Page 61 of Temptations of a Wallflower
Was that a tremor in his voice? Or did she imagine him as nervous as she? Sarah bided her time watching the front of the inn, seeing the warm light of the taproom pushing back the growing evening’s darkness, and listening to the cheerful voices within. She marked it all for future writing—though this washerstory now. After a few minutes, Jeremy emerged from the front door.
“Our accommodations are arranged,” he said. “We’ll be dining in a private room, if that meets with your approval.”
Anyone looking at her and Jeremy would likely spot them at once as newlyweds and guess at what the night’s activities would hold. She didn’t want to be the object of amused, ribald speculation—certainly not when her every nerve was alight.
“I approve,” she said, taking his hand. He led her across the yard, making sure to guide her around a puddle. As she walked, the two dogs trotted curiously beside her, snuffling at her skirts and letting their tongues loll unconcernedly from their mouths. She smiled at them. Nothing bad could ever truly happen in the presence of a dog. They were blessedly good-natured creatures, full of effervescent life. They calmed her a little.
Jeremy guided her inside, where the innkeeper and his wife greeted them both. “Would madam care for a bath first before dining?” the older woman asked.
“After our meal, I think,” Sarah answered.
“This way, then,” the innkeeper said, gesturing toward another chamber.
A wave of profound bashfulness struck Sarah as sheentered the taproom, feeling every eye upon her. Her face felt bright as a lantern.
One of the men nudged the other with his elbow, and the two chuckled.
“God bless ye on your marriage,” one of them said to Jeremy.
How could they tell they were newlyweds? Did she and Jeremy wear signs? Hers would read:About to be deflowered.
Her own husband turned a fine shade of red, causing the room as a whole to laugh genially. “My thanks.”
“Don’t ye worry, lass,” a woman said, taking Sarah’s hand. “Man like yours’ll know how to treat a lady.”
“But not betoonice about it,” another woman said with a grin.
Oh, Sarah was quite certain she’d burst into flames in an instant. “Um, thank you?”
Gales of laughter broke out, and Sarah gently disengaged her hand and walked on. It was a relief to finally reach the private dining room, with its small round table, two chairs, and fireplace.
“What will madam care to drink?” the innkeeper asked.
“Wine.” She accepted the seat that Jeremy held out for her and moved to take off her bonnet, then remembered that he’d removed it in the carriage when he’d kissed her. Goodness, at the rate she was blushing, there wasn’t any blood left in her body. It was all in her cheeks.
“Ale for me,” Jeremy said, sitting down opposite her.
“I hadn’t taken you for an ale man,” she noted as the innkeeper and his wife left.
“I imagine we’ve a lot to learn about each other. All our secrets.”
The blood that had been so concentrated in her cheeks rushed away.
Now was about discovery. In a few hours, she would be a different woman. A woman who knew what it was to feel the touch of a man. A woman who not only wrote about physical love but had experienced it for herself. Would it change her completely? Would she find the whole thing anticlimactic and underwhelming? She stood upon a precipice, eager and afraid to jump.
Watching Jeremy smile at her in the candlelight, all she knew was that there was no going back. Only forward.
Chapter 18
He was asleep when I left him, sprawled like a wolf on the fur blanket. Jacob barely stirred when I pressed a parting kiss on his cheek. But I could not leave without claiming my other prize. Carefully, slowly, I removed the pearl ring from his finger and replaced it on my hand. Then it was time to leave, and I parted from that spot with a heavy heart . . .
The Highwayman’s Seduction
Heart pounding, palms damp, mouth dry, Jeremy stood in the darkened hallway outside the room he was to share with Sarah. To give her privacy, he’d lingered in the dining room while she bathed. It had been a sore temptation to drink himself either to greater courage or unconsciousness. But he’d remained temperate, finishing only one pint of ale before heading upstairs. The men remaining in the taproom had ribbed him mightily, hooting encouragement full of much biologically impossible advice as he’d walked through. If ever a man had spontaneously gone up in flames, surely he would have done so, passing through that gauntlet.
He’d climbed the stairs, feeling half as though he ascended the gallows and half as though he rose up toward heaven. All the while, he silently prayed—perhaps not the most religious usage of prayer, but he likely wasn’t the first man to call upon a higher power to aid him on his wedding night. Better to turn to God than beer.
Let me do this right,he’d silently enjoined as the stairs had creaked beneath him.Let me make this good for her.
