Temptations of a Wallflower (25 page)

I feared my time with Jacob had changed me completely—not just my body but other parts of my anatomy as well . . .

The Highwayman's Seduction

R
ows of new phaetons gleamed like promises of adventure. They stood side by side in the warehouse, ready to become some wealthy nobleman's latest toy or folly. Everywhere was the sheen of polished wood and metal, the scent of oil and privilege.

“Ever driven one of these?” Marwood asked Jeremy, standing in front of one soaring, impressive vehicle.

“The Earl of Hutton's son in one of these frivolous wastes of money?” Jeremy sent his cousin a wry look.

Marwood snorted. “Right. Stupid of me to even suggest such a thing.” He moved on to another model, this one tall as the heavens, and likely just as expensive. “Thank God I never had the same expectations.”

Expectations and threats had brought Jeremy back to London. Though he sometimes enjoyed the bustle and chaos of the city, being here now felt like an imposition. Yet again his father commanded him. Yet again
Jeremy was forced to comply. It barely mattered if he was only weeks into his new marriage.

Sarah awaited him at his parents' home. Her expression of concern had followed him out the door as he'd gone to seek his cousin.
Family business
he'd told her, unable to divulge the truth.

“Given that you aren't much of a phaeton enthusiast,” Marwood drawled, “is there some reason why you asked to accompany me on today's outing?”

Standing beside Marwood now, Jeremy said, “I've run out of options. I
have
to find the Lady of Dubious Quality, but she's as elusive as ever.”

“
Have
to?” Marwood raised an eyebrow.

“My father's putting the screws to me,” Jeremy explained. “Find her, or lose my allowance.”

“Surely your bride's portion is enough for you both,” his cousin noted.

“Would you want Lady Marwood to support you both?” Jeremy looked dubious.

“Point taken,” Marwood said drily. He shook his head. “Bloody damned shame, the lot of it.”

“A situation of which I'm well aware.” Jeremy ran his hand along the leather seat of one phaeton. It was durable, but satiny, and finer than any pair of gloves Jeremy had ever owned or handled. “But I'm at an impasse. She's kept herself well hidden. I don't know what other avenues to explore.”

“Her publisher has been closemouthed about it.”

“Why kill the golden goose?”

“Indeed.” Marwood clasped his hands behind his back. “Maybe you're approaching it from the wrong end.”

Jeremy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You tried to work with her publisher,” his cousin pondered aloud, “which is where the process starts, but perhaps we ought to consider the final product. The finished novels.”

“There might be a clue there,” Jeremy mused. “Someone in London must turn the manuscript into a printed book.”

“Somebody there must know a scrap of information about the author of the books. An inkling of who she might be.”

Jeremy exhaled roughly. “I'll track down whoever prints the books and see where that takes me. It's somewhere to start, at the least.”

He wanted this search done, and now. He wanted to get back to his life with Sarah. There was no denying that an increased allowance would permit them to explore other options.

But at what cost?

L
ondon reminded Sarah of everything she had never truly been—a social success, a dutiful daughter.

Being back in the city was a bittersweet pleasure. She could not say that she had been particularly happy here, and aside from her mother, there was no one she wished to see. Further, she was barred from seeing the duchess for several more months, per her father's directive.

In Rosemead, she'd enjoyed her life. She'd come to more openly express herself away from the preconceived ideas of who she should and shouldn't be. And with Jeremy's constant support, she'd never experienced
such a sense of well-being and strength. Her writing had been flowing strongly, even with the constraints on her time. It didn't hurt that she had an endless supply of real-life inspiration. Her husband didn't need the Lady of Dubious Quality books anymore. He knew precisely how to give her pleasure.

Hopefully, she and Jeremy wouldn't stay long in London. Whatever his “responsibilities” might be, she prayed they wouldn't last beyond a handful of weeks so they might return to the idyll of life in the country.

For the duration of their sojourn, they were to stay at the Earl of Hutton's home. She and Jeremy were, for now, unwelcome at her parents' house. A grim thought, and one that made London's smoke-choked skies even darker. Yet she couldn't regret her decision to marry Jeremy. That remained the beam of light puncturing the blanket of gray hanging overhead.

After the modest comforts of the vicarage, it felt strange to be back amongst enormous rooms and a surfeit of servants. Sarah had grown used to putting on clothing without assistance. Now she had a maid, and footmen to stand in attendance at meals. Even dressing for dinner was a strange, yet familiar, ritual.

But she couldn't write. While under her in-laws' roof, it was impossible to put pen to paper and write about the subjects that normally occupied her quill. Lady Josephina and her university professor were coming to an even closer emotional understanding. Unspent energy pulsed through her, thwarted from its usual outlets. At night, she practically attacked Jeremy in bed. The poor man staggered out the door every morning, worn out by her amorous attentions. And yet restlessness still goaded her.

Which was why she was taking a turn in the garden. Lady Hutton accompanied her—and Sarah was grateful for the company. Unlike her stern, cold husband, Lady Hutton smiled and laughed often, as though by her very existence, she balanced out Lord Hutton's cool reserve.

“What shall we do this afternoon while Jeremy is out, my dear?” Lady Hutton asked, walking beside Sarah as they wended through the garden paths. “Go and see a panorama? Visit the zoological gardens? I hear Catton's iced cakes will send a woman straight to Paradise.”

“Whichever pleases you most,” Sarah answered. What she really wanted was for Josephina to seduce her professor in one of the boats that glided up and down the Isis, but she couldn't. She had a letter from her publisher, which she had already read and reread, in the locked drawer of her traveling writing desk. According to him, her latest manuscript was with the printer and would soon be available for sale. Her first new book out since Jeremy had come into her life.

“You miss her, don't you?” Lady Hutton asked softly.

Her mother's absence felt like an invisible wound that would take months, if not years, to heal. Sarah had written the duchess numerous times, but she'd received no reply. Whether Sarah's letters were even read was something she didn't know.

“I wish my father wasn't so fixed on the difference between Jeremy and me,” Sarah said, her voice brittle. “As marriages go, ours is far from the most unequal.”

“Naturally, as Jeremy's mother, I am biased in his favor,” Lady Hutton mused. “But I think that in a very
short while, your father will see the wisdom of the union and revoke his embargo.”

“I hope so.” Sarah hadn't realized how much she would miss her mother's exasperating presence until it had been denied her. Yet there was comfort and even a kind of love in the duchess's frequent remonstrance. What her mother desired was Sarah's security and comfort, and Sarah couldn't fault her for that. If she had a daughter, she, too, would be preoccupied with her safety and happiness. Girls and women were so much at the world's mercy—it was a precarious existence, even for the most genteel lady.

Purposeful footsteps crunched on the gravel. Sarah turned to see Jeremy striding toward her and his mother. He looked preoccupied, yet he smiled as he approached. As if by instinct, he reached for her as he neared. She took his hand without thought.

“How fares your errands, my dearest?” his mother asked, after receiving a kiss on the cheek from her son.

A shade passed over his face, as it often did whenever his business in London was mentioned. It troubled Sarah, that shade.

“Things progress,” he answered distractedly, “though not as quickly as I'd like.”

“Eager to get home, I'd wager,” Lady Hutton said with a wink. “To life with your bride. And the getting of an heir.”

Sarah felt her face heat. It could hardly have escaped Lady Hutton's notice how Sarah and Jeremy frequently retired early and yet still looked tired in the morning. For all of Sarah's familiarity with bedsport, the subject was one she didn't particularly relish discussing with
her husband's mother. Open-mindedness only went so far.

“Ah, but I've embarrassed Sarah,” Lady Hutton trilled. “Newlyweds always have their little confidences to exchange. I'll enjoy your company later, at dinner.”

She drifted off, an elegant figure full of good humor despite her years and her aloof husband. In truth, Sarah often wondered what drew Lord and Lady Hutton together, for their temperaments were so very unalike. But Lord Hutton was a handsome man, magisterial, and the possessor of a considerable fortune. Women had been lured into marriage with less.

Sarah took Jeremy's hand in hers, feeling the brush of skin to skin. They began to walk. “I didn't expect you back until later today.”

“I can loiter outside the front door for a few hours if that will please you.” He joked, yet he sounded pensive.

“What pleases me is having my husband beside me.” She squeezed his hand. “I cannot like your errands. Every time you return from them, you look more and more unhappy.”

“It won't be much longer,” he said.

That was not much of an explanation. “I've tried to be understanding and not press you about details, but when I see something impact you so harmfully, I feel I must ask. What is it that you do? Where do you go?”

His eyes closed, and he stopped walking. That pained look crossed his face again. He looked as though he struggled with something, his mouth opening and closing, but no words emerging. His jaw worked, forming a taut line, and his lips thinned.

“Whatever it is,” she said gently, laying a hand on
his forearm, “you know you can speak of it. Anything at all—you can tell me.”

“I'm afraid,” he rasped.

She frowned with concern. “Of what?”

“Of what you'll think of me if I tell you.” He would not meet her gaze.

Carefully, she set her fingers beneath his jaw and turned it so that he faced her. “There is nothing you could say to me that would make me care for you any less.”

“Is that a vow?”

“It is the truth,” she answered. “I remember what the priest said at our wedding. That marriage was ‘for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity.' Any adversity.”

He exhaled. Then seemed to come to a conclusion. “We've nothing without honesty,” he said at last.

A blade of guilt pierced her. Someday she might confide in him her deepest secret. But that was a long time off. Until then, for their happiness and security, she could say nothing.

He looked at her. “Do you remember that book I showed you on our wedding night? The book by the Lady of Dubious Quality.”

“I remember.”

He hesitated. “You were quite . . . open-minded about the fact that I'd read her novels. I hope you retain that same open-mindedness when I tell you what I must.”

Dread climbed its way up her spine with cold claws. Pulses of fear moved through her body. “I'll try,” she said, pushing the words out.

“The author of the novels is unknown,” he continued. “Some suspected she is a man—some hack writer churning out lurid tales for the promise of quick, ready money.”

Pride chased away some of her anxiety. Her back stiffened. “I should think not.”

He nodded. “Clues in the writing make me believe otherwise, too. I think she's a genteel lady. Perhaps impoverished, perhaps not. But she must keep herself secret for the sake of scandal.”

A blast of icy terror washed along Sarah's veins. “You've given this writer's identity considerable thought.”

“I have to.” He raked his hands through his hair, which normally charmed her, but she barely registered it now. “The reason why I've been coming to London is this—I have to discover who the Lady of Dubious Quality is.”

The ground shifted and rolled under Sarah's feet. She thought she might be sick. She swallowed hard, then again, as she swayed on her feet.

“Why?” she said numbly. “She seems . . . harmless enough.”

“That's what I believe,” Jeremy said fervently. “But my father and my uncle think otherwise. They want me to uncover the Lady's identity. And expose her for the sake of the city's morality. If I don't do as he says, I'm to lose my allowance and have only my meager living to support us.” He peered at her with concern, taking hold of her hands. “Are you all right? You look pallid.”

“Feel . . . faint,” she mumbled. Sarah allowed him
to escort her to a nearby bench. He sat beside her and wrapped one arm around her.

“I should fetch a physician,” he said worriedly.

She managed to shake her head. “I'll be all right in a moment. Just got a little dizzy. City life has wreaked havoc with my nerves.”

Absolute shock turned her limbs frozen, her mind sluggish. How could this be? Her own husband? The man who had been searching for her all this time. Who had inadvertently led her toward marriage through his pursuit of her hidden self. The man she'd come to love with her body and mind and soul.

One and the same.

“Once you e-expose her,” Sarah stammered.

“Don't talk,” Jeremy said soothingly. “Not until you're fully well.”