turned the page. Maybe the next one would be easier. It was not. Not hands, but mouths. Now that, she knew, could never be fun. She bent closer, trying to be sure she understood what was going on. A small flutter began in her belly at the woman’s enrapt expression. It looked so real. And the man’s expression – pain or pleasure? How would it feel to . . . she could almost imagine . . . How would Tristan react if she . . . ?
Oh, no, she could never.
“I am not sure whether to be pleased or worried by your response.” Lady Carrington ran a finger along the edge of the picture. “Your interest is clear, but I have some worries about your ability to carry it off. Why don’t you try the next page?”
Marguerite turned the page without looking at her hostess. Surely not! The man was the size of a – a horse and the woman kneeling before him – No. She closed the book with a decisive thud.
The image still played in her mind. In some ways it was worse. Without the static pictures before her, the figures began to move. She closed her eyes, trying to shut them out. It was so hot in here. She picked up her glass and downed the last sips. She squirmed in her chair. The figures moved with languid slowness, caressing, tasting, experiencing. How could she imagine things she did not even understand?
She opened her eyes. Lady Carrington was staring at her.
“This may take work,” she said tapping a finger on the cover of the book.
“But, Lady Carrington, how can you expect –“
“You really must call me Violet. We really cannot plan a seduction with you calling me Lady Carrington. It just doesn’t work.” She peered over at Marguerite. “I wager you even think of me as Lady Carrington. My God, you do. How very curious.”
Marguerite glanced at her hands, even they were red. This was unbearable. She was being laughed at. She stood with only the slightest unsteadiness – She should not have finished the sherry so quickly – and tried to maneuver around the tea table. Lady Carrington put up a hand to stop her.
“Please don’t go. I didn’t mean to upset you. In truth I find you delightful. And so, I imagine, does your husband. Please sit and we will consider this differently. I will try to slow my thoughts to a more approachable level.”
Marguerite sat. She wasn’t sure she could speak. Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton and she was still incredibly warm. It seemed impossible to sit still, her very skin felt on fire. Her legs were aware of every thread of her skirts and her breasts chafed against her bodice. Perhaps she was having a reaction to the sherry. She never had before, but how else to explain her feelings?
Lady Carrington, no, Violet was watching her again. Looking for something to focus on she reached for the plate of cookies. Raspberry jam and cream between shortbreads. It was cut in a floral design with nine petals. Covered in powdered sugar. Did they put the sugar on before baking it or after? How did they get the jam in the middle – it looked almost like . . . No, she was not going to think about the book. She edged back in her chair and brought the cookie to her mouth. Think about the cookie. It was sweet. And full of the taste of summer. She closed her eyes and thought about berries warmed in the sun. She nibbled again, thinking about nothing except the cookie. She ate it bit by bit, trying to pretend that nothing else existed. She licked the last bits of jam from her mouth and opened her eyes.
Violet was staring at her, mouth gaping slightly open. “Do you always eat like that? No wonder the man can’t keep his eyes off you.”
“I am so sorry. Was I rude? I tend to get lost in the silliest thoughts and not think about. . .”
“God, no. I’ve just never seen anything like it, even among the most accomplished courtesans and, given my position in society, I have actually met several of them. What were you thinking about as you ate, no, devoured, no, ravished, that sweet?”
Marguerite had no idea what she was talking about. She had eaten a cookie, what was the harm in that? Although, from Violet’s expression, perhaps it was not harm. “I was thinking about summer,