Page 79 of Temptations of a Wallflower
He would give this one last try. One final attempt to uncover the Lady’s identity. And if he failed, he would tell his father,No more.Then his duty would be discharged, and he could return to his life with Sarah, though he would have to learn how to live with less money.
Perhaps then he’d have the freedom he longed for. Perhaps start a family—in a few years. He wanted to enjoy his time with her alone. But the thought of a daughter with her gray eyes made him smile.
Going to London meant parting company with Sarah for several weeks. A heavy weight settled in his chest. He’d been so used to being alone for so long, but now that she’d come into his life, he couldn’t conceive of waking up without her beside him. Without her wit and sly smiles across from him at the table. Without her hand sliding into his when they walked. Letters home would have to suffice in her absence, but it was a paltrysubstitute. He’d need to wrap up his business in the city as soon as possible. Weeks without her seemed barren as a wasteland blasted by cold, desolate wind, lacking the sun.
Breaking the news to her was not a prospect he relished. He’d have to come up with some rationale—he couldn’t tell her the true purpose of his errand, and the thought of lying to her, even as a means of protection, stuck hard in his throat.
After checking the parlor and finding it empty, he ventured toward Sarah’s little study—she was there nearly half the day, so the odds were in his favor.
After tapping on the closed door, he heard the shuffle of papers, and then her call to bid him enter. He went inside.
Sarah sat at her desk, locking the top drawer. She glanced up with a bright smile at his entrance, and he returned the smile.
He crossed the small chamber and kissed his wife. “More of your wisdom dispensed to the women of my parish,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
“I’m a paltry substitute for the vicar.” She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting shut.
“They can talk to you about things they’d never dare ask me,” he replied. “They can trust you. You’ll have to serve as their only source of counsel for a little while, I’m afraid.”
She pulled back, frowning. “Leaving me so soon?”
“Only for a few weeks,” he said quickly. “My father calls me to London.”
“And you must go.”
“Have you met my father?”
Her mouth turned wry. “The stern man with a backbone of forged iron. But what does he want of you?”
Unease twisted in Jeremy’s stomach. It had not been easy to prevaricate when he and Sarah had merely been friends, and now the pain of it was sharp and unrelenting.
“A matter of responsibility” was all he could manage. A more elaborate ruse refused to form in his mouth.
Sarah stood. “I’ll come with you.”
Panic sprang to life. How could he conceal his activities with her so close by? “It will be exceedingly dull. Not much time for parties.”
“Parties have never been a particular delight of mine,” she said drily. “I’ll visit with my mother—or try to.” Her look darkened, but she visibly shook it off. “I can go to the bookseller. I have an unusual capacity for entertaining myself.” Another frown creased her brow. “Unless . . . you don’t want me to accompany you.”
It would be easy to find some excuse. The running of the vicarage while he was away. The tending of the sick and poor, which she’d taken on so admirably. Some vicars held multiple parishes and were often away—but Jeremy held just the one, and had been gone for too long. It would be a show of good faith to have his wife remain in residence while Mr. Wolbert took over spiritual duties.
But as he looked at Sarah, his chest clenched at the thought of being apart from her. Even an absence of a few weeks was too long. He wanted to bind her to him in every way, as he was bound to her. Going to London might cause some kind of change or rupture. Or were his concerns unfounded?
“I’d be honored if you would come with me,” he heard himself say.
Because he was a lesser man when she wasn’t at his side. It would take some maneuvering to keep his task secret, but he’d rather undergo a few factual contortions than face a day—or night—without her.
Her smile was wide and brilliant. She stepped into his arms and kissed him, long and deep. “I make for a very pleasant traveling companion,” she said, finally surfacing.
“I’d rather we didn’t have to go anywhere at all,” he grumbled.
“But if we must travel,” she said, “isn’t it better that we do it together?”
“Everything is better with you and I together,” he answered.
She grinned. “Oh, heavens, have we become one of those nauseatingly happy couples?”
“Afraid so.”
