trying to convince herself it couldn’t have been so blistering, so devastating. Yet here he was, stalking into the Green Drawing Room, the center of her most private self. It was both appropriate and strange to have him here. Her palms dampened and her mouth dried, and she couldn’t stop her gaze from straying to his lips. The same lips that had tormented her for hours, both awake and asleep.
“Forgive me,” he said tightly. “I couldn’t wait to be announced.”
She set the quill sharpener down with more calm than she felt. “I’m glad you’re here.” Turning to the footman, she directed, “Please have Cook send up some tea.”
But Jeremy shook his head. “Not here for tea.”
“Well, I’d like some.” At her nod, Paul disappeared to fetch some refreshments. She didn’t truly want tea or anything to eat, but it would give her a reason to divert her attention from the tension that filled the room and pushed at the windows.
“Please, sit.” Sarah rose and walked toward two chairs facing each other in front of the fire.
At first, it looked as though Jeremy would refuse.She sensed that he had a goal, but she had no idea what it might be. He appeared to be wrestling with something within himself. After she sat, however, he lowered himself down into a chair. His long legs stretched out before him, and she distracted herself by looking at the gleam of firelight shining on the leather of his tall boots rather than staring into his blazing face.
Nervousness seized her. She twisted her fingers together, listening to the pop of the fire and the patter of gentle rain on the windows. A thousand questions flooded her mind, jostling against each other, making it almost impossible to sit still. She chanced a peek at him through her lashes. She’d never seen him so resolute, his brow lowered, his jaw a hard square line. He did not look like a man on a happy errand. Rather he resembled someone with a purpose, as though there was a tree that had to be felled before a field could be plowed.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she burst out. “I . . . I understand. It was a thought, a suggestion. I didn’t really think that you and I . . . that we . . .”
His blue eyes bored into her. “It wasn’t serious then? What you said at the Observatory.”
She pushed up from her seat, and he stood, as well. Both of them couldn’t be contained. She paced away from him. If he rejected her, how would she bear it? Yet she couldn’t hide behind obscuring half-truths. He deserved her honesty—and so did she.
“I did mean it,” she admitted. “But,” she added hastily, “I don’t hold you to anything. We can . . . we can remain friends. If that’s what you want.” Though she couldn’t truly be friends with a man who’d kissed her into insensibility. When she’d want that same kissagain and again, and wish and wonder where it might lead, what it could presage.
