Page 60 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“Want you so much,” he growled, his eyes closed. “Not enough room or time in a damn carriage.”
She’d written about carriage trysts and was eager to try one. But that might have to wait. Yet she felt a thrill at hearing him curse. “We’ll have both soon.”
“Not soon enough,” he rumbled.
“Impatience is a virtue.” She squeezed his taut shoulders. “Where do you get these muscles?”
He snorted a soft laugh. “Built like a working man, not a vicar?”
“I’m not complaining,” she said quickly.
“Most mornings I swim,” he admitted. “Been out to Hampstead Heath when I was in London, but there’s a lake near the vicarage that I use when I’m home.”
Shock filled her. Here was an important aspect of her husband that she’d had no idea about. What else did she not know about him? If he were a written character, she’d have to decide things such as whether or not he liked his toast pale or dark. If he sprawled in bed or slept in a neat, contained fashion. Small things, but they added up to so much—an entire self she knew little about.
For some time, they sat in companionable silence with her still on his lap. Warmth and a sense of security and comfort crept through her. Yet there was excitement, too. No one could stop them now. They were husband and wife, and if she wanted to sit atop him, then, by God, she would.
“Have you been to Devonshire before?” he asked, continuing to hold her close.
“We went to Torquay once about three years ago,” Sarah said, resting her head against his chest. “Mother heard it was becoming fashionable.”
He laughed. “I’m afraid Rosemead isn’t veryau courant.Our High Street cannot compete with Bond Street. We have one mercer’s shop, though Plymouth is about half a day’s ride if you’ve a yearning for fashion.”
“I seldom have a yearning for fashion,” she said. “What else can you tell me about my new home?”
“There are a thousand souls who dwell within the parish of Rosemead. We’ve got a tea shop, a tavern. The mercer’s shop, as I said. Raised a respectable militia during the War.”
“But thepeople,” she pressed. “What are they like?”
He paused thoughtfully. “Some good, some less so—just like London. They prefer things to remain as they’ve been for the past two hundred years, though the younger folk push for more modernity. My parishioners like it when my sermons are about current events, not just the Bible. Our latest excitement was the establishment of a lending library. The usual farming journals and moralizing books—but there’s a secret stash of romantic novels that have been making the rounds. Which I’ve read to stay abreast of what my parishioners have been up to.”
“Very conscientious of you,” she said drily. Had the Lady of Dubious Quality’s books made it into circulation? Unlikely.
“Indeed, madam,” he intoned seriously, “I am quite dutiful when it comes to my responsibilities.”
She spoiled the effect by combing her fingers through the curls at the back of his neck, making him purr.
“Will they like me?” she asked, more than half serious.
“How could they not?” He asked this with genuine bafflement.
“Because . . .” She gave voice to the fear that had been nagging at the back of her mind. “I’m not one of them. My father’s a duke. I don’t want them to think that I believe myself better than them. Like that dreadful Mrs. Elton inEmma.”
“That’s contingent on you,” he answered, and she was grateful he didn’t try to coddle her or give her a sugary palliative about her inherent captivating charm.“It depends on how you treat them, how you think of them. They’ll know if you consider yourself superior. Most likely, they’ll be a little shy around you at first—which might come off as distance. But give them time. They came around for me. Be yourself, and they’ll do the same for you.”
She exhaled. “I’m more nervous about meeting your parishioners than I was for my debut.”
“I’ll be beside you every step of the way.” He embraced her tightly for emphasis, and some of her fear did drift away, knowing that he was with her. Her ally. She’d never trusted anyone as she trusted him. He would not throw her to the wolves. But he respected her enough to let her stand on her own.
She actually dozed a little, soothed by the rocking of the carriage and by the warmth of Jeremy’s arms around her. The next thing she knew, his lips were at her temple, and he whispered, “Time to rise, sweet. We’ve arrived at the inn for the night.”
She stirred, unwilling to break from the delicious heat of his embrace, but at the mention of the wordinn,she started awake. She’d written dozens of scenes set at inns. Much more than sleeping and eating transpired at these liminal places, private and exotic.
This was it. Mysteries teemed—his body, sex—and she’d soon learn them. Terrifying. And exciting.
She went back to her seat just as the carriage rolled to a stop outside a coaching inn. Peering out the window, she saw it was a neat, comfortable, two-story building, with two dogs playing in the yard and a young groom waiting outside. Once the vehicle stopped, Jeremy immediately disembarked.
“I’ll see about a room. Wait here.”
