Page 90 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“How did you find me?” I demanded.
He said nothing, his expression hungry and his eyes sharp. With feline grace he climbed into my bedroom, shutting the window behind him—all the while his eyes never left my face. There was no mistaking the sensuous purpose or intent in his gaze . . .
The Highwayman’s Seduction
In the predawn hours, Jeremy pushed himself through the water. Harder, faster. Yet with every stroke, he felt the shackles of his anger and sorrow pull at him, threatening to drag him down to the bottom of the lake.
At last, bodily exhausted but still sick at heart, he hauled himself out of the water. Slogging toward his clothes, which waited for him on the shore, he barely felt the cold. It didn’t touch him the way the chill of Sarah’s deception did.
After toweling off, he began to dress. Nothing felt quite as icy as the space between him and Sarah. He’dbeen sleeping in a spare room, all too aware of the cold space beside him in the bed, knowing that she was somewhere else in the house but he was unable to talk to her, to touch her.
His routine these past few days had been grimly similar. Wake alone hours before dawn, walk the long distance to Hampstead Heath, swim until the sun began to rise, then wander the city aimlessly, wondering what was to be done.
He had the answer his father craved. He knew the identity of the Lady of Dubious Quality. But to expose her meant ruining his own wife.
Damp but clothed, Jeremy strode from the lake, back south toward the city. He felt hollow, ghostlike. He missed Sarah, and he was furious with her. He did not know a man could feel both emotions at once. He didn’t know anything.
There were no solutions anywhere, only more conundrums.
Sarah sat upright in bed. A distant clock chimed half past two—not that it mattered.
She barely slept anymore and went to bed simply as a matter of habit. These past few days since the revelation, other than her visit to McKinnon’s, she hadn’t had the strength or energy to venture much beyond the threshold of her borrowed bedroom. Yet whenever she’d attempted to close her eyes and surrender to slumber, her mind had goaded her to wakefulness. Every now and then, she’d drifted off for a handful of minutes, or an hour, but nothing resembling real rest. Food, too, held no appeal. Nor did reading. Or writing.
Her only understanding of the passage of time was the maid coming in every morning to tend the fire and open the curtains. Sarah didn’t bother going down for breakfast anymore. She’d only see Jeremy, and that was a fresh agony every time, the distance between them marking what they’d lost.
She had no husband. She was unable to write. Something had to change.
This cannot go on.
The thought rang in her head, loud as a bell, as she stared at the darkened bedroom. This situation was insupportable, intolerable. Unbearable.
Clearly, Jeremy hadn’t told his father yet about her identity as the Lady of Dubious Quality, or else she would have been thrown out into the street. What was he waiting for? What was it thatshewaited on, for that matter? Action had to be taken, down one path or the other. He wasn’t acting for some reason—so she had to.
Throwing off the covers, she rose from bed. The cold bothered her little anymore, but she donned her night rail and slippers as from rote. Opening the bedroom door, she peered into the darkened hall. No one was about.
She didn’t bother with a candle or lamp. She knew the way because she’d walked it countless times but never had the courage to knock once she’d arrived. This time, she was determined to go in rather than lingering outside Jeremy’s door.
Despite her resolve, she hesitated once she arrived at his room. Her hand hovered over the doorknob. What would he do? But the worst had already come to pass. Nothing could hurt her anymore.
That wasn’t true. She had only to see the hurt and anger in his eyes or the stance of his shoulders, and it set off a round of sharp pain that would not fade.
But she could not hide from that hurt. She had to shape her fate, not wait passively, leaving it to providence or Jeremy or anything else to push her down the path. When it had come to her writing, she hadn’t sat idly but had moved and decided her course of action. Now had to be the same.
No light shone from beneath the door. Pressing her ear to the wood, she heard nothing. Was he even within?
Sarah opened the door. She stepped into the blackness of the unfamiliar room, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, the fire having gone out. When they did, she managed to pick out a dresser, desk, chairs, and, between two windows, a canopied bed. The draperies on the bed were drawn.
He was here. Asleep.
She took a cautious step toward the bed, her feet almost noiseless on the carpeting.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, breaking the silence.
She nearly jumped. After taking a steadying breath, she answered. “Me.”Your wife,she almost added.
“Sarah?” The curtains on the bed parted, and Jeremy looked out. It was too dark to read his expression, but his tone was puzzled. “What are you doing here?” Then, alarmed, he added, “Is something wrong?”
“Everything,” she said.
